Sometime between Arctic Monkeys' North American tours in 2009 and 2011, frontman Alex Turner changed completely. The aloofness that defined their first eight years or so had vanished seemingly overnight, as the tour behind Suck It and See saw Turner suddenly transform from a nonchalant garage rocker in a swaggering, preening, semi-ironic greaser.
That same attitude adjustment has been reflected in their albums since then: the slithering hornball rock of 2013's AM and the lounge lizard space opera that was 2018's Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino.
Turner's transformation is now complete. The Car is pure glitz and excess, with Turner affecting an acrobatic delivery that swoops from cooing falsetto to purring croon, sounding absolutely nothing like the lad who once sneered snapshots of chav culture. Instead of visceral, immediate songs, The Car offers more of an aesthetic experience, with grand orchestral arrangements that evoke Old Hollywood and abstract non-sequiturs taking the place of sing-along choruses. Having listened to this album numerous times through the course of writing this review, I'd be hard-pressed to say what even a single one of the songs is actually about; lines like "Do your time traveling through the tanning booth / So you don't let the sun catch you crying" are best enjoyed as clever turns of phrase that evoke a general sense of wistfulness, rather than offering a clear meaning.
The main takeaway from The Car is its soundscapes, which take a queue from Turner and producer James Ford's lavish work with the Last Shadow Puppets. "Sculptures of Anything Goes" beautifully flirts with both retro and futuristic, its distorted drums sounding like Death Grips gone easy listening and the spacious keyboard chimes providing the counterpoint to the album's maximalism. "Body Paint" offers the full range of The Car's grandeur, going from lounge piano ballad to a genteel breakdown of courtly strings to a fuzzy rock crescendo. With porno wah licks on "I Ain't Quite Where I Think I Am," acoustic arpeggios that tinkle like raindrops on "The Car," and bopping hand percussion on "Hello You," every one of these 10 cuts is immaculately arranged.
Alex Turner used to just want to be one of the Strokes. Now, it sounds like he's gunning for the role of orchestra conductor. The Car is a beautiful calling card for this opulent new version of Arctic Monkeys, even if it lacks the immediacy the band built its reputation on.
(Domino)That same attitude adjustment has been reflected in their albums since then: the slithering hornball rock of 2013's AM and the lounge lizard space opera that was 2018's Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino.
Turner's transformation is now complete. The Car is pure glitz and excess, with Turner affecting an acrobatic delivery that swoops from cooing falsetto to purring croon, sounding absolutely nothing like the lad who once sneered snapshots of chav culture. Instead of visceral, immediate songs, The Car offers more of an aesthetic experience, with grand orchestral arrangements that evoke Old Hollywood and abstract non-sequiturs taking the place of sing-along choruses. Having listened to this album numerous times through the course of writing this review, I'd be hard-pressed to say what even a single one of the songs is actually about; lines like "Do your time traveling through the tanning booth / So you don't let the sun catch you crying" are best enjoyed as clever turns of phrase that evoke a general sense of wistfulness, rather than offering a clear meaning.
The main takeaway from The Car is its soundscapes, which take a queue from Turner and producer James Ford's lavish work with the Last Shadow Puppets. "Sculptures of Anything Goes" beautifully flirts with both retro and futuristic, its distorted drums sounding like Death Grips gone easy listening and the spacious keyboard chimes providing the counterpoint to the album's maximalism. "Body Paint" offers the full range of The Car's grandeur, going from lounge piano ballad to a genteel breakdown of courtly strings to a fuzzy rock crescendo. With porno wah licks on "I Ain't Quite Where I Think I Am," acoustic arpeggios that tinkle like raindrops on "The Car," and bopping hand percussion on "Hello You," every one of these 10 cuts is immaculately arranged.
Alex Turner used to just want to be one of the Strokes. Now, it sounds like he's gunning for the role of orchestra conductor. The Car is a beautiful calling card for this opulent new version of Arctic Monkeys, even if it lacks the immediacy the band built its reputation on.