Caught the much-hyped Arctic Monkeys Tuesday nite during their brief stop in Dallas.
A few observations.
First, these kids rock. And they are kids. Still in their teens. But the four of ‘em unleashed a sonic ferocity I haven’t seen in years. They raced through their modest catalog of songs at an astonishing velocity. The guitar assault was Ramones-esque; the volume was Spinal Tap-ish. Songs are well crafted with smart, funny lyrics. The live versions of them were, to a fault, faithful to the studio versions.
Which brings me to my second point: They don’t yet have the live personality that matches the hype. And the hype is considerable. This is a band whose debut album was called one of the five best in British rock history. Hype, indeed. Yes, their talent is quite evident. Yet they lack a presence -- that certain savoir faire, that fleur de lis, that E Pluribus Unum. (Insert pretentious foreign phrase here.)
OK. Now for the action away from the stage. I was taken aback by the number of my middle-aged peers at the show. Maybe we’re the type who are buying into the buzz. Eager to see The Next Big Thing. Some of my fellow patrons were, apparently, just wanting to drink and dance. The Granada must’ve been pouring stiff drinks, because few inhibitions were on display. They certainly weren't anywhere near the guy across the aisle who was snapping his balding head as he loosely managed his sweaty “dance” convulsions. I’m convinced that during these ill-advised gyrations, this guy’s teenaged children – wherever they might’ve been – got a really bad vibe from the universe.
Also on display was the predictable, yet somehow still surprising, machismo and posing and territorialism that comes with a standing audience. To wit: the 30-something guy in front of me preening, bowing up, and punching the air with extended forefinger and pinky with bravado while inching back towards me in search of more real estate for him to impress the nearby 20-something chick (who appeared to be with his buddy). It played out like a National Geographic documentary. (“The male genus, fueled with loud music and elixir, does all he can to exhibit his dominance to attract the female.”)
To summarize: Cool show. Great energy. Excellent band. Funny spectators.
