Bring on the backlash!
Arctic Monkeys, Brixton Academy, April 27, 2006
The sixth time we've seen them since November, the second at Brixton, and what an improvement on Bournemouth International Centre, for self-evident architectural reasons. It was our tickets to this, the last night of their woefully brief first UK headline tour, that saw us through the vacuum of Bournemouth. You can rely on Brixton. As predicted, it was a riot. If you lurk around the Arctic Monkeys Forum, you'll see an awful lot of conflicting attitudes to gigs, especially as they get bigger, depending on who's posting - "old" fans (ie. those who liked the band before they got to number one), who consider themselves a cut above; and newbies, who tend to be 14, write in txt language and fancy Alex (example: "How F*CKIN' AWESOME was that gig!! Love the arctic monkeys sooooo much!! Can't believe how amazin it was. I'm still buzzin now!! If you've never seen them live then u dnt even understand how great they are!! Met Alex after aswell awww he's so shy but soooo amazin!! Awwww well wanna see them live again!!" - to which the withering response from an older fan was, simply, "Bedtime!") There is also a lot of lazy talk about "chavs" taking over at gigs and "white stilettos" - such sweeping social generalisation from people so young!
The truth is, these gigs are full of all sorts: Oasis-type beer monsters, who created a seething moshpit at Brixton tonight (and must have been thrilled to see Noel Gallagher in the crowd, whose presence precipitated community singing); small boys with hairless chins enjoying the first flush of gig-going and probably losing their shoes in the maelstrom, about which their mums will take a dim view (nothing wrong with that - it's me, aged 15, seeing U2 on the Boy tour, or Bauhaus, or Theatre Of Hate); and older, wiser music fans, usually in couples, reenergised by the joy and complexity of the Monkeys' songs and musicianship, and feeling the years just evaporate on the spot (nothing wrong with that - it's me, aged 41, er, now).
There's a lot of pushing, and punching the air, and pogoing, and certain factions throw beer in an act of pure joie de vivre - albeit one that could only occur in the pampered West, where kids have so much money they can afford to chuck it in the air. It's marvellous to be a part of all this. There's also singing. Accurate singing. It's a Monkeys tradition, but when it's as widespread as for, say, Sun Goes Down or Mardy Bum, it's truly inspiring. The build-up to the band's entrance, from a position halfway between the mixing desk and the front, was electric, despite another flat set by the Little Flames. (The mix tape was terrific, throwing Rock'n'Roll Star up against The Source featuring Candi Staton and Pretty Vacant and No Diggity.) Their arrival, though heralded by none other than John Cooper Clarke ("my new best mates"), was as unassuming as ever, but ignited a squall of airborne lager and arms were raised across the auditorium.
After that, it was the same old set, in the same old order (Riot Van to A Certain Romance, with no surprises inbetween except for the rhythmic intro to Ritz To The Rubble, and an appearance during Sun Goes Down by the Scummy Man himself, ie. the actor from the video), with no encore. This doesn't matter in the end. It's what we came for. Andy (bassist) stood on a speaker and leapt off. Alex muttered, but sounded sincerely grateful in his old man's way. New songs Who The Fuck's Arctic Monkeys and Leave Before The Lights Come Onwere superb, and largely unaccompanied, as the crowd don't know them yet. We threw ourselves into the throng. Not exactly down the front, but further than good sense would normally allow, buffeted and bashed by the pure, unfettered primal energy of the crowd.
Emerging, soaked through with sweat, into the cool Brixton night, looking out for those in our party we had lost in the multitude, I was reminded of so many other occasions on those same steps down the years (the first being Siouxsie And The Banshees in 1984, after which it was back on the Goth coach to Northampton; the most memorable being The Smiths in 1985), but this really was one of the best. A curry and some Arctic Monkeys in the car home (thanks for driving, Paul) rounded off a fine evening of musical entertainment and contact sport.
How F*CKIN' AWESOME was that gig!! Love the arctic monkeys sooooo much!!
Bedtime!
posted by Andrew Collins @ 12:00 PM
12 Comments
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12 Comments:
Hey Andrew, it’s nice to see that you cannot make yourself deviate from rigorously constructed grammar. It has to be “Who the Fuck IS Arctic Monkeys” rather than ARE which is the usual mistake made with names that end in S. However having gone that extra mile could you not have included the question mark? The band should be encouraged to rename the song “Who the Fuck is Arctic Monkeys?” or maybe “What, the Fuck, are Arctic Monkeys?” There are none of course. Japan's macaques are the monkeys that live furthest north, so nowhere near the Arctic, and even they have to sit in volcanic hot water pools to keep the brassware intact.
Then again I don't know why performance testing document searching software (only 20000 more docs to index) makes me think I own the English language.
Regards,
Clive
(only 15000 to go now)
but he sings 'Who the fuck's....', if you care to listen...
Ooh, grammar reference books at dawn. What passion you arouse, Andrew.
Quite. I was borrowing Alex Turner's delivery, and he definitely sings, "Who the fuck's Arctic Monkeys?" (with a question mark - I'll concede that!)
They must teach'em proper well in Sheffield. Actually I haven't knowingly heard the song. Has it been disinfected for radio? Can it be, without removing all the words?
Alex Turner's parents are teachers. I haven't heard the song on the radio, but there's only one fuck in it, I think, so it would be easy to clean up.
Isn't one of the many rumours circulating about the band that one of the parents writes the songs? (Probably just a product of jealousy, but it would put a different slant on Alex's old man's way.) In any case "Who the Fuck's Arctic Monkeys?" just sounds like natural Sheffield vernacular to me.
Off topic but did you hear the R4 documentary Inside the New Yorker, Andrew? I haven't listened to it yet but I thought you might be interested.
That rumour strikes me as piffle, Dave. I wonder why people find it so hard to believe that a young man from Sheffield could be so articulate? He does sound like an old man though ("Last chance, ladies and gentlemen!" he often says before the final song) and sings like George Formby. There's a song on the new EP, No Buses, that's pure George! If anyone writes his lyrics for him, I'd say it's his granddad!
Haven't heard the New Yorker doc yet. Must try and squeeze a listen into my stupidly heavy work schedule.
I hasten to add I don't believe it either. And I hope it's more the "young man" than the "from Sheffield" that people find hard to credit.
I can't say I'd noticed the George Formby similarity but he certainly has a way with northern phraseology of a certain vintage. I give some credence to the theory that they're a front for Alan Bennett.
I'm Alex Turner's grandad.*
Yes. The lyrics are all mine.*
The music however came to me in a seance session with marc bolan.*
*this may or may not be true
Marc Bolan WAS his grandad. His mother's name is Molan Turner. Which makes it all the more strange that their music sounds nothing like Bolan's.
"- I love the Arctic Monkeys sooooooooooooooo much!-"
Upon reading how you described the teen girl who fancies Alex, I realised that I was reading an accurate, albeit cruel depiction of myself. My excuse, however pathetic it is, is that I live in Canada, and if I said Arctic Monkeys, people would still be asking, "Who the Fuck is the Arctic Monkeys?"
The hype in England simply doesn't exist here, and I (thankfully) have discovered the Arctic Monkeys on my own, and loved them ever since.
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