This week on Left of The Dial, we’re looking at the album Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not by Arctic Monkeys. For the sake of both your sanity and mine due to the length of the album title, I’ll abbreviate it from here on out to Whatever. Arctic Monkeys are an indie-rock band from Sheffield, England, consisting of Alex Turner on vocals and guitar, Jamie Cook on guitar, Andy Nicholson on bass guitar, and Matt Helders on drums. Whatever was the band’s first full-length album, released in 2006.
It’s also worth noting that this album made history in the UK by being the country’s fastest-selling debut album, selling 363,735 copies in the first week alone. With such an achievement, surely this record is bound to be good, right? We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves with that claim, so let’s not stall any longer and take a look at the contents of the record.
The record opens with “The View from the Afternoon,” which throws us right into the rock-and-roll goodness with zero haste. The instrumentals have such a raw sound to them, which give the song and, by extension, the record that DIY flavor I love so much. Turner’s opening statement sets up the themes that will be explored in the record: “Anticipation has a habit to set you up, For disappointment in evening entertainment but, Tonight there’ll be some love, Tonight there’ll be a ruckus, yeah, regardless of what’s gone before.” Fans have speculated that Whatever is a concept album about a night in the lives of a group of young clubbers in North England, and I buy into that completely.
We’ll keep exploring the specifics of this story as we go, but an interesting tidbit relating to the theory is the record’s title. Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not is a line from the Alan Sillitoe novel Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, which was chosen by Turner because of the similarities in the themes explored by the novel and the record, particularly in the way the novel explores British nightlife.
Going back to “The View from the Afternoon,” the song describes the excitement of our protagonist at the prospect of another night out with his friends, hooking up with girls, gambling, and, of course, drinking. It sets up the ongoing plot of the record well, and it’s a great jam to boot.
“I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor” is our next song, describing how the narrator is lusting after a girl who’s being a total tease. She makes eyes at him and flirts from a distance, yet refuses to make a direct move at him. This teasing frustrates the narrator, as lines like “Without a sound, yeah, you’re calling me, And I don’t think it’s very fair,” illustrate. Turner’s vocal delivery helps relay his feelings, as he raises his voice with each pass of the chorus like he’s begging for this girl’s attention, maxing out at a scream by the end. An interesting subversion this song takes on romance comes with this verse: “Oh, there ain’t no love, no Montagues or Capulets, Just banging tunes and DJ sets and, Dirty dance floors and dreams of naughtiness!” The Romeo & Juliet trope has been done to death in media, so it’s a breath of fresh air to see it subverted like this. This exchange clearly isn’t intended to spark any long-term relationship; it’s a one-night hookup in the eyes of both parties.
Next up is “Fake Tales of San Francisco,” exploring the all-too-familiar issue of bands trying to copy other bands instead of being their own thing. Ironically, the main guitar riff of this song call to mind the riff from Iggy Pop’s “I’m Bored,” though the vocal melody quickly saves it from being a ripoff. Turner drew inspiration for this song through the way Arctic Monkeys were compared to other bands back when they were first getting started. He vents his frustration toward bands who build this fake image of themselves just so they can be popular, especially when they can’t fulfill that false image. Clearly, the crowd the band in question draws isn’t fooled by their facade, as illustrated by the lines “And there’s a few bored faces at the back, All wishing they weren’t there,” as well as “‘Oh, you’ve saved me,’ she screams down the line, ‘The band were fucking wank, And I’m not having a nice time.’” Of course, Turner notes that some people will enjoy these ripoff artists regardless, “So all that’s left, Is the proof that love’s not only blind but deaf.” The song concludes with the band repeating the line “Get off the bandwagon and put down the handbook,” a call to action for these bands to just be themselves and bring something new to the table.
As an artist myself, I sympathize with the band’s frustration over originality, because it’s tough to resist the urge to do what everyone else does, especially if it garners more attention than what you’re doing.
While the previous song was a bit of a departure from the central theme of the album, “Dancing Shoes” brings us back to it. This continues the story that began in “I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor,” with a man lusting for a girl. This time, however, the man isn’t trying to make any moves; he’s completely dependent on the target of his interest making that move for him. The lyrics call him out on his absurd behavior with the lines “The only reason that you came, So what you scared for?” We also see a subtle callback to the theme of “Fake Tales of San Francisco” with the way the man copies the other clubbers’ behavior instead of being proactive with his intentions: “Instead you’ll just do the same, As they all do, and hope for the best.” Since the song is set on the dancefloor, it makes perfect sense that the instrumentals take on a disco flair and make you want to dance yourself.
Next, we come to “You Probably Couldn’t See for the Lights but You Were Staring Straight at Me,” a personal favorite of mine despite the mouthful of a title. This one illustrates the incompetence and embarrassment felt by our narrator as he tries and subsequently fails to talk eloquently to a woman. I consider this a follow-up to “Dancing Shoes,” since it’s hinted here that the girl initiates the conversation with the narrator: “They don’t want to say hello, like I want to say hello, Well, my heartbeat’s at its peak, when you’re coming up to speak.” This girl appears to be quite popular among the male clubbers, as the narrator describes the way they all try to impress her and how they compare to him. The lines “But they’re not half as bad as me, say anything and I’ll agree, Cause when it comes to acting up, I’m sure I could write the book,” sum up his desperation for female approval, as well as his self-awareness of said desperation. They do say that admitting your problem is the first step toward getting over it, after all. The rambling phrasing of the lyrics works well to establish the narrator’s bumbling nature, yet they still flow well when performed. This is something I admire about Alex Turner’s songwriting style; it’s a cross-pollination of the lyrical flow of rap and the raw instrumentals of rock.
“Still Take You Home” is about a girl that the narrator is aware has lots of issues, yet still lusts after her, and is the next track of our album. This girl is described as a fake airhead, lying to make herself seem more desirable and chasing trends, and has nothing aside from her outward appearance to draw the narrator in. Her character is summed up in these lines: “Oh, you’re a Topshop princess, a rockstar, too, But you’re a fad and you’re a fashion, And I’m having a job trying to talk to you.” With the understanding that clubbers are looking to hook up more than to establish long-term romance, the narrator’s feelings are less shallow and almost smart in his decision to take this girl home. Establishing a personal connection to a partner makes it harder to move on, and if the goal is to get some for a night and continue to play the field, then hooking up with someone who only really delivers in the physical aspect is the way to go.
“Riot Van” is a departure from exploring club hook-ups, focusing on a run-in with the cops instead. It’s also a departure musically, slowing things down with a mellow guitar riff and Turner’s groggy croon. He almost sounds intoxicated, fitting the perspective of a teen being pulled over for underage drinking like a glove. The boys in question don’t take the cops all that seriously, running from them “Just for the laugh,” and mocking them on “why they don’t catch proper crooks,” instead of chasing kids who aren’t doing much wrong by comparison. In the end, though, the cops still have the power over them, arresting and putting their truncheons to use on one of the boys. There’s an underlying tragedy to this song, and whether Turner was looking to make a statement against the boys in blue or not is up in the air, but the answer seems clear to me in the way the cops are portrayed here. They throw their power around and overreact to the situation, which is still an issue with police departments today.
“Red Light Indicates Doors Are Secured” comes next, told as a conversation among the clubbing group as they get a taxi ride. The group has to split up between multiple cabs, as the driver rudely says they can’t all cram in one vehicle. The narrator complains about how expensive the ride is, and describes a near fight he witnessed while in the queue for the cab. Overall, the experience comes off as pretty troublesome and undesirable, so much so that the boys contemplate ditching the cab mid-ride. The plot fails though, as “the red light was showing, And red light indicates doors are secured.” This song is a little dull compared to the others so far, but it speaks to the quality of the record that we had to come this far in to find a dud, and even then, “dud” is a strong word to use here.
Luckily for us, “Mardy Bum” is a much better song. This one focuses on an argument between lovers about the narrator coming home late. Mardy, as we’ll call her, is described as having a frown “like looking down, The barrel of a gun, And it goes off, And out come all these words.” Her anger is explosive and almost spontaneous, only for her to then give the narrator the silent treatment after. The narrator doesn’t have the energy to argue with her, as he repeatedly asks “can’t we just laugh and joke around?” He tries to fantasize about the good times he’s shared with Mardy, because through the arguments, he still loves her and hates disappointing her. This song is another personal favorite for me, I’m a sucker for these love songs.
Up next is “Perhaps Vampires Is a Bit Strong But…,” which describes the feelings the band’s hometown of Sheffield had toward them when they were starting up. Clearly, they weren’t all that supportive, since they’re being described as “vampires” in this song. The townsfolk are depicted as being set in their ways, thinking that any ambition the band has is a mask for greed. The lines “Well, I ain’t got no dollar signs in my eyes, That might be a surprise but it’s true,” and “He said, ‘I can’t believe that you drove all that way, Well how much did they pay ya?’” speak volumes of how conservative the community over there were. Between this and the comparisons drawn in “Fake Tales of San Francisco,” I’m not shocked at all that the band decided to write this song. Even the instrumentals and vocals sound angrier than the other tracks on the record. Turner has a vocal filter on this track that gives his voice some more bite, and while I’m not usually a fan of vocal filters (mostly when they’re used as a crutch rather than an enhancement), it feels fitting here for the sound the band is trying to achieve. Nonetheless, my feelings for this song are pretty similar to the ones for “Red Light Indicates Doors Are Secured;” I don’t love it, but it’s far from being bad. I suppose it’s more of a personal preference than anything, so don’t let my opinion deter you from listening to these songs.
“When the Sun Goes Down” is the next track, telling the story of a prostitute and a pimp. Turner based the plot of the song off some of the prostitutes he and the band observed around their practice room in Sheffield, as well as a pimp who was always carrying bags with unknown substances inside. It reminds me of the backstory behind The Police’s “Roxanne,” which Turner cleverly references in the lines “And I’ve seen him with girls of the night, And he told Roxanne to put on her red light.” The narrator sympathizes with the prostitute and her rough life while demonizing the pimp for taking advantage of girls like her to further line his own pockets. The narrator wonders “what went wrong, So that she had to roam the streets,” and notes about the pimp that “Just give him half a chance, I bet he’ll rob you if he can.” The sketchiness of the story beats leave a lot to the imagination, which is probably for the best, seeing as how your own conclusions probably allow the song to hit harder for you than if everything is explained in detail.
Up next is “From the Ritz to the Rubble,” pulling double-duty by describing a nightclub bouncer drunk with power, as well as the recollections that come after a night of drinking and clubbing. The bouncer is totalitarian in nature, either you follow his rules or you’re out, and takes his job too seriously. The narrator describes him with these lines: “He’s got no time for your looking or breathing, How he don’t want you to, so step out the queue, He makes examples of you and there’s nowt you can say.” In hindsight, the narrator counts his blessings and tells himself “I’m so glad they turned us all away, We’ll put it down to fate, I said a thousand million things, That I could never say this morning.” I’d chalk this song up as a lesson about being a little more precautious when drinking and trying not to put yourself in situations you wouldn’t get into if you were sober.
Finally, we close off the record with “A Certain Romance.” Contrary to the title, it isn’t really about the romance between two people; it’s about the love-hate relationship between the narrator and a subculture of people, specifically the chav scene. “Chav” is a term coined in the UK for kids that dress up in designer sportswear, embellish their outfits with lots of flashy jewelry, and generally act like assholes to seem tough. It was something of a fad around the time Whatever was released, so it was a topical subject to tackle for the band, even though it’s dated now. The narrator describes how he doesn’t like the way the chavs behave or dress, pointing out that “there ain’t no romance around there.” For about 3 minutes and 30 seconds, we’re led to believe these are people we can separate ourselves from, but that’s when the plot twist enters that gives the song a totally different meaning: “Well, over there, there’s friends of mine, What can I say? I’ve known ‘em for a long long time, And, yeah, they might overstep the line, But you just cannot get angry in the same way.” We all have friends who fall into scenes we may not agree with, it’s just part of life. It doesn’t mean they aren’t our friends, in fact, it just brings us all closer together. We all hate to admit it, but we had our phases as young teens that we swore weren’t phases, whether that be scene/emo, anime obsession, or chav. The point is, we all identify with subcultures at some point, and “A Certain Romance” is a mature statement about not letting our differences get in the way of friendship. It’s a heartwarming way to conclude the record.
Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not is frankly an amazing record that’s highly deserving of its praises, and stands as one of my favorite albums. My top three tracks would be “The View from the Afternoon,” “Fake Tales of San Francisco,” and “Mardy Bum,” which was super tough to narrow down due to how many good tracks are there to choose from, though that also made the bottom three easier to pick out. Those would definitely be “Red Light Indicates Doors Are Secured,” “Perhaps Vampires Is a Bit Strong But…,” and “From the Ritz to the Rubble.”
Rating: 9/10
Feature Photo by Becca Fauteux