Does Alex Turner’s fascination with pop culture create a barrier to the music?
“There’s no limit to the length of the dickheads we can be,” Arctic Monkeys‘ charismatic frontman Alex Turner sings on ‘She Looks Like Fun’. Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino is perhaps the most polarising album the Sheffield quartet ever released, but wasn’t it all just a singular glimpse into the fascinating mind of the lead singer? Turner packs pop culture references into songs like shoving medication into your overnight bag, but at some point, it might just risk getting lost in transit.
The discussion around Arctic Monkeys’ evolution is an interesting one. On the one hand, it makes complete sense: the band established a well-loved sound with the first two albums, one that appealed to early 2000s indie-heads who wanted more rockin’ tunes alongside favourites like The Strokes and The Killers. Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not and Favourite Worst Nightmare were the perfect remedies for the brand new rock ‘n’ roll generation who wanted something new that reflected the experiences of modern youth.
After the release of AM, Arctic Monkeys’ popularity soared to global heights. They weren’t just small-town boys from South Yorkshire anymore; they were world-class stars whose modern take on rock music was capturing the attention of various accompanying major players. However, then came the waiting – waiting which threatened to make or break the band’s entire career as fans waited in anticipation of AM part two.
Of course, by this point, Turner and the rest of the band had experienced significant maturity. Turner was riding the final wave of the Last Shadow Puppets hype. In contrast, others had finished separate respective projects, each of which significantly altered their interests and suggestions for a new Arctic Monkeys direction. Turner, in particular, was in a bubble filled with 1970s space nostalgia and disjointed narratives, which resulted in a constantly unsettling and self-aware series of strange ramblings.
This storytelling style, coupled with the various references to 1960s and 1970s science fiction, threatened to forge a rift between the sound and the listener, whose expectations were likely set on another handful of quintessential British rock ‘n’ roll tunes. “What do you mean you’ve never seen Blade Runner?” Turner quips in ‘Star Treatment’, effectively showing off a specific elitist growth and ability to thread various, sometimes unrelenting references throughout the songs.
To the unsuspecting listener, this may seem to be nothing more than ramblings that make little sense to anyone other than Turner. However, the singer has always been appreciative of an appropriate cinematic or pop culture reference, and in Tranquility Base, he leans into this as a way of crafting an even more niche world.
Without the nods to various movies like 2001: A Space Odyssey, World on Fire, and the works of Jean-Pierre Melville, the album would still be seen as a barrier to the “old” Monkeys and this new, reincarnated version. However, the inclusion of such things means that Turner’s navigation of the complexities of the human condition largely relies on what he’s seen and heard, despite the fact that those listening won’t benefit from the same shared experiences.
Not all of Turner’s references are easily missed, like the mention of “Wayne Manor” in ‘She Looks Like Fun’, but they’re all abstract and out-of-place in a way that almost always works. “What a memorable NYE,” the singer hilariously muses, as if his reality has become distorted to the point where identity, reality, and fiction have intertwined past the point of distinction. These barriers might be there for a reason, which poses an even more interesting question: is Turner’s genius lost on today’s impatient generation?
In the B-side ‘Anyways’, Turner paints a vivid picture as he struggles with the various sides of generational gaps and the fluidity of identity. “Philanthropic toga party,” he rasps, “What a place for both the opposite sides of my double life to finally collide.” All of this is a joke to Turner, but that’s the thing – it’s a joke he takes very seriously. Turner’s head is full of legends he loves and admires, like Leonard Cohen and David Foster Wallace, but where does that leave his own artistry?
It’s uncertain whether Turner’s identity crisis is authentic or if he’s toying with the pretence of those who came before him, but all of this translates interestingly when it reaches the ears of the listener. Moreover, it’s difficult to pinpoint precisely what Turner is trying to achieve with all of this. He presents his ideas like an unpolished, untampered tapas board of ideas, one that you’re not sure whether you’re actually allowed to eat or not. Still, we keep coming back to it all because there’s nothing more interesting than the intrigue of mystery.
“I’ve played to quiet rooms like this before,” Turner sings to a venue filled with 50,000 people. There’s a clear irony to his verbiage, but it has reached a crucial point that effectively says: if you get it, you get it. Whether Turner intends for his music to be exclusive isn’t exactly clear, but what it might be initiating is a significant barrier to accessing all of the facets that make his artistry worth listening to.
