And scariest of all, their habit of continually releasing new material exposed a tendency towards on-the-road mithering (‘Despair In The Departure Lounge’, from the post-album ‘Who The Fuck Are Arctic Monkeys?’ EP) and a paucity of kidney-exploding new tunes to match their immaculate debut. The sharp drop-off of album sales leant cynics to suggest they were merely an internet anomaly. Their original bassist Andy Nicholson was pushed out through a lack of love of The Road. Heaven knows we were worried for the wee chucks – only a year after the record-obliterating first week sales of ‘Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not’, the whole Growing Up In Public business looked to be taking a weighty toll. It single-handedly announces ‘Favourite Worst Nightmare’ as the fire-spewing, balls-out comeback record of your dreams, confirms that (despite speculation to the contrary) we are in the presence of a seminal, generation-defining rock band in the making and declares Monkeys Phase Two go.Īnd the relief is akin to Keith Richards cancelling his RSVP for your father’s cremation. And Alex Turner’s voice is urgent, breathless and Strokes-fuzzy marshalling a ferocious rock tempest from deep elemental forces. Some surf guitars are flayed to within an inch of their blood-gurgling life. A 12-armed psychopath appears to be playing drums.
Bass guitars stampede in like Josh Homme’s personal herd of rhinos. Inspired by this captivating character the Arctic Monkeys met on tour in Japan last year, ‘Brianstorm’ – comeback single from the greatest indie success story this decade and opening track on the most doubter-defying second album since ‘Modern Life Is Rubbish’ – makes just as loud and startling an entrance. He is, the average dumbstruck Yorkshire rock singer might conclude, an unforecasted storm.Īs tosser, so tribute. Guys want to be him, girls want to rip the shiny plastic kecks off of him. He introduces himself: Brian Storm’s the name, and then he’s off – wisecracking and story-telling and chattering and flirting, the epicentre of any room. Smooth-talking his way past security with a flash of his tungsten bright smile he spins into your Tokyo dressing room, all convoluted handshakes, lizard-lipped chat and T-shirt-and-tie combinations.
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