Neon Bible – Arcade Fire


Trying to describe this album, it’s syncopated rhythms, it’s profound melodic flow, is the critical equivalent of building some grand steam punk machine, some quaint but frightening Victoriana clockwork beast, all chromed silver and India rubber, frightening yes but quite lovely in its decadence; to shrink down to dim nano scale in a futile attempt to pass unnoticed in one great orchestrated gust into the inner pants, right between the labia majora, of Anna Kournikova, there to dwell on gentle flowing tides of juices. Music is a rich vivid reconstruction of vibration into information; ossicles stammering to tap a wave of pressure into noise construed. It is not words.


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