Arctic Monkeys

I need to get this out of the way:

I am not a hipster. I have no idea what or why "kids these days" find cool. Especially when it comes to UK bands.

In fact, if there's any word to describe me in currently culturally relevant terms, without sounding ironic, pretentious, "anti", or ambivalent, I am an "un-hip"-ster. I realize this the moment I arrive at the security gates to the Malkin Bowl and see that the majority of the queue consists of teenagers and twenty-somethings. Whether they consist of indie/underground scenesters, or the new generation of co-presenters 99.3 The Fox listeners (with whom the Monkeys made a smashing impression with their previous singles), I'm not sure, but as a 30-something suburban rock fan, decked out straight-legs and collared tee, I feel a little conspicuous. This feeling quickly vanishes as the waves of fans of all ages stroll through the security checkpoint. 6-year olds with their parents. 30-40-50-somethings. It would seem the entire spectrum of Vancouver's rock fans are coming out to bid adieu to summer and take in a night of Brit-rock under the stars.

However, if there's one thing I do know: guys, if you're going to wear skin-tight girl-pants, you won't have much luck trying to smuggle a beer shoved down your pants. I saw a few hapless dudes get their bottles taken away.

As I wait for the promoter to show up and hand out the media passes, I join in the ongoing conversation between a group of ladies outside the gate, including some of the photographers and wide array of local and national media personnel. They're currently discussing the latest Arctic Monkeys' album "Humbug", which hit North American shores in late August. After only having a few listens to it, it's growing on me quickly: not as stripped-down, jangly, and lyrically hilarious as their previous two albums, but I dig it. I casually interject, mentioning how a few parts of the album remind me of Primus, and how the new album is a welcome evolution.

And with that, I seemingly kill four birds (to use some UK slang) with one stone.

"Are you for real? I HATE Primus!" says one.

"I like Primus, but I'm not crazy about the Arctic Monkeys", says another.

"I don't like the new album at all", says the third.

The other begrudgingly admits she knows what song I'm talking about, but isn't impressed with the comparison, or the fact I said it aloud.

Heh.

A brief moment of silence. It's nice. The birds (the forest-dwelling type) seem to have recovered from The Like's forest-shaking set, and are piping up again.

The conversation shifts to other bands that the photographers have shot lately. Neil Young, Elvis Costello, Franz Ferdinand, The Dead Weather. The discussion sticks on the Dead Weather for a moment, as they reminisce about how great the show was, but how difficult the dark lighting was to work with. I mention seeing one of the photographer's shots in a local publication and remark about how surprised I was they went with such a dark shot.

She's not impressed.

"I LIKED that shot!", she quickly informs me, as a brief flash of indignation crosses her face. It's too late to say I didn't LIKE the picture, just thought it was dark. Ah, well...

It is suddenly painfully apparent that I do not have the pub-poetry skills or charisma of Arctic Monkeys frontman Alex Turner. I mean, this guy was voted "Coolest Man on The Planet" by NME magazine in 2005, and has an arsenal of Yorkie slang that has had me smirking to myself all afternoon, since finding out what he was referring to in "Teddy Picker", with the line "He told ya that you were gagging for it". Regardless, I seem to have found myself a subject of one of those wonderfully awkward social situations that he has become known for writing about.

I decide now might be a good time to step away from the conversation and get my camera ready. A moment later, the rep from LiveNation shows up and begins handing out the photo passes. When she gets to mine, she smiles and says: "Discover Vancouver? We were reading an interesting blog there today about how to sneak into the venue tonight!"

You wiseacres. Thanks for that.

Enough about me. On with the show....

Arctic Monkeys casually strolled onstage at about 7:30, picked up their instruments, and without a word, proceeded to rock the park with a force comparable to the windstorm of '06. As this was both my first show at the Malkin Bowl, and my first Monkeys' show, I was loving the sound, the lights, and the ambience of the surrounding trees and emerging stars. AM are known for not resting on their laurels and playing "greatest hits" sets, and treated the crowd to several new songs from the latest offering, which, by the way, was produced by Queens of the Stone Age's Josh Homme. I don't know what he instilled (or fed) the guys during their stint in the desert, but the new material translated perfectly live.

Where the average rock show consists of 80% rock, and a few mellow ones thrown in for good measure, AM throw convention to the wind and rock whenever they feel like it. Where I was expecting a set full of the radio-friendly barn-burners that catapulted them out of obscurity and into the UK's "fastest selling debut album in history" status, they combined their signature jangly, thundering riffs with subdued, airy crooning and at times, dark, haunting ballads. If there was any question that they are relying on a formula, fuggetaboutit. Some songs start off slow and build up to a stampede, while others start by rocking your face off, then morph into mellow, airy anticlimaxes. They seem to disregard tradition while sticking to tried and true methods. And it works.

Now, I'm usually pretty critical of UK bands whose reputation precedes them, but it quickly became apparent how the lads built up a rabid fan base so quickly: they are flawless live. Jamie Cook has evolved into a remarkable guitar player, with a wide arsenal of effects a la U2's The Edge, whose layers and subtle textures are the perfect sonic backdrop for Turner's stripped-down chords and riffs. At times his parts are indistinguishable from the keyboardist/backup guitar player, which is no small feat for a minimalist guitarist who seems to favor vintage Strats and few effects. In fact, the whole band seems to have a preference for vintage gear.

Individually, the players of Arctic Monkey don't really stand out as virtuosos-at times their riffs seem disjointed, arhythmic, and amateur. However, once, Matt Hedler and Nick O'Malley find the groove to piece it all together, it all falls into place and the seemingly odd-tempo riffs make perfect sense. Speaking of Hedler, we were treated to a rare performance of "Sketchead" (a bonus track from "Humbug" only available on iTunes) which was the highlight performance of the night for me. It's like 50 wicked-tight drum fills wrapped in a riff, with some signature observation about drunken chavs. Considering these guys didn't start playing music until they received instruments for Christmas in 2001, and were international superstars five years later, they are fantastic players. Another treat was a cover of the Nick Cave song "Red Right Hand".

While it was great to hear the new songs live ("My Propeller", "Cornerstone","Dangerous Animals"), it was the earlier songs like "I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor", and "Brianstorm", that seemed to get the crowd back into it. In a rare bout of chattiness, Turner addressed the crowd sitting on the bank: "How's the view up there? Good?", launching into "The View From The Afternoon" without waiting for a response. I have heard that AM are known for crowd participation and singalongs. Not tonight. Besides a few brief song introductions, they didn't have much to say. It would seem at this point in their career that words are unnecessary: for the encore, Turner returned to the stage and roused an ear-piercing crowd response by simply uttering..."Vancouver" into the mic, before playing "Secret Door".

At this point, I looked over at my wife, who seemed to be shakin' it in what at first appeared to be some hybrid PeeWee Herman dance. It took my eyes a moment to adjust from the strobe-and-smoke overload coming from the stage to realize that she was actually shivering and rubbing her arms trying to keep warm. I invited her into my coat and warmed her as we spent the next few minutes swaying to "Flourescent Adolescent" and "505", enjoying what may just be the last, best minutes of summer. As the band slowly left the stage one by one (in what is known as a "peelaway"), leaving Jamie Cook to leave us washed in a feedback drone, it hit me that maybe Alex Turner's legendary "coolness" isn't always what he says, but rather what he doesn't say. We stayed put in silence for a few moments as the crowd slowly headed to the gates and into the waiting arms of autumn. It was one of those moments that made me truly appreciate just how great life can be in this city.

Every once in awhile, even a 30-something un-hipster like me gets to be the coolest guy on the planet. At least in her eyes, anyway. And that's all that really matters.