A Review of The Car – Arctic Monkeys’ Seventh Studio Album
Photo by Zackery Michael
The Arctic Monkeys’ seventh studio album, released on October 21st, drags us back into Alex Turner’s sonic cinema. Following up the mystery garnered by Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino is The Car, a ten song projectection of deception, wonder, and of course – jet skis.
We were first introduced to the framework of the album back in August, upon the release of the opening track “There’d Better Be A Mirrorball.” This song leaves us suspended in a liminal space upon entry, unsure of where we will go in this thrilling, sumptuous soundscape. Furthermore, the track’s placement in the album makes perfect sense as it establishes the confusion of emotion that Turner illustrates, delving into the concept of weighted decision. We are drawn to the title of the album here as he asks “So do you wanna walk me to the car?” It is as if he is asking us if we want to proceed further, to a possible place where the configuration of the “mirrorball” exists. Metaphorically, pinpointing the infatuation – the “mirrorball” – feels like a yearning for reason in making the weighted decisions I had mentioned earlier, perhaps in navigating heartbreak, emotion, the existential. The song is cinematic to say the utter least, provoking the idea of downfall and hopelessness while hinting at the possibility of romantic redemption.
Guiding us away from Turner’s dramatic melancholy is the following track, “I Ain’t Quite Where I Think I Am,” also released as a single a mere three days prior. It feels like the spotlight expands here as the grooviness of the track takes hold of your body, dismissing our prior tragedies. We are loose here, drawn to the pure funk and danceability of its sound. Turner acknowledges the shift in energy, from solitude to refuge stating “It’s the intermission / Let’s shake a few hands.” He also reminds us that the “mirrorball” is still around, noting “the disco strobes” a few times, making the motif of this grand party decoration have an informed importance. It leaves us reeling as we enter the doorway to the next song, my particular favorite from the album.
If people were looking for any ounce of AM within The Car, it can be found in “Sculptures of Anything Goes.” It combines the suspense of “Do I Wanna Know?” with the likeness of the band’s new, pensive mood. The imagery entailed here is unforgettable as well, adding to the rich, alluring atmosphere that Turner conspires – “Flash that angle grinder smile / Gasp and roll your eyes / And help me to get untied / From the chandelier.” There are various pauses within, providing us the means to sit in his words for some time. Turner paints this picture of what feels like walking through this certain lavish gallery. His pauses are adjacent to that of stopping to consume each piece of artwork on the wall, to devise meaning.
The next two songs, “Jet Skis On The Moat” and “Body Paint” share a similar sound and theme. We return to that funky “intermission,” cast between the more dramatic and brooding songs of the album. Turner employs more metaphors in “Jet Skis On The Moat,” asking “Or are you just happy to sit there / And watch while the paint job dries?” The person he addresses here feels like that same individual present in “There’d Better Be A Mirrorball,” to whom he asks to walk him to the car. We can also assume this is the same person in “Body Paint.” I come back to the idea that Turner’s narration depicts a search for some kind of romantic meaning, a glimpse into a lover’s mind even though he assures that “I know what you’re thinking.”
“The Car,” the title track of the album, is a shimmering, nostalgic break that feels like a distant memory. Turner speaks of a grandfather’s guitar, holidays, and travel size champagne. He also remarks on the idea that “it ain’t a hold until you go to fetch something from the car,” a simple action universally experienced. There is a chilling contrast noticed between the dramatics of the chandelier-strung rooms compared to the small universe we gape into here. “Mr Schwartz,” towards the end of the album, closely resembles a reflection of this world. The lyrics here present a similar nostalgia, sneaking in chimes that proclaim their necessity to the song.
Finally, “Big Ideas” and “Hello You” are two songs that absolutely crept up on me. There is a special gravity in these songs, especially drawn out in Turner’s elevated, wispy vocals in “Hello You.” The imagery in this song overflows as well, with one of my favorite lines being “Takin’ a dive into your crystal ball.” An air of golden opulence shines through, inherently with a nod towards the development of the band as seen in “Big Ideas.” The songs are vicariously raw, a view into Turner’s casually spoken introspection. We then end on the concept that is “Perfect Sense.” We are greeted with an ominous sense of closure, or perhaps what is just a realization. We are drawn into the mental catharsis Turner projects – “Sometimes, I wrap my head around it all / And it makes perfect sense.” With this, we are still dangled in midair at the close of the album, not truly able to locate how deep the waters go, just that they are vast. So while we may not identify the “it” that Turner pins down, we are left with an ephemeral sense of wonder, captivated in a cinematic gaze.