polar monkeys
Domino Records
camera explosion
★★★★
Better be a mirror ball. The Arctic Monkeys arrive with a bold new chapter, the seventh album titled The Car, now available across stores and streaming platforms. The opening gambit feels like a dance invitation and a nocturnal farewell wrapped into one. The chorus, swaggering and bright, drapes the room with a mirrored glow while a cascade of images flickers on the walls. Glittering landscapes, dreamlike scenes, and fractal textures weave through the soundscape. The Car shifts from a grand Western sweep to a nuanced, orchestral tenderness in Body Paint, and it circles back through the fevered funk of I Am Not Where I Am with Alex Turner delivering lines that feel sharp as a blade. The music unfurls like a vivid hallucination, built from dark synthesis and cinematic lighting, a tactile, elegant ride that translates cinema into a listening experience.
Yet the approach has its rough edges. Some tracks feel out of step, as if the tempo slips away from the album’s core forward momentum. Mr. Schwartz nods toward a Hotel California mood with a vintage edge, while Jet Skies on the Ditch leans into a playful arpeggiated fusion that perhaps never quite lands. In total, the collection sometimes reads as a bit thinner in propulsion, and Turner’s voice occasionally leans into monotone lines despite the falsetto flourishes that have long defined his vocal spell. The result is a listening journey that reveals both ambition and restraint, a balance the band negotiates with care.
back to the ritz
Some listeners may feel a pang of disappointment when they hear The Car door open and recall the nerve that powered early records. The nasal edge and the punch of Matt Helders’ drums might be missed by fans chasing an older intensity. But in a moment that feels almost inevitable, the band leans into nostalgia while pushing forward. The texture becomes space pop in spirit, a deliberate shift that breathes new air into a familiar sound. The previous album, Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino, stood as a statement rather than a stunt, a clear signal of intent that now resonates in the new direction. From the Ritz to the rubble, the arc feels complete, and the journey continues.
The North Pole era produced songs about sticky beer floors, shy Dandelion and Burdock kisses, and lonely nights inside crowded rooms. The Car does not abandon those emotions entirely, yet it relocates them inside a luxury hotel universe. Imported whiskey, leather seating, and polished marble surfaces create a glamorous setting, but behind the gleam the air remains thick with humidity and a hint of dust on the curtains. The mood shifts out of glossy fantasy into a more intimate, almost tactile experience. A single discordant note in It Better Be a Mirror Ball turns a romantic dream into something eerie and unsettling, proving that beauty can carry a strange tension. The album invites listeners to consider how luxury can hide longing, how celebration can coexist with a sense of absence, and how memory can feel almost cinematic in its intensity. Concepts of aspiration and restraint intertwine, producing a mood that is lush, then suddenly stark, then warmly human again. This is the space where the band thrives, where they let mood dictate texture and let complexity emerge from restraint [citation needed].
In sum, The Car is more than a collection of songs. It is a cinematic excursion that invites active listening, a record that rewards repeat exposure. Its textures range from glimmering disco to reflective ballads, and its arrangements showcase a discipline that keeps yellowed nostalgia from tipping into mere imitation. The album asks for patience, for attention to small shifts in rhythm and tone, and rewards those who stay with it through the first bright impulse and into the slower, more reflective passages. The result is a refined, elegant experience that sits proudly alongside the best work of the Arctic Monkeys, a signal that even as they evolve, their core voice remains unmistakable and deeply human [citation needed].