Arctic Monkeys
“What?” – Me
“Can I see some ID?” – Convenience store employee
Albums Reviewed:
What People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not
The Arctic Monkeys are a bunch of douchebags younger than the kids who have dance rehearsal outside my window every other day and cause the dogs of both my landlord and the neighbor to bark incessantly. They’re from a suburb of Sheffield in England, which leads to lead singer Alex Turner’s having a thick enough accent that I can’t actually understand what he’s saying most of the time (and which I apparently misidentified in my review of their first album…whoop-de-doo). The British press called them the greatest thing since the Beatles when they had the fastest-selling debut album of all time across the pond a year or two back, but the British press probably just needs to have a good shag and calm the fuck down. The band plays a style of indie-rock that consists of really busy, usually jagged guitars and driving drums that play a bunch of mediocre riffs in such quick succession you don’t notice they’re mediocre until a month later after you’ve bought both of their albums and joined their fan club because Matt Helders’ copious teenage acne is just so cute!!!! As you can tell, I’m not that impressed by these four young (and I mean young; I hear Alex Turner still wears footie pajamas) men, and while I think they’re better than the fucking Killers, I also think that even the likes of Bloc Party are clearly superior to these idiots, and it’s not like I’m a huge fan of the way too earnest, emaciated black guy with the spider dreads that fronts that decent yet unspectacular outfit. They’re also decidedly mediocre live, as I discovered at Coachella a few months ago. They just, like, stand there, and don’t move, and play exact replicas of their studio songs. They’re a jukebox. Blooch. Alex Turner’s voice is better than Geddy Lee’s, though.
Lineup! In your picture above, from left, are guitarist Jamie Cook, lead singer/guitarist Alex Turner, drummer Matt Helders and his acne, and original bassist Andy “Chubbs” Nicholson. Nicholson left because he couldn’t handle the fame and bright lights of international superstardom (dude, you’re like 13! At least develop a drug habit first!), and has been replaced by one Nick O’Malley. Now go buy Siren by Roxy Music.
And, onto the reviews!
Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not
(2006)
Rating: 6
Best Song: “Mardy
Bum”
I like how we’re getting Franz Ferdinand ripoffs now. Isn’t Franz a ripoff? So now we’re getting ripoffs of ripoffs? Will we see an Arctic Monkeys ripoff band in about two years that’s absolutely horrible? It’s like that Simpsons episode where Sideshow Bob was mayor of a small Italian town, Peter Griffin was wanted for “Plagiarismo,” and the father from that gawd-awful American Dad show was wanted for “Plagiarismo di Plagiarismo.” Or that Michael Keaton movie where he keeps cloning himself and the fifth one is retarded (By the way, what ever happened to him? He was Batman! Now he’s making White Noise?). So a ripoff can still be good, but a ripoff of a ripoff has a lower ceiling, and a ripoff of a ripoff of a ripoff has a lower ceiling still, etc. etc. etc.
Anyway, the Arctic Monkeys and their ridiculous band name are the current Flavor of the Month over in Limeyville and their debut album I’m reviewing here is apparently being hailed as the best thing since Oasis (making them band #673 to be called “the best British guitar-rock band since Oasis” in the last decade). In a shocking development, they take their cues from eighties British post-punk bands as well as (a new twist!) the bands that started emulating them about five years ago. So there’s just as much Strokes/Franz influence here as there is Jam/Smiths (although I sense no Smiths influence here at all and only mention them because everyone else seems to). In another shocking development, they’re full of angular guitar riffs and chimey rhythm guitars and dancey-disco drums and their singer has a cockney accent and seems unable to pronounce the “th” sound correctly (see Bloc Party for another example of this new, apparently “hip” vocal style). The vocals, though, are just about the only unique thing about this band, and my favorite aspect of their sound. While the cockney black guy with the spider half-dreads in Bloc Party just sounds like a pussy, Alex Turner actually sounds really energetic and cool, and the rambling nature of a lot of his lyrics lends a bit of sloppiness to the proceedings that I heartily endorse, and which is further emphasized by the live-sounding backing shout vocals on a lot of the stuff.
So the
vocals are good. Good for them. The guitars generally sound pretty nice, too,
very loud and occasionally getting all distorted and mean when the band wants
to play loud and rawk. The drummer is
OK, too, and is able to keep up the same frenetic tempo for all forty minutes
and sound pretty convincing doing it. So
we’ve got some nice ingredients tossed into our stew here, but problems
remain. First is the fact I’ve alluded
to before that this band has no
originality whatsoever, and half the time what I’m hearing sounds like
Franz Ferdinand with ADD. Like, picture
Franz Ferdinand, with their angular guitars and hi-hat-happy disco drums and
dancy fun beats and smirking sense of humor.
Now take out the smirking sense of humor, make the beats twice as fast
but half as danceable, smoosh five ideas haphazardly into every song instead of
choosing the right few to develop, and get some admittedly energetic cockney
bloke off the street to yell about his adventures throwing up behind a bar in
So yeah, three songs here are very good. “I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor” is a butt-kicking hard rocker with the only chorus that I could see showing up on one of these guys’ superior contemporaries’ albums, while the slightly melancholy closer “A Certain Romance,” after a one-minute intro that sounds like every other song on the record, does away with the sometimes annoying hectic angularity of the bulk of it in favor of a preponderance of little chimey riffs that all work together to create a lovely little time and work well as a contrast to when the BIG ROCKING comes back at the end. Dynamics, you know? And “Mardy Bum” has an absolutely irresistible faux-surf guitar riff that I can’t get enough of. Like “A Certain Romance,” it’s a welcome break from the rest of the record in its light, summer jumpiness. Great guitar solo at the end, too. Sometimes simple and catchy is the best way to go, which is not something I’m sure these guys agree with me on. See, except for the odd ballad here or there (like “Riot Van,” which is uneventful to the point of pissing me off), the rest of the album is an admittedly neat-sounding and energetic mish-mash of angular guitar riffs and shouted lyrics that is almost totally unable to differentiate itself from itself. It feels like the band came up with 20 or 25 incredibly similar-sounding guitar riffs, taped them all to a wall, then blindfolded themselves and tossed darts at said wall in lieu of, you know, writing songs. This album needs Ritalin. Except for the three really good songs and “Riot Van,” you could pick anything else here and press play and I wouldn’t be able to tell you what it is. And except for maybe the riff in “Mardy Bum,” it’s not like these things are original either. Half of them sound like Franz Ferdinand rejects. Loads of energy and an engaging singer are all well and good, but this type of haphazard, cut-and-paste “songwriting” process grates on me pretty quick, and it doesn’t help that the average length of a track is between 2:30 and 3:00. Usually long tracks lengths are a bad thing, but the hectic, unfocused nature of the songs on display here means that two or three minutes just isn’t enough time. I’m starting to think I like “A Certain Romance” so much because it breaks five minutes and actually has enough time to register. I guess it’s the ideal album for the MTV Generation then, eh? Each idea’s gone in like 30 seconds so teenagers with the attention span of a gnat won’t get bored.
I, in a cockney accent, say “rubbish” to that. I’ll reiterate again that this album sounds very good, has boatloads of energy, great vocals, and at least a couple of real well-done songs. The vast majority of the material, though, just can’t hack it. If these guys could ever figure out how to write songs instead of randomly mashing three disparate-sounding angular guitar riffs together, they might have something, but for now it’s just hype.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go review another crappy Bob Dylan album.
Jack Feeny (jackfeeny@yahoo.co.uk) writes:
I don't know whether you said
it just to wind me up but describing Alex Turner as singing in a 'cockney'
accent is like saying Lou Reed sings with a Texan accent. Northern cities
in England have to work hard to distinguish themselves from London and it
doesn't help when geographically challenged Yanks like yourself make
sweeping generalisations about 'Europaland' or whatever you like to call
it.
ddickson@rice.edu writes:
Ouch. Jack
"Goshdarned" Feeny. You've gotta admit, he gotcha good there.
After all, every geographically literate person the world over has
the time AND the inclination to learn how to distinguish
COCKNEY ACCENTS IN GREAT BRITAIN, FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST. This album's
alright, though.
Matt Voelker (kasmirr144@yahoo.com) writes:
I just went and saw
these guys last night, and i gotta say it was not worth the 30 some dollars i
spent. they were touring with We Are Scientists, another so-so same kind of
style band, and it was there last night together on tour, so naturally they
both drank themselves silly. we waited on the floor for an hour and a half,
only to meet an alex turner who could only mumble incoherently;
"thanksyoursselves for fuckin' cominnggg out herrrr to seeeeeeee the
arcttictchc monkskeyyssk!!! shibbiddyshoobidydooofucckkkkk
Barrett Barnard (okeydoke0@yahoo.com) writes:
Hey Brad. Let's start a band,
if only to knock the Arctic Monkeys out of the mainstream of conscience.
We'll call it Great Shakes.
Favourite Worst Nightmare (2007)
Rating: 6
Best Song: “Fluorescent
Adolescent”
Admirably quick turnaround for
album number two by everyone’s favorite
*Checks own website*
Ah. They had a good guitar sound, great energy, and entertaining vocals. In short, it sounded like they were having fun, even if they didn’t know how to write “proper” songs. I guess they still sound like they’re having fun, but it also sounds like they’re full of themselves and Alex Turner sounds like a pompous prick (and looked like one at Coachella. He had a pink Izod shirt on with the collar popped! I’m serious! Douche!). Call me crazy, but I don’t think rock stars should be allowed to put on an “I’m cooler than everyone” affectation until they’re at least, I dunno, 17 years old. And since I think the new bassist was in one of my 7th grade Latin sections last year, these guys have obviously not gotten there yet.
So yeah. The vocals are still relatively cool-sounding, but they’re almost self-consciously affected instead of just being young and energetic and fun. As such, the energy isn’t quite the same as it was on their debut, since the vocals are such an important factor when trying to figure out how much fun a band is having and how much energy they’re playing with. The guitars don’t sound as immediately cool, either, but at least that’s due to the band’s newfound desire to write songs that don’t need Ritalin. The regular tone isn’t as “jagged” as before, but the riffs they’re producing (still 2nd-rate, but eh) are being allowed to breathe and develop (sorta…well, for this band they are) into full-fledged songs, and, just like last time, we have a few sure fire winners amidst the general muck I’ll get to in a second. The ridiculously titled “Fluorescent Adolescent” might be the best song these guys have done yet, a lovely and melodic mid-tempo number (I don’t want to sound like an old fart here…but this is something they should try more of; try listening to “Balaclava” or something and tell me that parts of it couldn’t benefit a little from slowing the fuck down; I’ll say I love the bass/cowbell section of that one, though. Good times) that gives the most thought to “craft” and “layers” that I think I’ve ever heard from an Arctic Monkeys song. The two principal guitar riffs work together with the bass line superbly and contrast very nicely with the chord sequence in the chorus, and that guitar sound they layer on the second verse is easily the best single idea on the record. The only one that comes close is the decision to have all those layered, interlocking backing vocals at the end. Real good stuff, it is.
The other
song I’m gonna take time out to praise is “Teddy Picker,” which has the single
best riff on the album by far (it’s like a spy guitar riff!), and when they
change it up a bit later, it’s to either a) layer on a second and totally
bad-ass guitar sound or solo or b) only change like a note or two in the riff,
to the point where you don’t realize they changed it at all until they go back
to the original one (cool!). More songs
like these two and maybe I’d consider buying some porn for this band (what,
it’s not like they can. They’re 6 fucking years old!). The rest sounds just like their first album,
only a bit more organized and bit less energetic (no “I Bet You Look Good on
the Dance Floor” here, for instance).
They try to go for a “ballad” a few times, but to them “ballad”
apparently means “a song where absolutely nothing happens” (case in point:
“Only Ones Who Knows”). I suppose “Do Me
a Favour” (lovely British spelling there, eh guvnah?) has a nice rolling tom
drum part, but that’s also, you know, all
it has. The closer “505” is pretty
interesting in its buildup from quiet beginning to rip-roaring RAWK! ending
(interesting ringing guitars there), but the rest just sounds like a bunch of
Arctic Monkeys songs, and an Arctic Monkeys song is an Arctic Monkeys song is
an Arctic Monkeys song. Special negative
kudos to “This House is a Circus” for the opening line “This house is a circus,
berserk as fuck!” There’s a roughly 95%
chance I’ve transcribed that wrong due to the fact that I don’t speak “
So no, I still do not support the Arctic Monkeys international juggernaut, although I continue to understand their appeal to people younger than I with attention spans of less than, say, the length of “The Gates of Delirium” (but come on, you morons, that song owns!). Honestly, I’ve had enough of these new-fangled British indie bands with angular guitars. Wake me when the next Franz Ferdinand album comes out. I actually like them.