Yesterday we asked, is there even one person out there paid to review music who doesn’t like Arcade Fire? We’re talking their 2004 debut LP in particular, so, if you’ve been awake the last five years, you know this will be tough. Acknowledging the depth of the challenge, the best we can offer for the early round is to head straight to Metacritic and, of course, straight to the bottom of the page. The most savaging review is lukewarm at worst: a 60 out of 100 from Dusted Magazine. We read:

Canada’s virtues as a haven for creative minds are being extolled by indie-scenesters throughout North America, and the mythologization of the “Canadian aesthetic” is now fully underway. It’s a process that sometimes undermines objectivity in evaluating groups from the country – and can often overshadow a band’s merits as well as its faults. Hailing from Montreal, the Arcade Fire’s Merge Records debut is impressive, but an excess of praise has been heaped upon the band by tastemakers looking to chew up and spit out the next underground icon.

Maybe, but this is hardly a critique of their music.

There’s a ragged winsomeness in the band’s ’80s-tinged sound, full of open-ended instrumentation and hazy production, and not without its drawbacks. “Neighborhood #2” suffers from the common affliction of jagged, pointy guitars going through the downstroke motions – when will this trend stop?

Technical instrumentation critiques. Shrug.

“Neighborhood 4” is no beacon of originality, either; it apes the worst of Modest Mouse, but redeems itself with a clever guitar figure and expressive lyrics.

Granted, the present correspondent isn’t terribly comfortable with hyperbaric chamber pop, either, but apparently Arcade Fire is. Sandwiched between the kinetic “Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)” and the crescendo “Crown of Love,” “Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettles)” seeks here an intermission ballad, for rest and tension. I’ve never plumbed the depths of a Modest Mouse LP so I’ll have to leave the “apes the worst of” comment unchallenged, but the track reminds me chillingly of late-80s hairspray metal bands employing the same method. And isn’t the advance of music meant to nudge us out of otherwise comfortable climates? Music critics and music bloggers included?

Win Butler’s voice gives the songs an awkward lilt that’s cheery even on the most delicate numbers. Somewhere between David Byrne and Tom Verlaine, he strains for notes and usually hits ’em, but his reedy bellows are a just a short step away from annoying. Passionate delivery gets him through, however, and with each listen, what was once grating becomes as comfortable as a pair of old slippers.

True, he isn’t Whitney Houston. But imagine the diva’s diva vocalizing alongside xylophone and accordion.

In the end, Dusted offers a qualified salute:

The song “Wake Up” is an ugly beauty reminiscent of Camper Van Beethoven, and delivers a soaring chorus pushing [Régine] Chassagne’s voice to the fore. The grandiose arrangement soldiers forward, before breaking into a tragic-comic coda with saloon piano plucking the strings of heartbreak. On this number, the group again hits all the right points – optimism in the face of tragedy, and boogie in the heart of the dirge.

If there were more songs like this on the disc, Funeral would be a great album. Marred by indie-rock clichés and occasional over-effort, it remains frustrating.

Arcade Fire: pure protein, since 2003!

If you know of any more scathing marquee critiques of their debut LP, please drop us a line.