Back in 2005, I was 14 years old. Like a lot of girls my age, I spent way too many hours glued to MTV. I come from that generation where music videos, bands, trends, and the whole cultural atmosphere of the era genuinely shaped the way we saw the world. We had already lived through the glorious early 2000s rock explosion. Bands and artists like Foo Fighters, Linkin Park, Papa Roach, and Avril Lavigne were defining an entire generation. And honestly, they also left a mark on a lot of us who grew up during that time.
“I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor” was the bridge between not knowing who these kids from Sheffield were and suddenly becoming obsessed with them. I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor had that rough, melodic, youthful energy that only British rock seems capable of producing. It felt like throwing The Clash and The Smiths into a blender. A perfect collision between punk rebellion and melancholic sensitivity. For me, it was love at first listen. I genuinely couldn’t believe the kind of band I had just discovered. They had everything. They were ironic enough, chaotic enough, and unmistakably British enough to become global icons. Back then, the “Monkeys” looked more like some talented garage band than the overly theatrical thing I ended up witnessing years later in 2023. God, what a painful experience that was.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. The albums that helped revive rock music during the 2010s absolutely had Arctic Monkeys at the center of it all. And if barely anyone listens to rock nowadays, let’s not forget that decline really started around 2012 or so. Ironically, that was also the exact moment when AM came out. A masterpiece from beginning to end. Even Rolling Stone described both the album and the band as “sublime,” and honestly, I completely agree. If anything, the record sounds even better now than it did eleven years ago. It aged beautifully. The atmosphere, the riffs, the swagger, the late-night toxicity wrapped in elegance... everything about it still works.
Still, nothing stays perfect forever, and that’s really the heart of this post. A while ago I was talking with a close friend about how this band willingly walked away from everything that made them special, just to dive headfirst into exaggerated theatricality and self-indulgent drama. And yes, I’m talking about Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino and The Car. I know some people adore those albums, but personally? I struggle to rescue more than two or three songs from either one. They feel more like aesthetic exercises than actual rock records. More mood than substance. More image than impact. And before anyone says it: yes, artists evolve. Of course they do. But evolution does not necessarily mean abandoning the very essence that made people connect with you in the first place.
Take The Beatles as an example. The band that made The White Album was obviously not the same one from With the Beatles. But you know what they never lost? Their core identity. The guitar harmonies, the melodies, the emotional structure of their songwriting. That unmistakable DNA was always there. That’s why songs like Get Back still feel authentic and timeless. I’m not saying Arctic Monkeys had to repeat themselves forever, not at all. I just think there’s a difference between evolving naturally and deliberately abandoning your own soul in pursuit of being “different.” Sometimes the obsession with artistic reinvention ends up damaging the very legacy you built.
And that’s what frustrates me the most about Alex Turner. Because he is undeniably talented. An incredible songwriter, vocalist, and musician. But also someone who sometimes seems too fascinated with his own aesthetic detours. The funny thing is that most of what you hear in the band’s last two albums already existed in Turner’s older side projects and solo influences. It’s not even subtle. Compare the Arctic Monkeys from 2013, 2014, 2015 or 2016 with what they are now. It almost feels like two completely different bands sharing the same name. And honestly? That makes me sad. Because for a while, they truly felt untouchable.