Hear Me Out: It’s time to recognise Arctic Monkeys as all-time greats
Seven albums in and the Arctic Monkeys are yet to falter, repeat themselves, or say a commonplace thing. Not to call them the best band ever, by any means, but I’m not sure there’s another artist in history who could say that they had been riding the bull of continued success, in every sense, for this long. They arrived with arguably the greatest debut album of all time and their astounding evolution thereafter has refused to rest on a single laurel and offered up a smorgasbord of diverse delights.
That debut album is all important when it comes to the assertion of this here article. You see, most great artists who went on to pull up new trees as their back catalogue got moving suffered from initial teething problems. David Bowie’s early songs were about strange gnomes and Antony Newley imitations, The Beatles weren’t far from a boyband singing daft ditties about holding hands, and Bob Dylan kickstarted his career with a covers album. Then there are the countless luminaries who might’ve been great from the get-go, but they struggled to shift enough units to make themselves culturally transcendent.
Yes, there’s more than one way to skin a cat, and much of the above is an arbitrary feat when the ultimate musical achievement is purely limited to the art itself. However, the impeccable shift that the lads from Sheffield have put in so far highlights one thing beautifully: we are so cautious to champion true greats while they’re among us in the midst of their finest work. It’s high tide that the Arctic Monkeys are heralded as such.
Last week, their latest release, The Car, was pipped to the number one spot by Taylor Swift. This ended a golden run of six chart-topping albums. In an era when alternative music has been squeezed out of the mainstream, this is a feat that no other rock ‘n’ roll band has come close to conquering while continually pushing the boundaries. Given that The Car is a chorus-less mark of musical progression that never once seems to have commercial viability in mind, even challenging the bombastic success of Taylor Swift is a phenomenal achievement.
They’ve gone from indie thrashers to desert rock, glitzy disco, sci-fi lounge, and now, string-clad, cinematic, avant-garde, chansonnier swagger. Aside from that studio evolution, they’re still a thrilling live entity set to fill hundreds of stadiums and festival fields this summer. And they are continually gathering up new fans without alienating too many of the old, extending their influence through the generations.
Seven albums in, most bands and artists are trapped in a tempestuous battle, have given up life on the road, or are turning in half-arsed performances beset by substance abuse, in-fighting or the malaise of been-there-done-that apathy. The alternative is usually a stilted display of a band who are happy to admit that their vibrant, original years are behind them and they’re happy to keep the machine oiled and churn out some standard radio-friendly material.
The Monkeys, on the other hand, continue to go from strength to strength. Their early records seized the cultural zeitgeist in such a way that the internet has made it hard to imitate, and their recent outings are exploring where modern alternative music can venture with notes of satire and the same old poetry that made Alex Turner’s songwriting glow from the get-go. And to top that all off, they seem like a good gang of lads to boot. Art is not a competition, but they’re up alone on a rarefied trajectory with their constant pursuit of originality and good times.
