The well documented phenomenon that are the Arctic Monkeys established their first-team place in the music world last year. After an impressive debut accompanied by hyperbole everywhere - from the NME to the broadsheets, from MTV to the Newsnight review, a rod was manufactured for their back. It’s a fact of life. Always has been.Some bands are in the right place at the right time doing the right thing. In their case, web networking and an apparently electronically garnered fan base marked them out from what had gone before in previous eras. They still payed their dues, played extensively - a Sunday night at the Subway in Edinburgh included - and got their music out there. By no means the only band doing this, but as I said, right place, right time with the breaks going their way.
They arrived. The lyrics provoked debates that they may not have been the writers - a bit too sussed for guys of their age. The tunes that carried them were delivered with energy - not least from the drummer. Loads of people went crazy and they sold shitloads.
So begins chapter 2. No element of surprise for them now. Indeed, by today’s standards of instantly available music where flavour of the month has been effectively replaced in the media by flavour of the week, they are almost seasoned veterans.
The new album starts off in a similar vain to were they left with the last one. Teddy Picker has the riffs the energy and the lyrics. Lines like “The sheer desperation to be scene/seen” “Sorry sunshine it doesn’t exist / It wasn’t in the top 100 list” “The kids all dream of making it, whatever that means” could all seem like a bitter comment on success were they not penned by Alex Turner. Instead he sinks his teeth into the hand that feeds him “A tangle on the television and the magazine, D’you reckon that they do it for a joke? D’you reckon that they make ‘em take an oath? That says ‘we are defenders Of any poseur or professional pretender around.” As another Yorkshire man once said “shite’s shite, whatever colour you paint it”. Mr Turner does seem to have a nose for the excrement that flows from the keyboards and mouths of many of today’s self styled opinion formers. Fair comment, great tune.
The little stories are still there. The almost lighthearted ‘Fluorescent Adolescence’ tells of dying love in a down to earth and dirty manner.
The best moment of the album is saved for last. ‘505′ has them moving forward trying new approaches to their songs. Starting with keyboards, sparse echoed guitar licks build over the 4 minutes round this tale of sexual anticipation. When witnessed live via television this song grows even more.
There are enough good songs to make it a decent enough album. There are a few fillers but nothing awful. I haven’t a clue if they are spokesman for their generation, or the most important band around, or whatever else may be getting said about them. They have however knocked out a decent follow up to a debut that turned out remarkable for them. They not only have years on a lot of their peers at the festival headlining level which they now frequent, they shit over many of them (which admittedly isn‘t hard). Time is on their side. It’s like watching a teenager making an outstanding debut on the football field. Whether they become Cristiano Ronaldos or Christian Daillys who knows.

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