Arctic Monkeys are a rarity in music. How often do bands with universal acclaim almost completely reject the style that built their careers in favor of something radically different — like evolving from a rambunctious rock band to a cool lounge act? From frayed edges to smooth surfaces, shaggy curls to slicked hair. Helmed by lead singer Alex Turner, the band has done a complete 180 sonically, turning in their aggressive rock and roll style for one that’s slower and far more groovy. Risking career suicide by alienating their entire fanbase, Arctic Monkeys managed to do the near impossible: reinvent who they are as a band without falling into obscurity. Most importantly though, the music is just really, really good.
Arctic Monkeys are far from the first band to shift their style, but they are an example of how to shift gracefully. Of the multitude of reasons a band may choose a change, most cases find bands grasping at relevance, searching to prove they aren’t one-noted. Turner has never come across as someone who had anything to prove. Following the release of “AM” in 2013, the band was at its height as a rock act. But instead of doubling down on a style that was proven to sell tickets, they took their fame and used it to pursue something new. Their 2018 album “Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino” was the first sign of change, a concept album with a jazzy, synth-heavy sound.
With their new album “The Car,” released Oct. 21, 2022, Arctic Monkeys stick to their slick lounge act but inject it with a classic feeling. Turner plays a key role in making this evolution convincing. Persona is a vital element in whether or not people buy into a band. In Turner’s case, his persona has only become more distinct the more Arctic Monkeys have evolved. Turner’s initial stage persona was essentially a copy of Julian Casablancas of “The Strokes.” Casablancas birthed the wave of indie rock that Arctic Monkeys came to be a part of. The persona was roguish and scruffy, a rebellious rockstar that wore leather jackets and cut their hair shaggy. Turner embodied this persona well, but through the years he began to slowly alter his image. He started gelling his hair and his movements became more fluid. His music began to reflect this alteration, with “The Car” allowing him to operate at full bravado. Now he’s not a shaggy-haired kid; he’s a silky-voiced crooner. He’s more Sinatra than Casablancas.
Turner isn’t just doing a Sinatra impression though. His vocals are not as sweeping and grand as the famous crooner. Instead, Turner delves into a falsetto that oozes with a soft coolness. As his words drip off the microphone, he sets a vibe that is entirely his own. He’s sophisticated, classy with an edge, the perfect singer for an album that could only work with a performer at the head who could match its groove. Turner has proven that he was never just an indie rock kid or a refined rockstar, or whatever people wanted to call him. He’s etched out his own distinct persona in an industry that wants its stars to follow a blueprint.
“The Car” is a perplexing album. Turner’s lyrical intricacies are oblique, obscuring the deeper themes of the album while evoking nuanced, fine-tuned images. “Freaky keyboard by the retina scan,” he sings, seducing the listener through a mirage of wordplay. There’s an aura of mystery surrounding every song. It’s like driving aimlessly in a haze searching for something indistinct that you’re certain you’ve lost. Ideas of love and longing define the album’s mood but are more reflections on the water than concrete themes. It’s all there, romance, desire, melancholy and paranoia, but unlike most musical experiences where the artists speak what they feel to the audience, “The Car” puts the listener in the passenger seat next to Turner, while he searches for answers along with you.
Lyrics alone are not responsible for the puzzling experience of listening to “The Car.” The silky grooves that define the album’s sound feel straight out of a 60s spy flick. It’s an album that demands to be enjoyed in a lounge, cigar in one hand and the touch of a leather couch in the other. “Don’t get emotional, that ain’t like you, yesterday’s still leaking through the roof,” sings Turner over wistful strings, grasping at a love that was doomed to die from the start. The James Bond sound stumbles into melancholy, more aimless piano blues creating a kaleidoscope of emotions. The exact ideas in Turner’s head bubble just beneath the surface of all of this, satiating the listener’s curiosity and eluding them at the same time, only adding to the allure of it all.
Despite the array of complexities, with oblique lyrics, evocative sounds, and the cultural oddity wrapped around Turner, the album feels like an awakening for Arctic Monkeys. All the loose ends are sewn together with precision, the listener is never lost even if they aren’t quite able to discern the codes left in Turner’s words. It’s a full realization of an idea that the band seems to have been dancing around their whole career. But it could all be gone tomorrow. Arctic Monkeys at their core are a band that refuses to be nailed down. “The Car” is the culmination of years of evolution, the perfect synthesis of everything the band has been building toward. Which raises the question: where do they go from here?
