Two studio albums into their 20s, Arctic Monkeys were the most perfect incarnation of post-Beatles euro-pop to date. They'd successfully taken the last 35 years of just-wanna-hold-your-hand poptimism and respooled it so tight that all of their hands were too wrapped up in their own style to reach out for the grasp of another person. Now two full albums in, their spool of thread is frayed. Humbug, the group's highly anticipated third effort, is a fuzzed-out study in maturation in more ways than one.
Approaching their mid-20s, Arctic Monkeys have apparently traded in their Beatles records for a collection of desert rock classics. Their upbeat hooks are minimized to make room for distorted riffs and lurching bass lines. Matt Helders' drum beats are as profound as usual, but whereas they once acted as the enforcer, keeping everything in a tight line, they now serve as the base from which everything else expands.
Now plenty old enough to legally consume alcohol, frontman Alex Turner has grown from the underage, self-centered brat to the grizzled brat-cooker who brushes his teeth with whiskey toothpaste. One has to assume that he sings most of the songs on Humbug caked in dirt and sweat, spitting a fluid mixture of emotions and bourbon into his microphone with every take.
Instead of sacrificing sincerity for style, Turner morphed his style to fit what he needed to say. Although he's probably outgrown his angst, his signature jaded perspective is still intact. His condescending outbursts toward fake tans and faker personalities have been replaced by his own internal struggles.
Lyrically, much of Humbug revolves around Turner's confusion and isolation. Before mistaking three different ladies for the girl in question on ""Cornerstone,"" he settles for her sister, ostensibly because she was the only one equally lonely. And on ""My Propeller,"" Turner can't summon the strength to do anything but wait for someone to come help lift him out of his dilemma.
However, Humbug isn't the pity party it sets itself up to be. Rather, it's the byproduct of Turner's same penchant for harping on anything and everything that irritates him, now focused on more aged topics.
Humbug's abrupt shift in style is sure to draw ire from some longtime listeners. However, its bolder sound lends itself to a multitude of new avenues for expansion. Arctic Monkeys' debut was such a complete entity that it offered them very little room for growth. As such, their follow-up, though equally impressive, was not much of a progression and served as an omen for a band all but out of ideas. They had grown to their capacity, and risked outstaying their welcome. Humbug, then, is the aversion that will ultimately save them. However unrealized parts of the album might be, its peaks are mere glimpses of the amount of power that the mature, evolved group can reach.
