Arctic Monkeys ride the wave of Brit hype

Sam Bloch Staff Writer

When Alex Turner, lead singer of the Arctic Monkeys, begs bands to “get off the bandwagon” in “Fake Tales of San Francisco,” it undermines the appeal of his charming band of 20-year-olds. They are, after all, riding that bandwagon all the way to the bank.
It’s not hard to see why. The Monkeys are an easily traceable compendium of popular British bands; they’re a meatier, Oasis-like version of Franz Ferdinand, rocking out on jittery riffs with a pinch of Mike Skinner’s working class storytelling to boot. This unabashed Union Jack pride has resulted in crowning Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, the fastest selling English debut album of all time. Crusty British tastemakers, I imagine, love to see their country’s legacy live on, and couldn’t be more excited to see it manifest in their youngest.

But the overzealous pride of “San Francisco” is quickly forgiven. Turner is rarely glib on Whatever, and paints a less than loving tribute of home. His much-vaunted lyrics recount familiar situations to us college-aged kids: getting busted for underage drinking, telling friends not to pursue hooknasties, having nothing to do in a boring town, etc. In “A Certain Romance,” he manages to wax poetic about all of these things. “Just because he’s had a couple of cans, he thinks it’s all right to act like a dickhead,” Turner explains to us, which, apparently, is a lyric worth quoting in both the New York Times and the New Yorker.

And then there’s Turner’s voice. It’s a pimply, unmistakably British yelp that cracks the few times he leaves his minimal range. He is obviously whatever people say he is: nineteen. So, will we lowly Americans learn to love his spry tribute to pubs, Burberry baseball caps, and other British curios? Absolutely.

Though the Monkeys’ age might start to lose its critical novelty by their sixth album, for now, it thankfully removes any pretense from their already accessible dance rock. Their biggest hit, “I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor,” needs little more explanation than its title, and their five-minute long closing track, “A Certain Romance,” smacks not of anthemic hubris, but merely of Turner having a bit more to say.