The Arctic Monkeys which emerged in 2018 were not the Arctic Monkeys we remembered from 2013. The pounding, prescriptive rock and roll of AM — their most critically acclaimed album anchored by powerhouse songs like “Arabella” and “Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?” — seemed to have vanished with the cool, caustic rhythm of Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino.
I’ve written in the past about the artistic obligations fans inevitably pose to their favorite artists: albums like Haim’s Women In Music Pt. III and St. Vincent’s Masseduction worked to subvert expectations of their previously established sound, for better or for worse. And as I’ve noted before, it’s a vicious paradox: those who choose to remain in their own sonic lane forever risk stagnancy, and those who choose the sharp left turn risk audience abandonment if unsuccessful.
But Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino, an album largely planned and penned by frontman Alex Turner, doesn’t seem all that scared. Arctic Monkeys had a lot to risk: they’d built a cultlike following in the sixteen years of their existence, an affinity . By now, the mention of Arctic Monkeys is synonymous with the image of American Apparel-wearing Tumblr users, the aesthetic many of us aspired to back when lace chokers and circle skirts were still in style. (I’m speaking from the heart here.)
I, too, was one of the naysayers when I first listened to Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino. On May 11, 2018, the day of release, I turned the album on and promptly turned it off — it just wasn’t what I expected.
But time heals all, and four years later, I’d like to confess my wrongdoing. Tranquility Base is a masterpiece, an album that reveals a maturation beyond the slicked-back sound the group was once known for. Gone were the roaring guitars of the past; the future lives in a tinkling piano, in tepid drum patterns and heavenly dynamic harmonies.
I’ve come across myriad interpretations of what Tranquility Base attempts to signify — it embraces storytelling in a way that the group previously only hinted at track-by-track. It exists plainly as a concept album: Turner imagines himself in a near-future science-fiction reality, assuming the role of an aging indie-rock has-been taking refuge in the title’s fictional resort on the moon (Tranquility Base refers to the site of the 1969 Apollo II Moon landing). But Tranquility Base sees a new level of artistic cohesion for Arctic Monkeys, a level which, in my opinion, depends on a pertinent thematic understanding: that of self-parody, of a man turning inward, lamenting the possibilities that never came to be.
Turner announces his intentions with his first breath: “I just wanted to be one of the Strokes”, he croons, “...I’m a big name in deep space”. The album’s opening track, “Star Treatment”, brings us exactly where Turner wants us: feet firmly planted on the Moon’s metallic floor, heads turned up to the abyss above. Throughout the album, Turner laments the global woes of our time — consumerism, technology, the trappings of fame — and removes them from the globe itself. He is a man floating above everything, insulated, bemoaning “the endless stream of great TV” from a lunar hotel room.
Thankfully, for all of its ostentation, the album refuses to sacrifice genuine artistry; every track is its own vehicle, each song a tool for Turner’s rhetoric. The album’s stripped-down sound further allows for a new kind of sensuality from the group: a tenderness once shrouded in bombast reveals itself. The song “Golden Trunks” does so wonderfully, with Turner sliding between the memorizing melody of an electric guitar: “And in response to what you whispered in my ear / I must admit, sometimes I fantasize about you too”. Turner juxtaposes desire with harsh reality, referring intermittently to “bendable figures with a fresh new pack of lies” — the frustration of political turmoil is relieved only by his lust.
Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino thrives elsewhere in its spatial recognition; “Four Out of Five” acts as a quasi-advertisement for the titular resort itself, a drawling, compelling ballad beckoning voyeurs: “Cute new places keep on popping up / since the exodus, it’s all getting gentrified”. Turner describes a haven in a post-Earth age, a suspended reality offering luxury to those who can afford it. “All the days that never happened and the days that don’t exist”, he sings, an evident furthering of the tongue-in-cheek paradox presented throughout: the man’s place of refuge is born of the very same innovation that drives his innate grievances.
“I want to make a simple point about peace and love”, he says on “Science Fiction”, “but in a sexy way where it’s not obvious”. All at once, Arctic Monkeys transcend and befit this intention; for Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino, the album’s sincerity is dependent on its willingness to embrace conceit, to exhaust its own ideas. Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino is a feat of artistry, a renewal of what we already suspected: Arctic Monkeys are the real deal.
It's so funny that they were (probably?) the biggest rock band on the planet after AM and then were like, "Let's take six years off and come back with a lounge-lizard concept album with zero warning or press." They're legends and I adore this album.
Good, well argued, piece Mathilda.
Got to admit though, I'm still 'conflicted' by the last two AMs albums, so for a counter argument (albeit a slightly tongue in cheek one) try my own recent post at: https://challenge69.substack.com/p/time-to-get-back-on-the-dancefloor
Tim