![]() ![]() From the eleven year old who burns "Flourescent Adolescent" onto mix CD's and an original iPod to college student listening to No. No matter how many artists I listen to as I grow and my tastes grow with maturity, I will never outgrow this band. Turners lyrics- no matter how changing - always illustrate powerful and captivating women he may or may not be infatuated with, without objectifying them. An album entirely about women, loving women, messing up with women, and nervously navigating women fell right in line with who I wanted to grow into. Whether or not this was a very feminist act, AM provided the framework for my confidence in my own powerful womanhood. At this point the AM album had just been released the day before and I fell in love with Turner's lyrical skill all over again listening to it on the way to the show. Basking in the second-hand high from the smoke cloud above me I jumped and danced to I Bet That You Look Good On The Dancefloor and hoped to God I would catch Matt's drumstick. I looked up at Alex Turner engaging the audience with pride, dancing around the stage and yelling "R U MINE MOTHERFUCKA" a little too-often. The view from the Mann Stage is stunning. My favorite video being one in which Alex grabs a fan's go-pro camera and hands it to Matt Helders, the drummer. ![]() Lunging across the halls to my parents I begged for the credit card to buy the $35 GA ticket and watched every Arctic Monkeys concert I could find on YouTube. It was my 16th birthday when tickets went on sale for their concert in Philadelphia at the Mann. He was telling me a story, as a friend.įor years I rejected invitations to concerts and refused to plan on attending any others until I lost my concert virginity to Arctic Monkeys. And not romantically, I was not his "muse". In each case -or song- Turner was singing to me. At 12 years old I was hearing "Last night/what we talked about/it made so much sense/But now the haze is ascended/it don't make much sense anymore" when the closest I'd gotten to a crazy night was a middle school dance with Mountain Dew. I heard Alex Turner's digging voice through the most precise drumming I've ever heard directly in my ear. Few things could summarize my spiritual connection to the sleazy British boy band, but to my mind and ears, Arctic Monkeys are the closest thing we have to perfection in this modern climate of feel-good/please-kill-me indie rock.įor years, Arctic Monkeys were my secret to hold, like buried treasure I reveled in whenever I could get to YouTube or Pandora radio on our family's PC. I learned to drive to Suck It And See and crashed my car to AM. Before I knew anything else, 12 year old Nadia was baptized by I Bet That You Look Good On The Dance Floor and awakened by Leave Before The Lights Come On. Long before sitting in the Penn State College of Comm building and switching to a Music Journalism tailored track of studies, there was just me, and Arctic Monkeys. ![]()
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