When Arctic Monkeys announced their highly anticipated new record The Car, I was all but hopeful. 2018’s Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino was a tiring, self-indulgent offering, convoluted by an over-reaching concept and Alex Turner’s unbearable egotism. Following the success of AM, Tranquility Base was a dreary follower, and in all honesty, it drove me – a once hardcore fan – to write the Monkeys off completely.
Lead single from The Car, “There’d Better Be A Mirrorball”, came out just under two months ago. Unenthused, I played it for old time’s sake, not expecting much. The title alone seemed tainted by 2018’s lingering pretence. I was almost certain the track would lack substance entirely. I pressed play. A decrescendo of strings. Downcast drums. Theatrical silence. One, two, three. One, two, three. Then four minutes of what is undoubtedly one of the best songs Arctic Monkeys have ever written.
I don’t know how to describe it, but there’s something peculiarly sad in it. That feeling of saying goodbye that Turner so richly ignites. His cool falsettos, the wavering synths gently slipping into a full-bodied orchestra. “That moment when you look them in the eye / and say baby it’s been nice”. That’s what this song is about, and it sets the tone for a brilliantly contemporary return by one of today’s most prevailing rock bands.
Cinematic strings run consistently through the ten tracks, led by the most compositional restraint I’ve ever heard Turner and co. muster. The drums are almost invisible, quietly carrying things forward. The melodies are filled with warmth and nostalgia. Snippets of funk might find their way in on “I Ain’t Quite Where I Think I Am” and “Jet Skis On The Moat”, but they pale in comparison to the tingling acoustics of “Mr Schwartz”; the bluesy, jazz-lounge smokiness of “Big Ideas”, or even the playful pop undertones of “Body Paint”.
Title track “The Car” falls into a grungy 60’s guitar solo that is admittedly self-indulgent, but this time for all the right reasons. The Monkeys have never been a band to shy away from decadence. They used to wallow in it, obnoxiously so, and that’s why we fell in love with them. Turner’s brash swagger. Matt Helders’ insatiable rhythm. And yet, without either of these things even faintly present on The Car, it still feels like they’ve managed to retain some essence of their depravity.
“Sculptures of Anything Goes” hints at an older Monkeys, its menacing bass line a somber recollection of AM, but even when you think things are going in the direction of “Do I Wanna Know”, they never do. Instead, we’re arrested by forlorn splendour, grandiose strings, complex chorus lines – it’s magnificent. Well done boys. Well done.
