It’s likely that in the last few months, more has been written about the Arctic Monkeys than any other band, anywhere. Such is the benefit (or curse) of being the flavor of the moment. The Monkeys, like many another pop wonder, are in the right place, at the right time. With the right sound. In this case, 41-minutes of rock frenzy, including husky vocals and whirling guitar riffs. The twenty-somethings from Sheffield – an industrial wasteland in North central England – have, of course, plenty to say for themselves, at least if one is to judge by the length of their song and CD titles. The band’s tone is witty and humorous, in spite of the pervasive sense of suburban ennui. An ennui that the listener can forgive after viewing the grim photos of the lads’ hometown included in the CD booklet. No wonder lead singer/guitarist Alex Turner is a gloomy sort; his rhyming lyrics are delivered in a chanting voice which suggests reality is bad and self-removal from such better. In contrast, the music produced by this indie/Brit-pop quartet is balm for the soul, not unlike that of The White Stripes, Frantz Ferdinand or, at times, the Pixies. Less pompous than Oasis and more fun than Pulp, Arctic Monkeys lives up to the hype.
Domino Records

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
May 2006 issue