CityLife

Arctic Monkeys

Alex Turner 1 / 2 images

MEN Arena, Manchester

November 3, 2011

SOMETHING extraordinary has happened to Alex Turner.

The same Arctic Monkeys frontman who was once monosyllabic in interviews and passed off public liaison duties to his band mates has transformed into a late-1950s John Lennon.

It's partly the threads - that old fashioned leather jacket and tight blue jeans - and partly the new DA hairstyle. And, just a litle but, it's the fact he and the rest of the band have strutted on stage to the shimmering pop groove of Hot Chocolate's You Sexy Thing.

But more than anything, it's in Turner's attitude. Gone are the awkward silences and dashes from one urgent slice of Arctic Monkeys crash-and-burn indie to another. Instead, he's holding court. "We are th' Arctic Monkeys," he chirrups, all stylised quiff and cheeky Sheffield vowels. "And we're really mad for it."

Turner's doing actual banter, he's conducting a ripple of cheers around the audience, he's even performing high kicks off the drum stand. The last time he took the MEN Arena stage, we waited half a dozen songs for a nervous hello.

Staggeringly, it's only six years since a wide-eyed teen Turner told us not to believe the hype, but on their second full arena tour they finally look like they've bought into it, too. 

Flanked by giant screens and a retina ruining lighting rig, Turner poses and postulates (say it quietly) like he's actually enjoying the limelight, his wingmen Jamie Cook and Nick O'Malley drop bombs of melody around him on guitar and bass respectively, while drummer Matt Helders hammers home the rhythms from on high on a huge raised platform. 

Two years on from when they officially became an arena band, album four has got them back on musical track. The internal organ churning thunder of the bassline on swampy newie Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair certainly proves that, and as it nestles nicely next to old favourite Teddy Picker - the band's Scritti Politti-alike bouncing ball of a record.

The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala and Black Treacle both swap some of the shimmer of the studio for a more murky interpretation, while Brianstorm, The View From The Afternoon and I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor recapture the band's old energy - and then punch its lights out.

Musical veterans at 25 and 26 they may be, but they still play with the youthful enthusiasm of teenagers with something major to prove.

When that exuberance clashes with the six years of touring that's made them astonishingly accomplished players, as it does in the epic middle-eight of Do Me A Favour, the dizzying loop of When The Sun Goes Down or the light touch given to a paired down Mardy Bum, it's fair to say Arctic Monkeys are in a class of their own.

And sure, they remain way too fond of a mid-song pregnant pause (one or two is dramatic fun; five in one gig is a bit ridiculous). But when your show is as relentlessly rowdy as this, you can probably be forgiven for inserting the occasional contrived breather.