An impromptu thesis on Arctic Monkeys

After (perhaps in hindsight, somewhat stupidly) commenting that I was currently listening to the new Arctic Monkeys album Humbug, on Twitter, I was asked by The Line Of Best Fit to write a review. Which quite frankly terrified me, as is always the case when reviewing something just about everyone has an opinion on. And after the recent battle that ensued when my Reverend and the Makers review went life, I fully expect 'lively debate' on this as well.

And when I actually sat down to write the review, I found it was impossible to do just that. So instead, what came out is a rather rambling mini-essay on the phenomenon of Arctic Monkeys, and the odd thought on their third album, Humbug. Get ready...

Arctic Monkeys – Humbug

Four years ago, a fair proportion of the nation began a love affair with Arctic Monkeys. Their first album served as a snapshot of the lives many of us were witnessing or living – Britain in 2006 -every tedious day at work, every 2-for-1 Reef –fuelled Saturday nights, and every regret-filled Sunday morning, articulated in such an eloquent yet hilariously truthful way.

Their second album perhaps took a bit more getting used to, but was ultimately still Arctic Monkeys, just somewhat streamlined, more determined and purposeful. The band were still living the same life though, still in Sheffield and still causing trouble in clubs in Friday nights, albeit now they were more likely to be members only clubs.

And so Arctic Monkeys third album, Humbug, enters into a very different world from 2006, and is the product of very different people. The question is though, can the affair continue?

The band’s authenticity, working-class, everyman ethic was always one of their unique selling points in the early days. But as time progresses, can a recession-stricken nation really still identify with Alex Tuner, living with his supermodel girlfriend in New York? Well no, of course not. But Alex Turner isn’t stupid enough to write lyrics about co-habiting with Alexa Chung and expect people to listen to them. As time’s progressed his lyrics have become more and more abstract – gone are the Topshop princesses and signs commonly seen in taxis – instead it’s dark, Dickensian metaphors, twisted imagery of circuses and carnivals, and murkier observations

But why else did we fall in love with Arctic Monkeys? The catchy riffs, rolling drums, thundering basslines, and those cheeky winks. It’s been well-documented that Humbug is produced by Josh Homme, and with most of the recoding and mastering taking place in the US, it’s with some trepidation that speculation abounded about whether there would be audible tumble-weed. However, Homme has captured the vast-ness, without completely disregarding and alienating the way the band recorded their first two records.

There are also influences from far further afield on Humbug though. As hinted at on the riff on ‘Teddy Picker’ on Favourite Worst Nightmare, the band further explore klezmer – traditional Hebrew/ Jewish music, particularly on the plodding, deliberate-sounding ‘Dangerous Animals’ and ‘Secret Door’.

Turner still has that lovable rouge, scampish, little Tyke charm he’s always had, but this album sees him become far more confident in it. Despite the ever-prevalent Yorkshire accent, his voice and delivery has a smoothness to it akin to that of someone peddling their wares or trying to pull off a con. In ‘My Propeller’ he invites us to ‘have a spin of my propeller’ in such a sly, enticing way you feel you’re getting involved in some dodgy-back alley deal. But in ‘Secret Door’, lyrically a cross between ‘505’ and ‘Mardy Bum’ of this album, Turner reverts back to a perpetually confused-by-women teenager, trying to decipher giggling and folded arms.

Josh Homme’s influence is also perhaps responsible for the heavier tracks on this album – ‘Pretty Visitors’ is an absolute beast. Its drummers Matt Helder’s show piece, combining extremes of tempo and everything in between as he drags in through kicking and screaming from beginning to end. Also featuring one of Alex Turner’s infamous, unforgettable what-is-he-on-about one liners – ‘what came first, the chicken or the dickhead’, this will undoubtedly appease those feeling uneasy with the band’s new directions.

So, after the Humbug trip through the nooks and crannies of many places that certainly aren’t Sheffield, will anyone still love Arctic Monkeys? Personally, I’m coming down hard on the side of yes. Another album that’s sounds like stock-take in a pub would’ve been one too many, and as Britain 2009 is in such a shit state of affairs, a bit of escapism seems like the perfect anti-dote. The band have developed and matured- lyrically, musically, and as people. And making a record to reflect this is exactly what they should be doing. Arctic Monkeys will always be, unmistakably, Arctic Monkeys. But, as with their second album, their more streamlined, more confident, and more determined about where they’re going, whether it’s via New York, the desert, or a back-alley.

And I think that's quite enough.

Lofts Are Hot - Fact.

Lofts are massively hot - fact. I live in one, I work in one, and the similarities to a sauna are uncanny. Technically, I should be really thin and have amazing skin and all the other good things saunas do. I have none of those things though. Instead I am constantly hot and bothered and unable to sleep (which, granted, is a benefit at work). Very very annoying. At the same time, if it gets cold and starts raining again, I WILL complain. Such is the in-built British reaction to the weather.

Job update- still no job. Quelle surprise. I felt slightly better when I heard on the news yesterday that 16-24 year olds had the highest rates of unemployment right now. Well obviously I didn't feel better, than means I have more people to compete against when applying for jobs, but I like to use such statistics to back up the fact that it really is bloody difficult, and I'm not just being lazy, which is the view my mother holds about the situation.

I went on a CD binge in HMV, and was a bit annoyed that HMV actually had everything I wanted, am I becoming too mainstream, or are HMV actually starting to stock things are aren't just in the iTunes top ten? Whatever, a small internal tussle ensued but I'm over it not. So here's the gems I picked up.

We Were Promised Jetpacks - These Four Walls. Scottish four-piece who recently supported Frightened Rabbit, and in a smart move got their debut album out whilst the hype machine is still in full flow. Musically a cross between Frightened Rabbit and My Latest Novel - all is-it-the-end-of-the-track pauses, tinkling glockenspiel and tracks that start, wander off somewhere else, and then come back again. Lyrically - er, immature. By all means go for rhyming couplets, but do them properly - lightening/frightening is not clever. It's no where near the raw, hard-hitting lyrics of Frightened Rabbit, but it's clearly just down to life experience. I would say it's an age thing, but Alex Turner wrote Whatever People Say I Am... at 18, and Alessi from Alessi's Ark was even younger when she wrote most of her debut. So it's not an age thing, therefore it must be experience. Clearly these boys haven't had their heart broken yet. Still, an amazing debut, and Scotland continues to reign supreme.

Bill Callahan - Sometimes I Wish I Were An Eagle. Number one, amazing album artwork - a hazy, sunny, scene of horses in a field! Anyway, the ex-Smog man goes it alone after walking out on the band two years ago. It's hard to shake off the association when listening to it, especially as that voice IS Smog. But Bill Callahan seems to have exercised his demons from the Smog fallout, and this is a relaxed, carefully crafted album. His voice is, as expected, still centre stage, and underpinned with lush orchestra arrangements. It's certainly not full-blown, grandiouse sweeping strings, but subtle and poignant augmentation. The album seems very comfortable, like he's being doing this all his life, and emits a bit of a warm glow, like the cover art. But of course the flip side of that is that it's very safe and that maybe he's not really pushing himself with it. But ultimately it's lovely to listen to, so what's not to like.

Dirty Projectors - Bitte Orca. Ok I haven't actually listened to this yet, but the couple of tracks I've already heard are more than promising, so I'll be sinking my ears into as soon as I'm done with Mr Callahan.

Finally, I met Roddy Woomble. He's a bit like a pixie.

About as committed as I am to anything else...

I think my commitment to this blog probably mirrors my commitment in relationships - pretty piss poor. Never mind.

So, in a Twitter stylee (yes, I have succumbed - @catrionahelen - in my defence my dad’s on there. And David Ford. So it can’t be all bad) here is the last 2 months summed up in 140 (ish) characters: finishing uni - massive anti-climax, not enough celebrating, staring down the barrel, bit of a life crisis.

Yeah, quarter life crisis. They exist. Although I really don’t intend to live to 80. And everything people say about how hard it is to find a job right now - totally 100% true. C’est impossible. I’m not even going to get into it otherwise I will descend into (further) madness.

I’ve been attempting to produce the festival programme for Glade. Biggest nightmare EVER. Talk about too many cooks, there are about 4 guys who *think* they’re in charge, and refuse to communicate with each other. If I didn’t actually have the pressure of needing to produce something at the end the whole episode would be pretty damn hilarious.

I am washing my hands of it come Monday. No doubt it’ll rumble on for at least another month whilst they change their minds, change it back again, and maybe even cut a stage or two. But it costs me £8 every time they implement a little change, and HSBC are not happy with me as it is, and quite frankly after 3 weeks of it I think I’ve had my fill of dance, dub-step and breaks. And no, I won’t be taking them up on the offer of a free ticket, thank you very much. God knows what a bunch of ravers would do to a little indie girl like me. Probably daub me in neon paint and tie me to a totem pole.

The new and long awaited My Latest Novel album is amazing. Those guys really know how to mix up rhythms with amazing results. Who would’ve thought a change from 3 to 4 time could actually make you cry? Not me. And who doesn’t love a Scottish accent.

Also Drever McCusker and Woomble are playing the Wimbourne Folk Festival. Amazing! I was speculating if they’d actually get someone decent, and there they are! Cannot wait. Roddy Woomble in Wimbourne. Quite the juxtaposition. And also alliteration.

So, to end this brief flurry of excitement and commitment, I’m decamping to Twitter, my new love, at least for this week.

No blog, no job, apparently

Apparently you can get a job just for having a blog. I find this hard to believe, but I'm not really in a position to be turning down any potential jobs, so I am reinstating this bad boy.

Current dilemma - 3000 words left of the dissertation and the idea bank is severely overdrawn. I am in debt when it comes to things to write about. I owe ideas. I have none. And 3000 words to write. I'm not gambler, but these are bad, bad odds. And depending on divine inspiration seems a little risky, for obvious reasons. I'm going to end up writing about something utterly ridiculous like toadstools.

Current delights - Frightened Rabbit, Creme Eggs, more new dresses than anyone than anyone could possibly need, impending Embra trip, extra long leggings from H+M, sunshine, The Acorn and Elbow show, impending Doves show, seeing Ford on Easter Sunday, ILLFIT Loney Dear show.

Current rubbish things - eating too many sweets, deadlines, dissertation, Kings of Leon being played 6 times a day on the radio, Vodafone, sold-out Idlewild shows, taking 3 months to get 150 pages into a book, Ticketmaster still being Ticketmaster.


Dissertation ideas on a postcard plz...