‘Arabella’: the classic Arctic Monkeys’ nod to the iconic Jane Fonda
For many, Arctic Monkeys‘ charismatic leader Alex Turner is a paradoxical mystery, with his poetic musings emerging from the inner, more enigmatic realm of weighted surrealism. For others, however, he’s just a word salad purveyor whose lyrics falter beneath the desperate crooning of a sparkless lead singer. No matter where you stand on the spectrum, there’s no denying the intrigue.
Most of the debate surrounding Arctic Monkeys’ appeal lingers somewhere between the dramatic interchange of AM and Tranquillity Base, which seemingly led the band astray. To the sceptic, this was the ultimate career-ending move, one that established the inevitable grave of the equally vapid The Car, leaving any remnants of magic on the side of the highway where the beauty of the previous records reside.
However, for those firmly in the ‘Arctic Monkeys are still great’ camp, these observations are less about a band who lost their way and more a simple timeline of artistic evolution. After all, any band remaining in the same pool that established them as forerunners will eventually lose steam, and that’s if the staleness of repeating the same tricks over and over doesn’t derail the operation sooner.
That said, despite the intense sonic shift, most people agree on AM‘s brilliance often more than the debut’s instant appeal, especially when it comes to artistic progression and achieving accessibility on a global scale without diluting the quintessential core of rock ‘n’ roll too much. One of the biggest reasons for its breakthrough, aside from the seamless chord progressions, endearing riffs, and catchy melodies, was Turner’s penchant for layered, referential lyricism.
One notable example was the record’s heart-pumping fourth track, ‘Arabella’, which exercised just the right amount of Black Sabbath-inspired riffing mixed with Turner’s ingenious lyricism and the band’s signature seduction to evoke effortless intricacy. The title was also an amalgamation of Turner’s then-girlfriend’s name and the 1968 Jane Fonda-fronted film Barbarella, signalling his penchant for blending experiences with pop culture musings and mystification.
The lyrics convey Turner’s muse as someone similar to Fonda’s character, adorned in a “silver swimsuit” and lips like “the galaxy’s edge”. Enhancing an otherwise perfect ideal of a cinematic enchantress, Turner’s titular character also haunts him in welcomed ways, taking a “dip” in his “daydream” whenever she needs to “shelter from reality”. It’s Turner’s lyrical proficiency at its finest, blending fiction with reality in ways that feel poetic and raw, even if the fantasy is fleeting and entirely blown up beyond the parameters of anything tangible.
These seemingly intergalactic-inspired musings also give the song and its story its otherworldly quality beyond its basic references, something that Turner initially became inspired to do after countless nights out, enjoying the haze of uncertainty and the moment when reality starts to become blurred into something less explained by simple vernacular. It’s why he included comparisons like the kiss of his muse being “the colour of a constellation”—to evoke charms of surrealism.
As he explained to The Observer: “A lot of tunes on there describe scenarios that sometimes feel like a surrealist painting. I remember it from when we first started: going out, winding up at a club and it didn’t seem to make sense. It felt like a never-ending staircase.”
