In years to come, when the inevitable "I <3 2004" rockumenterary hits television with its small army of washed up never-were celebrities in tow, I can say "I lived through that". I was there putting copies of Franz Ferdinand on the shelves on release day. I danced unabashedly to that catchy Killers single. I shook my fist at many a U2 ipod commercial. More than anything though, I remember the dark cloud that descended over my little record shop in August; The Libertines. What little taste remained in the national consciousness literally packed up and fucked off the day their second album came out, and here I am again, little under sixteen months later and the same thing has happened again with pretty much the exact same album from a different band.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the latest NME cash cow: The Arctic Monkeys. The four members were quite possibly amongst the endless stream of generic art school fashionistas I had served all those months ago, because god knows they must own that Libertines album. Brought to national attention last year with their surprise number one single, "I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor," which captured that "2004 sound" with its repetitive jangly guitars and tempo changes anyone could predict. If you've heard this one song then you have, for all intents and purposes, heard the majority of Whatever You Say I Am, That's What I Am Not. They wring everything they can out of their already limited formula on songs like "Dancing Shoes". Just for diversity's sake though, you have the token slow tracks such as "Riot Van". A song about running away from the police, underage drinking and a spot of heavy-handed police work towards the end. However, NWA and Rodney King this isn't. Being a bit of a Chav [Google it!] seems to be the ongoing theme of the whole album, but hanging around the job centre and drinking cheap cider out of a plastic bottle doesn't really resonate that well with me, so maybe it's just a bit over my head. About the only positive thing I can muster to say about this band is that they are at least better than Razorlight, but that's a little like boasting that you beat the retarded kid at school in a spelling test.
This is a bad rehash of a bastardisation of a mediocre album that your old Mod Uncle probably owns on vinyl. Seek that album out instead if you must, but try to forget this and let's hope it dies quietly in the corner.
