Yahoo! Music Review

Released on 23/04/07
Label: Domino

Arctic Monkeys' debut, "Whatever People Say I Am That's What I'm Not", was a timely release. The Libertines had only just combusted as Pete Doherty's ego looked more and more to fame and celebrity to plug the gaps once filled by a legion of young fans. As a generation was left hungry for free MP3s and impromptu performances, The Monkeys obliged, to a degree. The press lazily tagged them the 'first MySpace phenomenon' and they shifted 100,000 in their first day, making their record the UK's fastest selling debut ever.

Fast-forward to 2007 and "Favourite Worst Nightmare" falls well short on that result delivering a relatively humble but nonetheless impressive 60,000. Did 40,000 Arctic Monkeys fans forget to get out of bed on Monday? Well, they probably just moved on as the hype shifted elsewhere. Oddly though, it may just be the right time for the cynical and hype-weary to sit up and pay attention.

Single and album opener, "Brianstorm", actually invites that cliché beloved of music writers, namely that this really is quite some blistering opening salvo. It brands the listener's brain with the notion this will be neither a simple retread of the first record, nor a 'difficult' second album but a focussed, energised consolidation of strengths: the same but MUCH more. From therein little is done to discourage that impression.

The opening trio of tracks leading to irrepressible festival anthem-to-be, "Fluorescent Adolescent", are nothing out of the ordinary. That is, if you're unmoved by their spectacularly taught performance, painted in vivid colours by producer James Ford, and the way in which Matt Helder's splendid drumming keeps the album's heavier sound from sinking into sludge with inventive rhythms and unexpected fills.

As the record enters its second half a fascinating new vista opens in the band's songwriting: "Only Ones Who Knew" adds wonderfully affecting balladry to their CV and "505" delivers a yearning, honest break-up song to close the album in defiantly emotional tone. If you were aching to dismiss Alex Turner as a master only of world-weary cynicism and colloquial narrative, there goes your opportunity.

His songs have grown with experience and yet his imagination remains mercifully unhindered by the more mundane aspects of being in a successful rock band. Then there's "If You Were There, Beware", which suggests they've been spending some quality time with Queens Of The Stone Age on the tour bus. Kicking-off in gonzo surf territory, Jamie Cook proceeds to mangle sounds worthy of Lightning Bolt from his guitar.

Arctic Monkeys remain as defiantly unstylish as their name suggests; their artwork, logos and song titles all deceptively clumsy. Yet, beneath this fallibility - which surely does nothing to hinder their adoption as the Oasis-banishing band of the people - there lurks a group rapidly rising to the occasion. At every turn this record astonishes with its accomplishment and whilst the band continue to tread this beautiful line between youthful naiveté, growing musical literacy and emotional depth, they remain one of our moribund chart's few true great promises.

    by James Poletti