dream on boy a écrit:perso je trouve la musique des ses ados boutonneux insipide...
c'est du pompage , du deja vu.
les medias anglais vont miser tout sur ce groupe ...
chaque annee c'est pareil
2004 : Franz Ferdinand (avec leur excellent premier album)
2005 : kaiser chiefs (album moyen mais singles tubesques)
2006 : les singes arctiques
le poulpe a écrit:pr en revenir au classement nme ils ont des vieilles réminiscences de pulp(cf 7m et 46m).
Ya au moins ca de positif.:p
pîtchfork a écrit:
Arctic Monkeys
Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not
[Domino; 2006]
Rating: 7.4
On Monday, the Arctic Monkeys sold 118,501 copies of their debut album in the UK, more than the rest of the top 20 combined. It's a startingly high figure not just because they're set to be the Biggest New Band Since Oasis but because of the speed with which they've gatecrashed their nation's public consciousness, going from unknown indie band to No. 1 on the singles charts in roughly six months. Much of the credit for that quick rise is rightly given to the power of the internet: The then-unsigned band first caught the public ear when its demos circulated last year. The Sheffield quartet eventually signed with Domino and the label wisely hosted the buzzmaking tracks, a move that allowed anticipation for the group's studio recordings to spread rather than stall. Two No. 1 singles, a few breathless reviews, and a load of thinkpieces about how The Internet Will Change Music Forever later and in the UK the Arctic Monkeys are suddenly the biggest band of the decade.
It would be nice to think that a democratized music industry would mean the kids are tossing up alternatives to what they're already getting, but the Arctic Monkeys are, at their heart, the same sort of meat'n'potatoes guitar rock that has dominated the UK since the emergence of the Strokes, if not Oasis. They're a band that neatly sums up what's already selling, and in a relatively condensed media market the group was always going to be a hit; what's changed is that they were pegged quickly, mainlined to their target market and the UK mainstream press and radio for six months, then called an organic success story. (America, don't get smug: Your biggest download success to date is "My Humps".) And context still matters: When Oasis or the Strokes rolled into town, they were breaths of fresh air, antidotes to a lack of swagger or hooks or artists who wanted and deserved to be rock stars; Arctic Monkeys are yet another in a string of buzzsaw guitar bands with Northern accents.
What's meant to be different about them are sometimes keenly expressive lyrics and that irresistible backstory. The band's more starry-eyed backers compare their hardscrabble tales to those of predecessors such as the Specials, Smiths, Pulp, and the Streets. But wringing lyrics from the everyday or articulating the dissatisfaction of many is risky and difficult business and, unlike those listed above, the Monkeys aren't so much spinning deft tales of quotidian anxiety as just complaining about their first steps into nightlife, run-ins with bouncers, cops, and schoolmates. So they're the UK's emo, painting diaristic portraits of small-town and suburban life for teens in a country where fundamentalism is allegiance to a soccer club rather than religion.
Hey, fair play to them-- first steps into nightlife, run-ins with bouncers, cops, and schoolmates, these should be the worries in their lives, and of their peers they're among the best at addressing them. Almost everything that's appealing about Arctic Monkeys is down to singer Alex Turner, who possesses a gritty voice that gets increasingly appealing the more he allows it to stretch and wander. On sharp, observational, and detail-heavy Saturday Night and Sunday Morning tracks like the "Red Lights Indicate Doors Are Secure", "Mardy Bum", and "Riot Van" the band justifies taking their album name from the kitchen-sink drama. (Though it's still terrible-- alas, Don't Let the Bastards Get You Down was already taken). Outside of naming their record, when the band stumbles it's typically when they're fumbling around with women ("Dancing Shoes", "Still Take You Home") or complaining about the onset of fame (the dreadful "Perhaps Vampires Is a Bit Strong But...").
The singles are a mixed bag. The Five Minutes With... EP's "Fake Tales of San Francisco" is a witty call to arms, a plea for bands that say something about their lives, but "From the Ritz to the Rubble"'s whining almost makes you want to side with the bouncers. Of the Monkeys' starmaking tracks, neither sounds like a No. 1, let alone the first sounds from a burgeoning sensation: "I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor" grates every other time I listen to it; better is the offbeat "When the Sun Goes Down", the only track here that's three-dimensional structurally as well as lyrically. Should the band release album closer "A Certain Romance" as its next single, the hit/miss ratio will be greatly improved. A long sigh about living among chavs, "Romance" finds the Monkeys moving between bloody-knuckled and wistful as they paint a picture of boredom breeding violence, of being aware of the faults and faultlines in their environment but feeling too powerless or hemmed in by loyalty to raise a fuss. It's a neat summation of both the band's m.o. and a teenage life characterized by existential drift and geographic claustrophobia.
And in the end then this is about teenage life-- and a pretty specific type of teenage life at that. NME editor Conor McNicholas told The Guardian last year that "there's a big sofa supermarket by Doncaster train station. I always look at it and think someone's got a Saturday job there, they're 17, they're stuck in Doncaster and they fucking hate it-- that's the person we're publishing for." I'd guess that to a disaffected, chavbaiting 17-year-old from Doncaster (or Rotherham, or Hull...) this is the perfect soundtrack to moving loveseats around a stock room. Fittingly then the NME awarded this album a 10/10. To the rest of us, however, the album is at times charming, oddly affecting, and certainly promising but understandably something less than life changing.
-Scott Plagenhoef, January 25, 2006
pop-rock.be a écrit:
Arctic Monkeys : "Whatever people say I am that’s what I’m not"
Info ou intox ?
dimanche 19 février 2006, par Marc Lenglet, Albin Wagener, Jérôme Delvaux
La sortie hyper médiatisée du premier album des Arctic Monkeys, un jeune groupe venant de Sheffield, a causé un certain émoi à la Rédaction. Ce buzz énorme était-il aussi artificiel et donc discutable que ceux ayant entouré les premiers soubresauts des Babyshambles et autres Clap Your Hands Say Yeah ? Une fois n’est pas coutume, trois chroniqueurs de Pop-Rock ont désiré se pencher sur cet album. Verdict ?
Un tout petit album, sans relief ni magie et bourré de plages dispensables. Voilà, ma chronique est déjà presque terminée. Je ne dirais même pas que je suis déçu car je n’attendais absolument rien de cette énième Album de l’année du Meilleur groupe anglais du siècle. Comme pour les Babyshambles et Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, c’est un sentiment d’arnaque qui prévaut. Hormis peut-être un single efficace, I bet you look good on the dancefloor, avec un riff assez sympa, rien, absolument rien ici ne m’a touché. On est loin de la puissance d’Art Brut ou de la finesse de Maxïmo Park, autrement plus convaincants l’an dernier. Même les Libertines - qui viennent souvent à l’esprit à l’écoute de ce groupe - se sont montrés nettement plus séduisants avec leurs deux albums à la réputation pourtant ô combien surfaite.
Les Arctic Monkeys seront de retour à Bruxelles, au Botanique, le 28 février. Le même soir, les Liars seront à l’Ancienne Belgique. Autant dire que je n’ai pas hésité une seconde !
J.D.
Alors que, plusieurs mois avant la sortie de leur premier album, on entendait déjà hululer un peu partout à propos de ces Singes Polaires comme de la nouvelle révélation rock qu’il fallait avoir écouté sous peine de passer pour un irrécupérable béotien, on ne se demandait même plus si on courrait le moindre risque d’être ébahi par ce énième rejeton pillard de tout ce que le rock a pu compter de talents foutraques dans les années 70 et 80. Et pourtant, l’écoute goguenarde de ces énièmes sauveurs de la musique d’outre-Manche se clôture par une impression de vive sympathie à l’encontre de ces quatre natifs de Sheffield qui, au fil de leurs 13 premières compositions, retrouvent avec bonheur la frénésie d’un rock sans entraves (I bet you look good on the dancefloor, When the sun goes down...) mais lorgnent aussi à l’occasion vers la pop Union Jack la plus lumineuse (Mardy bum). Whatever people say what I am that’s what I’m not - fin de citation - n’est pas une révélation, mais simplement une bonne surprise hivernale, à mettre au crédit de ces petits nouveaux qui ne proposent rien de bien neuf, mais allongent la recette avec leur griffe attachante, leur excitation échevelée, leur humour prolo un peu décalé, et leurs mélodies rarement orthodoxes. Contrairement à des Bloc Party, Kaiser Chiefs, ou The Bravery sitôt écoutés sitôt oubliés, il est possible que les Arctic Monkeys suscitent mon intérêt à plus long terme, du moins un peu plus loin que le débarquement de la prochaine Révélation du l’année...
M.L.
Y a pas à dire, à l’écoute du premier albums de ces Anglais fort sympathiques, on ressent cette sorte d’irrésistible attrait que l’on éprouve d’ordinaire pour le groupe de jeunes lycéens qui joue dans le dimanche matin dans la cave de la maison voisine. On a envie d’aller les voir en concert au café du coin de la rue pour les encourager, et le combo de Sheffield a assurément bénéficié de ce sentiment général. Avant même de sortir ce premier effort musical, la presse entière roucoulait d’éloges à leur encontre, encensant parfois les titres sans même les avoir entendus. Combles de la hype qui entoure actuellement la plupart des groupes de rock, les Arctic Monkeys bénéficient pourtant d’un effet indicible, une espèce de petit truc en plus. On bondit presque instinctivement sur I bet you look good on the dancefloor, et le formidable Dancing shoes possède cet attrait presque diabolique qui fait tanguer les hanches sans que l’on sache vraiment pourquoi. Pourtant, au fur et à mesure de l’avancée de l’album, on se dit qu’on ferait mieux d’aller faire des courses en ville avant que les magasins ne ferment. Pourquoi ? Parce que la sympathie et l’affection ne suffisent pas pour faire un bon groupe. On a beau apprécier les Arctic Monkeys, il ne faut pas non plus s’y laisser tromper : When the sun goes down et Mardy bum, par exemple, souffrent d’une structure complètement téléphonée. Rien n’est fondamentalement mauvais, et ce premier album insuffle même un peu d’air frais dans cette brasse coulée enflée par Hard-Fi, The Rakes ou encore Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. Certainement surestimés, les Artic Monkeys peuvent remercier le bon dieu d’avoir les faveurs des effets de comparaison et de lassitude qui commencent à pointer le bout de leur nez dans toute la presse musicale. Attachant, mais pas de quoi décorner un cocu.
A.W.
Arctic Monkeys
Who the Fuck Are Arctic Monkeys? EP
[Domino; 2006]
Rating: 5.9
Five-song EP Who the Fuck Are Arctic Monkeys? is the English quartet's first new release since it became the year's most-talked-band and, oh dear, it's largely about dealing with sudden fame and its unfortunate consequences-- the obligations of touring, the demands of fans, the inevitability of backlash. This is nothing new for the Monkeys-- "The View From the Afternoon" kicks off their debut LP with a warning that "Anticipation has a habit to set you up/ For disappointment in evening entertainment," and tellingly that's the Whatever People Say I Am... track featured here. Thesis statement laid out, half of Who the Fuck's new tracks are less about the experience of being young and bored and smartly observant, the combination that, to date, has colored their best tracks, but about the experience of being the Arctic Monkeys themselves-- still young, sometimes bored, but their vision now limited to a tour itinerary or press clippings, and unable to successfully articulate why that's so frustrating.
For the listener, it's easy to spot the chief problem: Songs about the need and drive to become rock and roll stars are more powerful and interesting than the ones about the experience of being a rock and roll star-- just ask Noel Gallagher. Arctic Monkeys singer and lyricist Alex Turner-- an expressive storyteller with a keen eye for detail and a deceptively sly wit-- seems well-equipped to navigate the divide between talking as one of the kids and talking to the kids, so perhaps his stumbles are more a shell-shocked response to the speed in which they gained their fame than a fundamental flaw. The EP's defensive title track comes across as a poor decision, a dispatch from the other side of the velvet rope that moves between communicating directly with their fans ("Your heroes aren't what they seem/ When you've been where we've been") to dismissing johnny-come-latelys to admitted bouts of paranoia. The stick to your guns/last gang in town tone of the thing is admirable-- lord knows, rock could use a bit of swagger-- but it has a bit of a "famous last words" quality to it, reading like that "Declaration of Principles" that came back to bite Charles Foster Kane in the ass.
"Despair in the Departure Lounge" is about, you guessed it, missing your girl when you're on the road. And sure, it's a cliché, but it eventually unfolds as an unexpected gesture from a lyricist who's often guarded, reserving his empathy for his characters (and, on "A Certain Romance", for his could-be enemies) and putting up a front with regards to himself. The moment when the song redeems its cookie-cutter nature is its third verse, and it hits not because of what Turner says but how he says it, slowing his voice into a wobbly quiver that mimics both the haze of travel and the hallucinatory nature of the lyric ("Yesterday, I saw a girl/ Who looked like someone you might knock about with/ And almost shouted"). It's reminiscent of the aforementioned Gallagher's exhausted solo acoustic turn on Oasis B-side "Talk Tonight".
The other two new tracks are a third-tier character sketch ("Cigarette Smoker Fiona") and an understated ballad ("No Buses"), with the latter serving as the record's grower and most thoroughly satisfying track. So, more a reiteration of their mission statement than a new record, the hint of ferociousness and fight on the title track is a positive sign; that the band feels backed into a corner by the manner and speed in which it gained fame isn't. It would be churlish and archaic to insist in 2006 that bands drive around in a van for x number of months in order to "earn" success when they can efficiently and quickly cover the distance of the globe with a single mp3. (Gnarls Barkley, the UK market's other recent digital-age sensation, presumably get a free pass because they're industry vets.) If people already have their knives out for the Arctic Monkeys, the band would do best to ignore them and move on rather than address the issue itself in song. After all, the surest way to deflect backlash is to make good music.
-Scott Plagenhoef, April 26, 2006
Retourner vers Autour de Depeche Mode
Utilisateurs parcourant ce forum: Aucun utilisateur enregistré et 6 invités