I ripped my pants (twice) at an Arcade Fire concert, and I feel just fine

On a pleasant September evening in San Francisco, a couple years back, I was on a BART train to Berkeley, where I’d hike the mile or so from the station on a steady incline to the Greek Theater where I’d enjoy the second and final night of Arcade Fire’s three-show tour in which the band was playing their first album, Funeral, in its entirety.

The ride on the train, soundproof headphones canceling the click-clacking of wheels on the track, allowed me to tear through late-afternoon torpor as I brushed up on…