‘Teddy Picker’: Did Arctic Monkeys pay homage to Duran Duran?
In today’s always-on, full-steam-ahead music industry, it’s difficult not to confuse visibility with success. Somehow, we’ve reached a point where being consistently in the spotlight speaks volumes about an artist’s trajectory; forgetting that time away from the spotlight can be just as impactful for legacy building. While many seek to strike a healthy balance, Arctic Monkeys have mastered the art of attracting unwavering anticipation without lifting a finger.
It’s an interesting achievement to become a band that can come and go as they please, but this is partially owed to Alex Turner’s ongoing mystique, not just in his prolonged absences but also in his lyrical and thematic abstraction. For instance, lyrical convolutions have been central to his charm since Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, only becoming more mature and wistful as Turner became more susceptible to those things himself.
But the Monkeys are a masterclass in evolving with the times and doing whatever you please, no matter who it might irk in the process. They were always destined to take this course of action, sprinkling subtle differences early on between the release of the first album and Favourite Worst Nightmare, hinting at a future transformation from a British indie rock group to one with a more reflective flair.
Granted, the shift from Whatever People Say I Am to Favourite Worst Nightmare wasn’t as drastic as AM to Tranquility Base Hotel And Casino, but the nuances were certainly there. For instance, there were slower, more considered moments, signalling a change from the party anthems that categorised almost the entirety of the first album, showcasing a mature and refined sound that somehow managed to enhance the rock moments even further.
‘Teddy Picker’, for instance, could just as well have sat on Whatever People Say I Am unnoticed, side-by-side with the many anthemic indie hits with a similarly mischievous edge. However, it took Turner’s external intrigue to a new level with more obscure references, signalling a new chapter where his world was suddenly wide open and unburdened by the narrow confines of youthful nights out and small-town angst.
One of the many manifestations came in the form of a seemingly continued reference to Duran Duran, who had first appeared in the first record’s opus ‘I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor’ with the oddly enticing phrasing, “Your name isn’t Rio, but I don’t care for sand”. On ‘Teddy Picker’, however—a song unflinching in its criticisms about the weird and wonderful characters that cross the Monkeys’ path—Turner seems to allude to a line from the band’s ‘Save A Prayer’, which says, “I don’t want your prayer, save it for the morning after.”
While this is easily dismissable as one of the frontman’s usual verbal obscurities and was even dismissed by the man himself as merely a facet of his own subconscious, it’s difficult to ignore his own burgeoning affinity for blending different aspects of showmanship with surrealism while using subtle references to other bands who have long mastered the art of cinematic allure. In other words, while many accuse the band of jolting too aggressively into a different sonic direction, these parameters have always been there in Turner’s longstanding quest for timeless theatrical grooves.
