Favourite Worst Nightmare

by Arctic Monkeys

Arctic Monkeys - Favourite Worst Nightmare

Ratings

Music: ★★★★☆ (4.0/5)

Sound: ☆☆☆☆☆ (0.0/5)

Review

**Arctic Monkeys - Favourite Worst Nightmare**
★★★★☆

The curse of the difficult second album has claimed more victims than a Sheffield Wednesday relegation battle, but Alex Turner and his merry band of Yorkshire upstarts weren't about to let a little thing like impossible expectations derail their meteoric ascent. Following the seismic impact of 2006's *Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not* – the fastest-selling debut in UK history at the time – the Arctic Monkeys could have easily retreated into their High Green bedrooms, paralyzed by the weight of their own success. Instead, they did what any self-respecting rock band should do: they got louder, faster, and considerably more unhinged.

*Favourite Worst Nightmare*, released in April 2007, finds the band wrestling with the peculiar predicament of being working-class heroes who can suddenly afford to skip the night bus home. The album crackles with the nervous energy of four lads who've gone from playing the Leadmill to headlining festivals in the space of eighteen months, and Turner's lyrics reflect this disorienting journey with his characteristic blend of wit and melancholy.

Where their debut was all sharp social observation and kitchen-sink realism, *Favourite Worst Nightmare* ventures into more abstract territory, both lyrically and sonically. The band, working again with producers James Ford and Mike Crossey, have crafted a sound that's simultaneously more muscular and more neurotic than its predecessor. The guitars bite harder, Matt Helders' drumming has developed an almost tribal intensity, and Turner's vocals alternate between sneering confidence and genuine vulnerability.

The album explodes into life with "Brianstorm," a two-minute adrenaline shot that sounds like The Strokes having a nervous breakdown in a Sheffield steel mill. It's a mission statement of sorts – this isn't the same band that gave you "I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor." Turner's wordplay reaches new heights of complexity here, his tongue-twisting lyrics delivered at breakneck speed over a riff that could strip paint.

"Teddy Picker" continues the assault, a scathing indictment of media culture wrapped in one of their most infectious hooks. The song's central metaphor – comparing the music industry to a fairground game – showcases Turner's evolution as a lyricist, moving beyond literal storytelling into more impressionistic territory. Meanwhile, "D is for Dangerous" and "Balaclava" maintain the album's frenetic pace, the latter featuring some of the most gloriously unhinged guitar work in their catalog.

But it's not all sound and fury. "505" stands as perhaps the album's finest moment, a slow-burning masterpiece that finds Turner at his most romantically vulnerable. Built around a hypnotic bassline and featuring some genuinely gorgeous guitar textures, it's proof that the band's songwriting had matured considerably. The song's hotel room setting and aching sense of longing mark it as a clear evolution from the bus stop romanticism of their earlier work.

"Fluorescent Adolescent," co-written with Johanna Bennett, offers another glimpse of the band's expanding palette. Its tale of suburban ennui and faded dreams is delivered over a deceptively jaunty melody, creating the kind of bittersweet tension that would become a Turner trademark. The song's music video, featuring elderly people in a street fight, perfectly captured the band's surreal sense of humor.

The album occasionally suffers from its own restless energy – tracks like "This House is a Circus" and "Old Yellow Bricks" can feel slightly overwrought, as if the band were trying too hard to prove they'd moved beyond their debut's more straightforward approach. But these minor missteps are easily forgiven in the context of such an ambitious leap forward.

*Favourite Worst Nightmare* debuted at number one and has since been recognized as a crucial stepping stone in Arctic Monkeys' evolution. It's the sound of a band refusing to be pigeonholed, even if it meant alienating some fans who preferred their earlier, more accessible material. The album's influence can be heard in countless indie rock bands who've attempted to capture its particular blend of literary ambition and sonic aggression.

Sixteen years on, *Favourite Worst Nightmare* feels like a fascinating historical document – a snapshot of a band caught between their scrappy origins and their eventual transformation into stadium-conquering art rockers.

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