The 500 - #147 - Deja Vu - Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. 

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Album: #148
Album Title: Deja Vu

Artist: Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young

Genre: Folk Rock 

Recorded: Wally Heider Studios, California, USA

Released: March, 1970

My age at release: 4
How familiar was I with it before this week: Quite

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #220, dropping 72 places
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Helpless

There was a time when a weekday road trip from London, Ontario, to Toronto, just 190 kilometres away, felt like a perfectly reasonable idea. Back in the late ‘90s, my friends and I would clock out at 4:00 in the afternoon, pile into someone’s marginally reliable vehicle, and cruise down the 401 highway with just enough time to grab a bite before a concert or sporting event. The show would wrap up around 11:00, and we’d be back in London by 1:00 a.m., tucked into bed with the satisfied glow reserved for road trip champions.

Fast-forward to today, and that same journey feels like a test of patience, endurance, and bladder control. Urban sprawl has turned the Greater Toronto Area (GTA) into one giant traffic jam and a brake light testing arena. Construction zones result in more bottlenecks than a brewery assembly line and a pre-show dinner is a bottle of lukewarm water and a slightly crushed granola bar.

On August 25, 2010, my friend Bill Gudgeon and I decided to take a different approach to attending a concert. We had scored two tickets to see Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers on their Mojo Tour at Toronto’s Air Canada Centre. It was a show made even more memorable because the opening act was the legendary Crosby, Stills & Nash (CSN).

Rather than drive directly into the city and battle the inevitable traffic, Bill and I opted to park in Aldershot, about sixty kilometers southwest of Toronto, and take the GO Train the rest of the way. We figured this would spare us the stress of downtown congestion and make for a smoother, more relaxed journey to and from the venue.

We arrived in enough time to grab a quick bite and then see Crosby, Stills and Nash take the stage alongside four supporting musicians. Their 15-song set included five songs from this week’s groundbreaking record, Déjà Vu.

CSNY (l-r) Neil Young, David Crosby, Graham Nash, Stephen Stills.

Released in 1970, Déjà Vu was the trio's second studio release. However, it was the first with the inclusion of Canadian musician, singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Neil Young. Consequently, the initialism CSN became CSNY (Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young) – as it would on seven other occasions between 1969 and 2013.

The addition of Young added a new layer of songwriting depth and musical texture to an already formidable trio. Indeed, all four singer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalists have been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame twice:

• David Crosby as a member of CSN and The Byrds.
• Stephen Stills as a member of CSN and Buffalo Springfield.
• Graham Nash as a member of CSN and The Hollies.
• Neil Young as a solo performer and as a member of Buffalo Springfield.

Déjà Vu is considered by most fans and critics to be the highwater mark for the quartet. Released in the wake of the Woodstock Music Festival and the political and social upheaval of the time, the album’s themes of introspection, rebellion and life resonated deeply with listeners. It combined folk rock with influences from country, jazz and Latin music, as well as pop sensibilities with the closing track Teach Your Children – a song that also closed the CSN performance Bill and I attended in 2010.

Tom Petty also delivered a phenomenal performance that night. It is one I’ll never forget and I feel fortunate to have seen him live, especially knowing now that it would be just seven years before his untimely passing at age 66 from an accidental drug overdose. His music, energy and presence were unforgettable.

Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers performing live in 2010.

After the show, Bill and I floated out of the Air Canada Centre on a musical high, making our way to Union Station a few blocks away to catch the GO Train back to Aldershot. Unfortunately, the journey home proved more challenging than expected. Multiple events had just let out, including a Blue Jays game at the Rogers Centre (formerly the SkyDome) and a concert by progressive metal band Avenged Sevenfold at the Molson Amphitheatre. The surge of people meant we had to wait for space on a second train, and each stop along the route was agonizingly slow as passengers loaded and unloaded in waves. What followed was a tightly packed, grueling odyssey. It was a humid, chaotic crawl along through the GTA, steeped in a pungent cocktail of marijuana sweat, spilled beer, and hot dog breath. It was the kind of ride that tests your patience and your nostrils in equal measure.

Still, I doubt driving would have been any faster. In the end, as my head hit the pillow at 2:30 early Thursday morning, I couldn’t help but borrow from baseball legend Yogi Berra’s amusingly illogical lexicon, “It was déjà vu all over again.” Needless to say, I am hesitant nowadays to accept an invitation to visit Toronto for a show or game -- doubly so on weeknights.

The 500 - #148 - Houses Of The Holy - Led Zeppelin

 I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. 

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Album: #148

Album Title: Houses Of The Holy

Artist: Led Zeppelin

Genre: Hard Rock, Art Rock

Recorded: Multiple Studios, London, England

Released: March, 1973

My age at release: 7

How familiar was I with it before this week: Very

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #278 - dropping 130 spots

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: The Rain Song

To say my high school clique and I were fans of Led Zeppelin in the early ’80s would be putting it mildly -- our enthusiasm veered into full-blown obsession for months. At some parties, the debate wasn’t which album to play next, but which side of which Zeppelin album deserved the honor. It was serious business.

Led Zeppelin: John Paul Jones (bass, keys), Jimmy Page
(guitars), John Bonham (drums), Robert Plant (vocals).

We were already devoted fans of the 1976 concert film The Song Remains the Same, which captured Zeppelin’s electrifying  performances at Madison Square Garden, interwoven with behind-the-scenes footage and surreal fantasy sequences tailored to each band member. In 1984, when the film became available on video cassette, our friend, Steve Mackison, quickly tracked down a bootleg copy, and it became a staple of our viewing rotation.

Steve had built up an impressive collection of cult classic video tapes by the early ’80s. His townhouse became our unofficial screening room. We’d skip a few high school classes, head over to Steve’s place, drink tea, eat Pop Tarts and dive into his ever-growing archive of rock films and other flicks destined to become dramatic and comedic classics. Steve, unbeknownst to his parents, was taking a one-year hiatus from school, so he was always home and ready to hit play. We actually framed our morning sojourns from our high school to his town house on Dalhousie Drive in London, Ontario, as if we were attending a film class, We called it Mackison 101.

Steve's place in the 80s, pic courtesy of Google Street View.

In 1985, Hammer of the Gods: The Led Zeppelin Saga hit the shelves, and it landed like a thunderclap in our circle. Written by rock biographer Stephen Davis, the book was packed with gritty, lurid tales of the band’s wild years, including tales of sex, drugs, mysticism, and mayhem. I didn’t get around to reading it, but it became gospel among my Zeppelin-obsessed friends. The book sparked endless debates and retellings, often between puffs at parties. Though the book was a hit with young rockers, the band famously criticized it for its sensationalism and factual liberties. Still, for the rest of us, it added another layer to the myth. It was our backstage pass to the chaos behind the music. As the adage goes: “Never let truth get in the way of a good story”. This was doubly true for teenagers in a time before the Internet.

Hammer of the Gods book cover (1985).

Houses of the Holy is the first of five Led Zeppelin records on this The 500 list Released in 1973, it marked a bold evolution in the group’s sound. Departing from the heavier blues-rock of their earlier albums, it embraced a more eclectic and experimental vibe. The record features fan favorites, such as The Song Remains the Same, (later to become the title of the aforementioned concert film). The Hobbit inspired Over the Hills and Far Away, and the reggae-tinged D’yer Mak’er. For years, my friends and I pronounced that track as “Dire Maker”, not realizing it was a play on the expression “Did ya make her?’ said quickly with a Cockney Accent -- “Jamaica”. It was, I would later learn, a play on a well known and silly British joke.

“My wife’s gone to the Caribbean.”

“D’yer mak’er?” ("Jamaica" aka “Did you make her?”)

“No, she went of her own accord.”

Houses of the Holy is a record I often cite as my favorite, although I’ve come to accept that ranking Zeppelin albums is a game of inches for me, and the criteria change with age and mood. The album contains an eclectic mix of songs, including the ethereally beautiful The Rain Song, a tune that will forever hold a spot in my personal top ten. But it also includes The Crunge, a James Brown-inspired funk experiment that’s never quite landed for me. As a teenager, I’d often joke (hoping for a laugh that never came) that it sounded like it was written specifically to make a drunk person feel like vomiting.

The Crunge is predominantly crafted in a time signature of 9/8 -- nine beats to a measure with the each eighth note getting a beat and an emphasis on the first fourth and seventh beats. The result is a rolling feel that can seem slightly uneven. Thinking about it as ONE-two-three, FOUR-five-six, SEVEN-eight-nine. Consequently, it moves a bit like a lilting ship in heavy waves. Now, throw in a few measures of 4/4 time (and a sneaky 10/8) and one might be able to understand how it could even make a drunken sailor a bit sea sick.

As I mentioned in my Black Sabbath Masters Of Reality post, back in September, 2022, Houses of the Holy was the first Zeppelin record I brought (sneaked) into my home -- having borrowed it from a chum named Adrian. At the time, I knew that the cover, which featured 11 naked, golden haired children bathed in an eerie, orange-pink glow climbing a stepped, rocky cliff, would not meet with parental approval. At the very least the gatefold art piece would prompt many questions I was ill equipped to answer.

Full gatefold picture for Houses of The Holy.

I would later learn that the photograph, taken by Aubrey Powell from the legendary art group Hipgnosis, actually depicts the Giant’s Causeway in Northern Ireland, a natural rock formation of interlocking basalt columns. The photo was created using multiple exposures of two child models, siblings Stefan and Samantha Gates, who were photographed in different poses and positions.

Aubrey Powell -- who also did the covers for many of my
favourite bands, including Pink Floyd, Styx, Peter Gabriel,
Black Sabbath, Yes and Genesis.

The use of nude children, even in this non-sexual artistic context, has sparked discomfort and debate -- particularly in recent years. However, the image was not intended to be provocative. Powell noted that it was inspired by Arthur C. Clarke's science fiction novel, Childhood’s End. It was meant to evoke a sense of mystery, mythology and transformation that aligned with the album's eclectic and experimental tone.

I do know that the Houses of the Holy cover was never considered provocative by my high school peers. Like so many Zeppelin album covers, it was simply a cool, mysterious image and one we could project our own meanings onto while jamming to the eight tracks within. If anything, it felt more straightforward than the eerie minimalism of Presence (1976) or the cryptic symbolism of their untitled 1971 release, often called Led Zeppelin IV. Such was the “serious business” of Zeppelin fandom for a handful of Ontario teens in the early ’80s -- decoding album art, debating track rankings, and letting the music shape our own mythology.  

The 500 - #149 - Self Titled Debut - Santana

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. 

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Album: #149

Album Title: Self-Titled Debut

Artist: Santana

Genre: Latin Rock, Jazz Fusion, Psychedelic Rock

Recorded: Pacific and San Mateo Studios, California

Released: August, 1969

My age at release: 4

How familiar was I with it before this week: A couple of songs

Is it on the 2020 list? No

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Soul Sacrifice

Finnish composer Jean Sibelius (1865 - 1957) attracted both praise and criticism for his approach to form, tonality and architecture in his seven symphonies. His response to the criticisms was dismissive when he famously said: “Pay no attention to what critics say. No statue has ever been put up to a critic.”

Perhaps the six members of the San Francisco-based Latin rock band, Santana, reflected on the wisdom of Sibelius when they saw the early reviews of their 1969, self-titled debut record.

Santana (1969).

Rolling Stone magazine writer Langdon Winner called the record “a masterpiece of hollow techniques” and “a speed freak’s delight – fast, pounding, frantic music with no real content”. He further compared the music’s effect to the drug methedrine (a powerful stimulant popular in the drug culture of the late ‘60s) saying, (the music) “gives a high with no meaning…featuring repetitively, unimaginative playing amidst a monotony of incompetent rhythms and inconsequential lyrics”.

Robert Cristgau - Village Voice Magazine.

Meanwhile, on the other coast, New York Village Voice writer Robert Christgau echoed Winner’s sentiments calling the record “a lot of noise… (from) the methedrine school of American music.”


Ouch!


Initially formed in 1966 as The Santana Blues Band, the group evolved into a free-form jam band, experimenting with a fusion of blues, rock, and Latin rhythms—drawing inspiration from the Mexican and Nicaraguan heritage of two of its members. By the time they recorded their debut album, their name was shortened to Santana and the lineup included Carlos Santana (lead guitar), David Brown (bass), Gregg Rolie (keyboards and lead vocals), Michael Shrieve (drums), Michael Carabello (congas and percussion), and José "Chepito" Areas (timbales and percussion).

Santana (1969).

The group performed at the now legendary Woodstock Music Festival on Saturday, August 16, 1969, a week before the release of their debut title. The group performed six songs from their upcoming album including two cover songs – Jin-Go-Lo-Ba by Nigerian percussionist Babatundi Olatunji and the Willie Bobo song Fried Neck Bones and Some Home Fries. I’ll admit, I enjoyed a phonetic preoccupation when I discovered the name “Ba-ba-tundi Ola-tun-ji” and the pleasing syllables that comprise it. I caught myself repeating it as a mini-mantra.

“Ba-ba-tundi Ola-tun-ji” (give it a try).

Thirty-one years after its release, Santana’s debut album received a far warmer reception from Rolling Stone. In 2000, critic Chris Heath described the record as “thrilling ... with ambition, soul and absolute conviction – every moment played straight from the heart.” This marked a dramatic shift from the magazine’s original 1969 review, which had dismissed the album as hollow and frantic. By 2003, Rolling Stone included it at #150 on its original list of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time, nudging it up to #149 in the 2012 revision. However, it was dropped from the most recent update in 2020. The album’s fluctuating status lends weight to Jean Sibelius’s famous observation: “No statue has ever been put up to a critic.”

Santana on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine 1n 1999.

Sibelius himself, of course, has a monument in his honor -- an elegant sculpture nestled in a Helsinki park that also bears his name. His legacy extends further: an academy, a high school, a museum, several streets across Europe, and even a widely used music notation software all carry his name.

Sibelius Monument in Sibelius Park, Finland.

Carlos Santana, who recently celebrated his 78th birthday, has built a legacy just as enduring. He’s been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, earned a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and ranks #20 on Rolling Stone’s list of The 100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time. With over 100 million records sold worldwide, his influence spans generations.

One imagines Santana has long since recovered from the early barbs hurled by critics like Langdon Winner and Robert Christgau. And if not, he can surely take comfort in nearly six decades of musical achievement – or, at the very least, in the towering pile of money he’s earned. Big enough to fund a statue of his own.

The 500 - #150 - Darkness On The Edge Of Town - Bruce Springsteen

 I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. 

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Album: #150

Album Title: Darkness On The Edge Of Town

Artist: Bruce Springsteen

Genre: Rock, Heartland Rock, 

Recorded: Atlantic and Record Plant Studios, New York City, USA

Released: June, 1978

My age at release: 12

How familiar was I with it before this week: Fairly

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #91 - rising 59 spots

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Darkness On The Edge Of Town

In the summer of 1989, I took a job at Morphy Containers, a box-making factory in London, Ontario. My first assignment was the “Bailer”. The work involved wheeling a cart through the vast factory floor, sticking to the clearly marked aisleways and steering clear of the whirring machines that sliced, perforated, folded and painted cardboard into boxes and other products for shipping to companies throughout Canada and the United States.

My task was to collect the scraps of cardboard discarded from the production lines. For example, large, rectangular sheets of waxed cardboard were fed into a bus-sized machine that punched out circles destined to support frozen pizza products soon to hit Ontario grocery shelves. My job was to gather discarded remnants left behind after the circles were gathered and stacked by busy workers at the machine’s far end.

As I walked around the factory floor, I drowned out these cacophonous mechanisms with headphones connected to my portable CD player. That summer, my favourites were Don Henley’s End Of The Innocence (#389 on The 500) and the soundtrack to the Martin Scorsese film The Passion Of The Christ by Peter Gabriel. Because I wasn’t working with the many clanking contraptions around the facility, I was permitted to wear headphones connected by wires to a device.

I was a solid bailer – efficient and dependable. Within weeks, I earned a raise, a whole 50 cents an hour, along with a promotion to the cutting machine. That’s when things went sideways and I realized too late that I should have declined the offer. First, I had to retire my trusty CD player. Then came the safety glasses and a gigantic pair of noise-cancelling headphones, gear that made me feel less like an employee and more like part of these iron giants. The opening scene in Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times – where he is trapped in the cogs of a factory apparatus – always comes to mind when I think of those days.

By the end of day one, I knew I’d made a terrible mistake. The job was mind-numbingly monotonous. For eight hours a day (minus the sacred coffee and cigarette breaks), I stood at the end of a machine, catching sheets of cardboard launched at me by a grizzled veteran who looked like he’d been born beside that cutter. Every ten sheets, I’d pivot like a robot and stack them on a wooden pallet. The only brief reprieve was when the stack reached about five feet high and we would wrap it in cellophane and call over the forklift operator to remove it…only to begin anew. It was silent. It was soul-sucking. It was cardboard purgatory. I watched enviously as my successor bailer wandered by with his cart and his freedom…music blasting away in his headphones.

This would be my one, and only, factory job. I survived it for the summer and redoubled my efforts in university that fall. It was a good experience because it showed me the challenging world of blue-collar labour firsthand. It’s a world captured with raw honesty and poetic grit by Bruce Springsteen – affectionately known by his fans as “The Boss”. Springsteen has long been a voice for the common man, chronicling the struggles, hopes, and quiet heroism of the working class. His lyrics, nurtured in the sweat and soul of factory floors, union halls, and small-town dreams, gave resonance to what I experienced that summer. The songs on Darkness On The Edge Of Town (#150 on The 500) echoed the realities of millions of people, reminding us that dignity and hardship often work hand in hand.

Released in 1978, Darkness on the Edge of Town marked a turning point in Springsteen’s career. The introspective follow-up to the breakout success of his third studio release, Born to Run (#18 on The 500), included lyrics stripped of the romanticism found in Springsteen’s earlier works. Darkness on the Edge of Town delves into themes of disillusionment, resilience, and the quiet dignity of working-class life. Springsteen trades youthful exuberance for a mature, hard-earned realism with songs such as Badlands, The Promised Land, and the haunting title track,. The album’s raw sound and lyrical depth cemented his role not just as a rock icon, but as a storyteller about the common man.

Springsteen has a knack for capturing the tension between hope and hardship with unflinching honesty. In 2009, he was honoured at The Kennedy Center For Performing Arts in New York City with a Lifetime Achievement Award for his contributions to American Culture. Fellow New Jersey native and comedian Jon Stewart introduced Springsteen gave a witty, heartfelt and reverent speech that highlighted his (and by extension many fans’) admiration for Springsteen’s legacy.

As Stewart put it:

“Whenever I see Bruce Springsteen do anything, he empties the tank – every time. He has never once performed without total commitment to his family, his art, his audience, and his country.”

The seventh track on Darkness On The Edge Of Town is simply called Factory. A lyric from it has resonated with me since my first listen:

“Factory takes his hearing, Factory gives him life.”

Those eight simple words capture the paradox of a working class existence for so many – the price they pay for earning a living..

I’m thankful that noise-cancelling headphones were mandatory for me in 1989. Not only did they preserve my hearing, they gave me time with my thoughts and, although I was just a tourist in the blue collar world, I learned to respect their tolerance of tedium and monotony to support themselves and their families.

The 500 - #151 - Funeral - Arcde Fire

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. 

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Album: #151
Album Title: Funeral

Artist: Arcade Fire

Genre: Art Rock, Chamber Pop, Baroque Pop, Symphonic Pop

Recorded: Hotel2Tango, Montreal, Canada

Released: September, 2004

My age at release: 39
How familiar was I with it before this week: A couple songs

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #500 - dropping 249 spots
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Wake Up

On May 10, 2025, actor Walton Goggins made his long-awaited debut as host of Saturday Night Live (SNL), appearing in the penultimate episode of the show's milestone 50th season. For my wife and me, longtime admirers of his work, it felt like a victory lap. We've enjoyed Goggins for years, captivated by his ability to effortlessly shift between razor-sharp comedy and riveting drama in standout roles from Justified and Vice Principals to Django Unchained and The Righteous Gemstones.

The Internet agreed and social media lit up in celebration. Goggins had already crashed into the cultural mainstream with his Emmy Award nomination in The White Lotus Season 3, and his SNL hosting gig only affirmed what fans already knew: He was not just having a moment, he was defining one.

At 53, Goggins is more than a scene-stealer. He's a creative force whose career spans acting, filmmaking, photography, travel, brand design, and entrepreneurship as co-owner of a gin and whisky distillery. That night on SNL, his magnetic energy reminded us why he's not merely part of the zeitgeist, currently, he is the zeitgeist.

On the same episode, Canadian indie rock stalwarts Arcade Fire returned as musical guests, promoting their seventh studio album, Pink Elephant. Longtime favorites of SNL creator and executive producer Lorne Michaels, this marked Arcade Fire’s sixth appearance on the show in 18 years – a record unmatched by any band in the modern era, surpassed only by Kanye West, who appeared seven times between 2005 and 2018. Yet, unlike guest host Walton Goggins, Arcade Fire's performance drew mixed reactions on social media, with fans divided over their current creative direction.

The group formed in Montreal in 2001 when high school friends Win Butler and Josh Deu began collaborating on music. They soon invited Régine Chassagne, then a music student at McGill University, to join. The lineup expanded with multi-instrumentalists over the next two years, but in 2003, Deu departed to pursue filmmaking and visual art, though he continued contributing creatively through web content and music videos.

That same summer, 2023, the newly solidified band featured Win and William Butler, Chassagne, Richard Reed Parry, Tim Kingsbury, and Howard Bilerman, They began recording what would become their iconic debut, Funeral.

The album’s title and emotional weight stemmed from personal losses suffered during its production:

• In June, 2003, Chassagne lost her grandmother to Parkinson’s disease.
• In February, 2004, the Butler brothers' grandfather, legendary swing guitarist Alvino Rey, passed away.
• Just weeks later, Richard Reed Parry’s aunt, described by him as the “family matriarch,” died of cancer.

These losses fueled the album’s raw emotional core, helping Funeral become one of the most critically acclaimed debuts of its generation and the record was nothing short of a revelation.

The album earned universal acclaim upon release, receiving a towering 9.7/10 rating from Pitchfork, which named it the Best Album of 2004. It was later ranked #2 on their list of the decade’s best, second only to Radiohead’s Kid A (#67 on The 500). The record also received a Grammy nomination for Best Alternative Music Album, cementing its place in indie rock history.

Radiohead's Kid A Album Cover

In addition, It garnered star-studded endorsements from music legends who weren’t shy with their admiration, including Bruce Springsteen and David Bowie who collectively have 13 records on The 500. Springsteen championed Arcade Fire’s emotional intensity and ambition and Bowie praised the band’s “uninhibited passion” and described their sweeping orchestral sound as a “kaleidoscopic, dizzy sort of rush.”

On September 8, 2005, Bowie joined the band on stage at Radio City Music Hall in New York for a stunning performance of their anthemic single Wake Up. It marked one of Bowie’s first appearances following a medical hiatus, a moment both poignant and electrifying, etched into music folklore. It can be seen here.

Bowie performing with Arcade Fire 2005.

Funeral didn’t just succeed, it re-defined indie rock, fusing Baroque pop and art rock, with anthemic power and orchestral flourishes that punctuate raw, grief-fueled storytelling. Its impact echoed for years, inspiring new indie-rock bands that embraced:

• Expansive lineups and layered instrumentation
• Concept albums with emotional or political themes
• Theatrical performances more akin to communal rites than typical rock shows

Arcade Fire released a succession of critically acclaimed and commercially successful albums, including Neon Bible, Reflektor, and my personal favourite, The Suburbs, an album introduced to me by friend James Spangenberg during a cottage weekend with friends in 2017.

Suburbs Album Cover.

They became known for pushing sonic boundaries while remaining emotionally grounded. Their stature grew steadily, with regular invitations to perform on Saturday Night Live, where they sometimes even appeared in comedy sketches alongside the cast – a rare crossover earned only by true favorites.

In August, 2022, Pitchfork published a detailed investigation in which four individuals accused Arcade Fire front-man Win Butler of sexual misconduct. The accusers – three women and one gender-fluid person– were all between the ages of 18 and 23 at the time of the alleged incidents, which reportedly took place between 2015 and 2020. In November, a fifth person using the pseudonym “Sabina” came forward, describing a prolonged three-year relationship with Butler that she characterized as manipulative and emotionally abusive.

In response, Butler, who is married to bandmate Régine Chassagne, acknowledged engaging in extramarital affairs. He stated, “I have had consensual relationships outside of my marriage. The majority of these relationships were short-lived, and my wife is aware – our marriage has, in the past, been more unconventional than some.”

Butler and wife, Chassagne.

The reaction from fans was swift and divided. For many, the allegations struck a dissonant chord against the band’s long-standing image of emotional sincerity and progressive ideals. Some expressed deep disappointment, feeling unable to continue engaging with the music in the same way. Others attempted to compartmentalize, choosing to uphold their appreciation for the band’s art while grappling with discomfort over Butler’s alleged behavior. A vocal minority defended Butler, pointing to the absence of legal charges and his insistence on consent, although this defense was often criticized as tone-deaf to the experiences of the accusers.

The legacy of a band like Arcade Fire, particularly their landmark debut Funeral, is now entangled in a cultural and moral reckoning. Allegations against front-man Butler have sparked calls for boycotts and cancellations – reactions that, though emotionally understandable, invite more difficult questions. What becomes of the other band members — Chassagne, Parry, Kingsbury who, along with Butler, are still with the band and had no involvement in the alleged misconduct? Should their creative legacies and financial futures be tethered to accusations about the behavior of one person?

After the story broke, several radio stations removed Arcade Fire’s music from rotation. Album sales dipped, ticket demand slowed, and when the band was announced as musical guest on the Walton Goggins-hosted SNL episode last May, backlash flared again. Fans and commentators debated the ethics of spotlighting a group still navigating unresolved controversy.

Arcade Fire Perform on SNL.

For me, this dilemma echoed the fate of The Cosby Show, which was pulled from syndication following the revelations about Bill Cosby. While Cosby himself was rightly held accountable, the show's removal also meant that actors, writers, and crew, many of whom depended on residuals, lost a vital source of income. They, too, were collateral damage in a conflict they did not choose to participate in. The question isn't whether we should hold powerful figures accountable – we must – but whether our mechanisms for doing so are precise or indiscriminate. In our rush to condemn, are we also sanctioning the work of those who did nothing wrong?

I won’t claim a moral position here. It's not my place to do so. However, as events unfolded, I found myself thinking about that collateral damage. About the musicians and collaborators whose lives are tied to the art they helped build, yet who are now tainted by someone else’s actions. They’re left in a kind of limbo: revered, implicated, and uncertain. It’s one thing to call for accountability; it’s another to ask whether our efforts to achieve it leave enough room for nuance.

Perhaps the most honest response is simply to live with that discomfort—to acknowledge that art and its makers are never immune to contradiction. Funeral can still crack open a heart, even if the band behind it is now fractured by moral dissonance.

To erase the music entirely may feel justified, but it also risks silencing the creativity of those who had no voice in the allegations. So maybe the better question isn’t whether to listen, but how to listen – with nuance and space for uncomfortable truths. We’re often forced to negotiate lines between reverence and responsibility, and some lines refuse to be neatly drawn.