Arctic Monkeys review

Arctic Monkeys
Metro, Chicago
Saturday, March 18, 2006

It seems as if not a week goes by that the British music press doesn’t anoint some band as “The Next Great Band In The History Of Next Great Bands.” Occasionally, they get a few right (Blur, Franz Ferdinand, Supergrass), or, at the very least help elicit commercial success (Oasis).

So if you don’t already know the back story on Arctic Monkeys, here’s the Cliffs Notes version: Four mates from Sheffield, England fight suburban ennui by forming a band (even though nobody can play an instrument), gig at any shit hole that’ll have ‘em, distribute free demos at said shows, post on Myspace, generate label interest, and release a debut (Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not) that sells some 300,000 copies in its first week and lodges itself at the top of the pops.

But if history has taught us anything, it’s that what plays in a London dive doesn’t necessarily wow the kids in Peoria. Taking the fight directly to the people is ultimately what brought the scruffy quartet to a beyond sold-out Metro Saturday night.

Oddly enough, one of the most enduring qualities about the band is the thing most likely to stymie their success; their undeniable British-ness. Cocky and charismatic lead singer and guitarist Alex Turner crafts three-minute pop nuggets populated by hooligans, birds, lads, and countless other forms of English slang that get lost in the translation. What has hooked the hipsters on this side of the pond is the music.

In the live setting, songs like “The View From The Afternoon” and “I Bet You Look Good On The Dance Floor” sped by at a breakneck pace. The latter, already a huge hit in the U.K., inspired the huddled masses to pogo and find the orbit of their hips.

Bassist Andy Nicholson and drummer Matt Helders provided a bedrock foundation that allowed Turner to rain crystalline notes from his Stratocaster all over Jamie Cook’s thick, Telecaster-birthed barre chords on pub romps like “You Probably Couldn’t See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me” and the cab-stand short story “Red Light Indicates Doors Are Secure.” What amazed is how quickly the foursome has gelled into a facelift-tight unit.

It’s what tends to separate them from a band like The Libertines (to whom they are often compared). Where that band always sounded one bum note away from full collapse (and ultimately done in by numerous, drug-related arrests), the Monkeys project a taut punk rock approach and wrap it in pop melodies and tomes of adolescent growing pains. And somehow, it’s a surprise they’ve enchanted an 18 to 25 demo.

Fortunately for all concerned, there were moments that hinted the boys might also be in it for the long haul. “A Certain Romance” broke aesthetic rank, announcing itself with galloping drums and a searing Turner lead before devolving into a ska-infected gem riding Nicholson’s impossibly bubbly bass line into a coda that would disassemble even the most dedicated of shoe gazers.

And just like that, it was over. Fifty-five minutes of youthful exuberance and cheap thrills was all that remained of an encore-free set. Turns out, that was all the time they needed to prove their point.

— Curt Baran

Category: Live Reviews, Weekly