The Arcade Fire continue to brandish their creativity.

As if a live set performed at Madison Square Garden and streamed through YouTube for millions to see wasn’t enough. With their latest web-venture, the Arcade Fire seem primed to take over the Internet’s music domain.

The band, which is no stranger to explorations of the sonic sort, has broken new digital ground. Let me rephrase that: They’ve shattered the intangible surface with a jack hammer.

I present to you an interactive video titled The Wilderness Downtown, an extremely creative project from the distinctively imaginative group. This will surely garner even more attention for the Canadian rockers, whose new album entered the Billboard Top 200 albums chart at No. 1.

The music video for the single “We Used to Wait” first invites viewers—or users—to submit the address of their childhood home. Then what unfolds is true novelty. With the help and collaboration of filmmaker Chris Milk, Google Maps, and Google Street View, a barrage of browser windows emerge and transport. Like an online cocktail, the pop ups mix multiple ingredients: a scene following an unknown figure running atop asphalt, animated elements of nature, maps of your old neighborhood, and views of your old home. The virtual tour culminates with an invitation of sorts to reach out to your former self.

The video’s concept draws from the overarching theme of The Arcade Fire’s third studio album, titled “The Suburbs.” More importantly, the Web site offers fans the opportunity to plunge further into a track by connecting them on a personal—albeit technological—level. Keep in mind that experts say viewers can only experience the journey properly using Google Chrome or Apple’s Safari browsers.

Leave it to The Arcade Fire to unleash the perfect virtual blend of past, present, and future. The Wilderness Downtown invites users into untouched territory, and it sets a new standard for music videos on the Wild Wild Web.

All adolescent humor aside, I’m a fan of covers*. And tonight’s Denver Does Denver offers a heaping helping of renditions of some of the Mile High City’s best by some of Mile High City’s best. Presented by Illiterate Magazine, the event is dubbed “a swinging time of artistic intercourse with over 20 musical acts and 20 visual artists interpreting the material of their predecessors and contemporaries within the city.” Sounds pretty racy.

It’s a MooTown medley of music and artwork. And like a jabber-teen’s secret diary, Westword recently exposed who will be covering and reinterpreting which artists at the second annual Denver Does Denver.

What strikes me the most is Illiterate’s coaxing for artists to push the envelope. Nothing sounds—or even tastes—as bland as an unoriginal, uninspired cover song. And with so much local talent wedged into one affair, the sparks will fly high.

While the music lineup echoes with promise, a couple concoctions in particular stand out to me.

Just muse over the idea of Americana folk artists Legendary River Drifters…

…covering the trash metal of Speedwolf.

Among other standouts, this sounds like a recipe for something epic. It has all the fixings to result in the musical equivalent of my mad scientist creations when I was a kid.

And although Danielle Ate the Sandwich, one of Denver’s prime coverers (see: Miley Cyrus’ “Party in the U.S.A.”), is absent from the bill, tonight will provide a special opportunity to witness how other local bands handle the tunes of another. You may discover a match made in heaven. Or even hell.

*If you share this sentiment, check out Under the Covers on Radio 1190, 6 p.m. MST every Tuesday.

KCRW released a new song by Ray LaMontagne and The Pariah Dogs this week titled “New York City’s Killing Me.” Once again, I had very little expectation. But after one listen, I was completely on board.

In classic LaMontagne style, the music evades the grandiose. And while, with the addition of the Pariah Dogs, LaMontagne evolves a bit from his minimalist style of earthy plucking, this track still reveals some very bare bones. Much like his acoustic-folking contemporaries—Iron & Wine, Joe Purdy—his sound remains ripe with soul, largely due to the frontman’s lyricism.

With this cut, LaMontagne puts me back in New York City. As the coarsely voiced conductor, he invites me aboard, checks my bags, and guides me to my seat. And as the tried and trained engineer, he transports me to a place where “No one asks you how you’re doing…don’t seem to care if you live or if you die.”

But the most telling matter of all is that I’ve never even been to the Big Apple. And yet, as Ray reveals, I think we all find ourselves trapped in a “New York City” at some point.

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Well today offers music lovers and champions of independent culture the chance to celebrate the true meaning of record stores. Today is Record Store Day. The informal holiday honors independent record stores, which host live music performances and offer many exclusive vinyl albums from all sorts of artists, including Muse, Devo, Gorillaz, Widespread Panic, Beach House, The Flaming Lips, and Neil Young. This is all vinyl gold. Here’s a list of exclusive products that could be on sale at a record store near you.

Participating stores in the Metro area include Albums on the Hill and Absolute Vinyl in Boulder, and Indepenedent and Twist and Shout in Denver. Each store offers a different selection of Record Store Day vinyl and artist performances, so check with your favorite spot to see what’s happening.

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I (as a music listener) cast this statement based on the premise that satellite radio also promises a wide variety. But, based on my bonding time lately, I find that the variety found on each channel hardly transcends that of commerical radio (of which, you can likely guess, I am not the biggest fan either).

Yes, subscribers can select from a multitude of channels. However, most channels featured on the rotating music schedule at my workplace confine themselves to a constant repetition of the same hit songs every day. With the occasional—and much appreciated—anomaly sprinkled in here and there. I just don’t think my health can take hearing The Offspring’s “Pretty Fly For A White Guy” every single day much longer.

(This is the cardinal crime of mainstream radio, a point that I’d like to elaborate on at some point. Because this “crime” is, of course, what keeps the “music business” afloat.)

Now allow me descend from my throne and explain a recent incident concerning satellite radio that I rather enjoyed. Just when I thought I’d drown in the current of top music hits for good, AltNation tossed me a lifebuoy when the station played a song by We Were Promised Jetpacks. Sweet, sweet salvation.

Not only was it a relief to hear something new, but this is a band that intrigued me from the moment I heard its debut album, titled “These Four Walls” and released June 2009. And these boys from Scotland have been receiving various types of praise ever since, including an appearance on Paste Magazine’s recent “Best of the Best” top band names list.

But a band’s name merely draws listeners in, while the music itself keeps them around. And while these indie rockers from overseas used their name as an opportunity to cleverly expose an futile facade of the “future,” it’s obvious that they’ve turned any bitter resentment into pounding clashes of rock music.

The Glasgow-based band is currently on its first headlining tour, making a stop in Denver to play at the Hi-Dive tonight. The band is also selling an exclusive EP “The Last Place You’ll Look” that is only available on this tour.

To celebrate Valentine’s Day, I spent last night with the true love of my life: live music.

St. Vincent delivered the audio equivalent of a dozen roses and a box of the sweetest candy at the Bluebird in Denver. And I’m still gushing.

Annie Clark is the woman behind the curtain. A talented instrumentalist, she gained instant critical acclaim when she launched her solo career in 2006. Her latest release, titled “Actor,” hurled its way on to my list of top albums from 2009.

A true “songwriter,” Annie blends rock, pop, jazz, and electronic styles. Then she sticks it with an IV full of orchestration. And while her recorded efforts can give you goosebumps, I’d heard that St. Vincent’s live performances take it to a whole new level.

For a softspoken musician who bridges a solid gap between art and popular music, the Brooklyn resident’s stage presence is quite strong. And absolutely alluring. At one point, the crowd’s acclaim prompted a mirthful reprimanding from the frontwoman, who joked that the praise would trigger her shame reflex. With this type of poise, Annie’s perceived fragility evaporated instantly.

But the best expressions erupted through her music. Quite contrasting. And even more mesmerizing. As St. Vincent’s nucleus, Annie’s guitar growls alongside the sounds of her backing band, which includes drums, keys, violins, and woodwinds. The group jumped from dulcet melodies to raucous strains, incorporating sounds that both enchanted and haunted.

And a simple yet striking light display complemented the lavish performance, as rays of bright, colored lights ricocheted around the stage, casting large shadows on multiple white backdrops. At times I expected brooms to dance across the stage, as the show struck me as indie rock’s version of the Disney classic “Fantasia.”

And so I crown St. Vincent the patron saint of ethereal art rock. Today is a day for lovers, as Valentine’s Day centers around intimacy, passion, and emotion. Last night St. Vincent delivered.

To brighten your holiday a tad, here’s a video of Annie performing a pleasantly jarring cover of The Beatles’ “Dig A Pony.”