In early 2006, a group of unassuming Sheffield lads released the album Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not. Like The Libertines a few years before and like Oasis a decade or more earlier, the Arctic Monkeys combined attitude, street-sharp humour, guitars and drums in a way that was somehow fresh and exciting at a time when it had seemed that all rock formula had been exhausted.
As Simon Cowell was using Shayne Ward as a weapon of mass disruption in his unrelenting (and continuing) assault on the British music scene and as Carl went to Japan without Pete, Alex Turner’s collection of breathtakingly energetic and witty post-millennium missives on modern life seemed too good to be true.
Not since I Wanna Be Adored, She Bangs the Drums and Waterfall opened another great British album has a record been such a statement of intent. Whatever People Say I Am burst onto the music scene like machine gun fire and the rat-a-tat-tat of those 13 songs left the listener winded - each one a kitchen-sink drama, a tableau of life in 21st century northern England.
Talk of fake tales, of fighting in taxi ranks, of belligerent bouncers and Top Shop princesses not only captured the zeitgeist but also set its own agenda. And for once, imitators simply could not keep up. Such was the quality and authenticity of the Arctic Monkeys’ debut record that their distinct and heavily accented voice remains unique.
Having burned tracks like Mardy Bum and A Certain Romance into the consciousness of a generation - a testament to life in noughties’ Britain like no other - 2006 brought moodier times and a darker sound from Turner and his Monkeys.
If the first record was like gunfire, follow-up Favourite Worst Nightmare was a time bomb. A darker, more mechanised sound characterised a record distinct from the first in many ways whilst remaining unmistakably Arctic Monkeys in nature. 2007 was another massive year for the band, headlining Glastonbury and playing to more than 100,000 fans over two days at Old Trafford and taking it all casually in their stride.
Nearly three years further on and the Arctic Monkeys’ place in history is about to be cemented. Oasis’ third album, Be Here Now, had been a lazy mess (Magic Pie anyone?) with Noel Gallagher’s best work (by far) going into Definitely Maybe and to a certain extent, follow-up What’s The Story (Morning Glory)?
The Libertines could barely manage a second album, let alone a third; similarly The Stone Roses. Would Sheffield’s finest (sorry Jarvis) be able to maintain their own high standards?
Humbug was released in August and the first single, Crying Lightning, was warmly received. But Humbug is not a summer album. It is brooding and heavy, dark and shadowy. As the fragile Indian summer of October 2009 was being crippled by chills from the north, the album lurched into life.
As the days shorten and we reach for the scarves and dark drinks, Humbug becomes the devil on your shoulder - whispering, chiding, beguiling and irresistible.
November 16 sees the release of the second single from Humbug, Cornerstone. And how apt a title. Whilst it has all the film noir sophistication of Humbug it is also a timely reminder of the genius of Alex Turner; a young man who effortlessly speaks for a generation.
Cornerstone is a story in four short parts, each charting a brief encounter with a girl mistaken for a lost love. Naming a place (like a pub) in a song is a risky business as it can alter the context of the narrative in a heartbeat but Turner’s four vignettes each takes place in named nightspots and each, of course, is brilliantly titled.
After increasingly less discerning flirtations in the Battleship, The Rusty Hook and then The Parrot’s Beak, it is in the Cornerstone we meet our lost love’s sister. Contrary to the case of heartbreaking mistaken identity in the Battleship, the Cornerstone and the sister are more than enough to force a change of heart and a quickening of the pulse.
Quite what this says about love, or Love, is unclear. That it is transitory and transferable perhaps, that a loving embrace is just that from whomever it is received. Or, that in the end, sometimes it is best just to cut your losses and move on. It doesn’t really matter.
What does matter is that in Cornerstone, the Arctic Monkeys have reminded all of us just why they are so very special. Why they are the exception to the rule. And why they remain simply too good to be true.
It is a bit much to suggest that Alex Turner alone somehow rescued the mainstream British music scene. But he really did. Long may he reign.
