The Car (A Critical Review of an Album I Haven’t Yet Heard)
I have listened to a few songs and read several reviews of Arctic Monkey’s new CD, The Car. My most significant worries have been realized. They are doubling down on the lounge sound from the last release. I listened to Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino at least 300 times, and I still can’t decide if I like it. All I know is that it is different. I can’t tell you if that difference is good or bad or just change for the sake of change. I will admit that I am disappointed.
I remember the first time I heard them. The first CD had just been released, and I found them on the internet. I immediately went to Amazon, where I could sample all the songs. It took me about 10 seconds to buy and download the CD. I instantly loved it; the raw energy reminded me of my younger days. You know, My Sharona screaming from my Karmann Ghia as I struggle down the highway. Or maybe Ramones yelling about sweaty kids in a tight wind. You get the idea. The stars misaligned as we all grew up and settled into the daily struggle for a hopefully meaningful existence.
I was fortunate to see Arctic Monkeys in a small venue long before they blew up. There were maybe a few hundred in the crowd that night. I was shocked by the predominantly male crowd. Very few females bothered to show up, but I remember the two young women standing right in front of me who insisted on making out during the show. That would be the entire show, including the opening act, a group I can’t begin to remember.
The venue was far enough away from me that I had to get a hotel room. My buddy Scott met me there, and we prepared for the show like many concertgoers. We drank some beer and ate some Mexican food. He hadn’t heard much of their music, but it was a good excuse to get away from the daily grind.
Our cab ride to the show was eventful. We were picked up by an amiable and substantial black man named Michael. We learned that Michael had a degree in mathematics but soon learned he preferred driving a cab to wrangling unruly youngsters. Many of you can guess my reply. I told him how important it was for him to use his degree. The world needed him to set an example for all children, especially the minorities he would see in his classroom. Role models of the mathematical variety are hard to come by, and I strongly suggested to him that we needed him. By we, of course, I meant all of humanity. I meant it, too. He listened politely and was engaged in the conversation. He gave us his card so he could pick us up after the concert. If I had to guess, he is not earning his living teaching mathematics. Too bad…for all of us.
The show was fantastic; sure, I was a bit distracted, but I managed to hear the setlist. They missed a couple of songs I would have liked to have heard, but that is always part of the bargain, isn’t it?
After the concert ended, they shuffled everyone quickly out the doors. For whatever reason, they did not want anyone milling around. Consequently, there were dozens of people peeing in the streets. They wouldn’t let me back in, so I had to join the chorus. Eh, what are you going to do?
I will download the new CD in the next day or two. I will listen to it many, many times. I will eventually decide if I like it or not. Or maybe I won’t. Perhaps it will join the last CD in my mental file of ambiguity. I hope not; I want to be surprised. I want to hear something the other reviewers have missed. If I do, I will not keep it to myself. I don’t recommend that you hold your breath waiting for that positive review. My money is on the flip side of that equation.
There you have it, a review of an album I have not listened to by my all-time favorite band. Stranger things have happened, but I have learned that trajectories, especially those of the creative variety, can be blinding. There is the thinnest of lines between too clever by half and brilliance. I have no idea where that line is; it is subtle and elusive. I hope the boys in the band and I can get back on the same page, but that is doubtful. They have grown up, and I have grown old.
