It’s something of an obsession, this fascination of Win Butler’s with the potency of childhood memory, with leaving home via a long drive and (inevitably) with returning, whether literally or only in the mind. Yep, Butler certainly has his ear tuned to the call of the (suburban) wild. Not that surprising, perhaps, given his band’s unabashed love of The Boss. So to the third LP from Arcade Fire, who first showered us with the sparks of their dizzyingly exultant orchestral pop in 2004. Epic is how their songs are usually described and that still applies. Much as we admire AF, we must confess our hearts did sag at the thought of 16 new tracks, because a) we don’t want to fall victim to Stendhal Syndrome and b) they’re not a bloody hip hop crew. That The Suburbs gets away with its panoramic sprawl – just – is a tribute to the band’s certitude and singularity of vision.

It’s a record likely to divide listeners between those thrilled by the septet’s unexpected shifts and those appalled by the fact that they’ve dared move on. The hammering lamentation to the lost art of letter-writing that is We Used to Wait, the heroic Suburban War and the cooing, curiously Kraftwerk-like Rococo should calm them, but the frequent leaps out of character are likely to upset/puzzle purists. Take the synthy, new-wave gleam of Ready to Start and Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains), Empty Room, which suggests Heroes scored by Sufjan Stevens, the mix of Blondie and John Mellencamp that is Modern Man, the retro Weimar vibe of Sprawl I (Flatland) and a shockingly QOTSAlike Month of May. All Arcade Fire, Jim, but not as we know them. To which we can only say – bravo. Once again.

Sharon O’Connell