The British music press is a funny thing. For all the reserve that is ascribed to the British character, there certainly always a lot of hyperventilation about the next “big thing”, especially if that next big thing is British. They have not always been wrong; Oasis, for a time, was in fact the best band around. So was Radiohead. And who knew the Stone Roses would implode rather than save our souls? That being said, there are only so many times one can be told that bands like Teenage Fanclub or Elastica or Kula Shaker or Spacehog would be the answer to your life’s problems before you start deeply considering shooting the messenger and devoting your life to Balinese Gamelan music.
I had an extremely cynical reaction when I first heard of the Arctic Monkeys for exactly that reason. No sooner had their first album come out than it was being heralded as the “5th greatest British album of all time” (by, of course, NME). The sheer ridiculousness of the statement was enough to put me off the Arctic Monkeys, and after giving Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not a very skeptical listen (the album name didn’t help either), I was more than willing to consign the band to the nether regions my mind, never to be thought about again.
Then I married an East Anglian whose brother is a huge Arctic Monkeys fan. Plus, it’s been a few years now, and I’m trying to be less rigid about these kinds of things. The Arctic Monkeys have put out a few more albums, all of which have been greeted with the same Pavlovian enthusiasm as the debut. Regardless of the ire that rises in me at all that purple prose, I figured I grow up and give them a real listen.
Whatever certainly doesn’t leave you guessing about where this band’s loyalties reside: loud, fast, smartass music for drunken snarling teenagers and twentysomethings. Listen to “Dancing Shoes”, and you’ll pretty much get where they’re coming from:
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The best track on the album, however, is “A Certain Romance”, an ambivalent valentine to Chavs, or at least to a chavvy night out. While their calling card is fast, raspy punk-esque tears, “Romance” points to something else. The rhythm doesn’t drag, but the band doesn’t seem feel any need to rush. The melody is sweet but not twee. More than the rest of the album, it points to a real artistic voice emerging and suggests more than just tipsy punk songs coming out of this band.
Favourite Worst Nightmare, released a little over a year after Whatever, treads on similar ground; fast & loud, calling out poseurs and phonies, doesn’t really stop to catch its breath (or if you prefer to think of it a different way, it sounds a little coked out). The main difference between the first and second albums is that Favourite Worst Nightmare is just a better album. The band is tighter, the lyrics are better, the dynamic range is less pinched; all around I find this a more satisfying listening experience- I guess that makes it the fourth greatest album of all time?
Most impressive, however, was the release of Humbug at the end of last summer. Recorded in LA and New York (La sessions produced by Josh Homme), Humbug proved to be a significant leap forward artistically. While it has its moments of Monkey-esque sprite, the overall pacing is far more subdued, and frankly, more mature. The vocals, content-wise, are better and, while there are still chringeworthy moments (“which came first, the chicken or the dickhead”), Turner’s lyrical wit seem to be taking it’s place in the long line of excellent British snark-writers, taking equal doses of Mozzy and Rotten. The vibe overall is a lot darker- they’re snarling on the inside. Plus they finally seem to be exploring new sounds: they’ve discover tremolo, organs abound, the vocals are less fuzzed out. There are actually oohs and aahs and harmonies. There’s something to be said for letting a song build towards something, for not giving it all away from the opening bars- maybe it’s a consequence of being told you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread for your last two albums, but it’s nice that they make the listener work a little for it, and give us the credit enough to get there on our own.
The Arctic Monkeys are becoming a very good band. No, the Artic Monkeys are not going to save the planet. Nor will they save British music, but, having entered into their “Help” phase, they certainly don’t seem to show any signs of fatigue or running out of ideas. Let’s hope the rest of us can keep up with finding new and inventive ways to praise them.
