Alex Turner in Berlin

Though I loved Alex Turner travelled across land and sea to Berlin to see him, Arctic Monkey's AM wasn't my favourite album of the year. Local Natives and Hummingbird stole that firmly and beautifully, and this article explains only a few of the reasons why. I explained my thoughts behind AM, and the superstar band that are Arctic Monkeys for Hitsville UK's review of the year. 

The first time I listen to AM I am left for wanting.  I’m not sure why, and when I return from making my cup of tea, I inexplicably put the headphones back on and continue listening with renewed concentration. 

This reaction more or less sums up my impulse with the whole record. The re-listening impulse comes from the fact this is a beautifully produced and composed album. Desert rock quasi-love songs “Do I Wanna Know?”, “R U Mine’ and “One For The Road” echo their potentially most underrated album, Humbug, but with a far more British feel.  The whole album feels more polished, more complete and more concentrated than any that preceded it.

For a record that comes from a four man band, the diversity spread across a mere twelve songs is staggering – from the steady, linear nature of the first third of the album, where each song blends seamlessly into the next – gathering momentum almost aggressively as its looks over its shoulder, squinting in that oh-so-baking LA sunshine (the segue from “One For The Road” into “Arabella” is especially delicious) – to the jaunty rock’n’roll of the gooey centre, to the quietly profound last third of the record – “Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High” and “I Wanna Be Yours” heralding back to the more raw and unpretentious days of the band’s existence.

While it contains some sharp and delicate guitar hooks, and song constructions which effortlessly bridge the gap between experimental and pop-palatable, Matt Heller’s presence is sorely missed. The driving force behind loud and intricately drawn drum rhythms in previous albums, the absence his broken hand wrought seeps into the recording process, resulting in stadium-rock style “can you fucking hear this?” thumping. 

Working in a place where almost everyone is a musician or passionate about music has its advantages in talking out new releases. Three other people in my workspace take their headphones off during the day and ask me “Have you heard the new Arctic Monkeys record? It’s pretty good.” And “pretty good” sums it up. Though polished and diverse, it’s not the best record in the world (though the NME would have you believe so). It is also not, by any real fan’s measure, their best work. And the main reason for this is its ultimate and disheartening lack of lyrical depth.

I’ve been an Arctic Monkeys fan since I was 15 and spend £60 (two whole weekend work’s wages) on a ticket to see them before they’d even put ink to paper with Domino Records. I’ve seen them seven times, and dissected each album vigorously. This doesn’t make me the best or most knowledgeable fan, but that’s not my point. As a band that had an impact on anyone from the north of England with identity problems and dissatisfaction, the pop culture poetry of Alex Turner will always be a Cornerstone (lol) of a deep shift in UK indie music. 

I am not white, I am not male and I am not from Sheffield, but I have found a stark relatability with every single album, as its lyrical poetry has become increasingly profound for me the more I reflect on it. Take some of the climaxes of Humbug; “Will the teasing of the fire be followed by the thud?” or the “Old Yellow Bricks” line “you are a fugitive, but you don’t know what you’re running away from’” or a classic like “Mardy Bum”: “Yeah I’m sorry I was late/but I missed the train and then traffic was a state’ (Turner must have been about 15 when he penned the lyrics which had emotional depth that those embroiled in many years of marriage probably couldn’t articulate). 

The main assumption I can make from AM and its lyrics is that Turner is sadly probably not that great in bed. Sorry ladies. I think I was confused and left for wanting because for the first time, I couldn’t relate to the lyrics, at all. I’m not sure who the lyrics communicate to apart from the girls he’s trying to bed, and that saddens me, because while it’s poetic, its not love poetry, and it closes a door between fans who appreciate Alex Turner in a capacity that moves past his haircut and cheekbones.

I suck it up, anyway, and book tickets and a flight to Berlin to watch them play at Columbiahalle. It almost doesn’t happen because of Turner’s sudden bout of “laryngitis” but we’re lucky enough to be the show that ends a series of cancellations.  Though I wouldn’t go as far to say that I almost wish it had been cancelled (there’s nothing quite like hearing “Crying Lightning” live), Alex Turner proved my above conclusions regarding the ladies and the bedroom. 

Late on stage and adopting an American twang for half of the between-song filler, and a Hillsborough gruff which sounds slightly unnatural for the other half, watching Alex Turner perform tracks from AM is like watching someone pleasure themselves on stage while repeating their name into the microphone. The sheer arrogance gets me when he gets what appears a roadie on stage to take over on guitar while he gurns into the audience, smugly pointing out it’s in fact Bill Ryder Jones, former guitarist of The Coral as he slinks off stage. You’ve made it now, son…

The largest resonance comes from the fact that a good half of the set brings back Humbug and Favourite Worst Nightmare – another reminder that the profundity the Monkeys were at the edge of with these albums is still lacking from AM. They’re still an amazing band, and this is a good record. But I don’t think it’s an evolution. If anything, it seems more like a band putting on a different skin. It might be called AM, but I don’t think this is truly Arctic Monkeys anymore.