As the lights went down overhead, the fervent, 3,000-strong crowd, bathed in shadows, erupted in a (brian)storm of applause. The ovation however, was instantly quieted by a backing track of placid orchestral strings, belying the wave of mutilation that followed in the form of shrieking guitars, thunderous drums and a lyrical tirade in singer Alex Turner’s trademark squawk on frenzied B-side, “If You Found This It’s Probably Too Late.” A “Brianstorm” ensued, signaled by dizzying, flickering neon beams (as featured in the booty-shaking music video) illuminating the elated mob. The aural assault continued with club-bangers “Still Take You Home,” “Dancing Shoes,” “From the Ritz to the Rubble,” and “Balaclava,” before offering the saturated Arctic Army an ever-so-brief window to exhale, as the funky bass of “Balaclava” seamlessly transformed into the jamming guitar of “Fake Tales of San Francisco.” Words cannot describe how mental/punishing of a start this is - the frantic, flag-waving crowd simultaneously emitting a collective gasp for H20, and grinning in ecstasy.
The pride of Sheffield didn’t offer a whole lot of leeway, as they motored through an airtight 20-song, 75-minute set (sans encore) that showcased a mixture of songs off recent LP Favourite Worst Nightmare with songs from best-selling debut Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not. The new songs meshed well with the “oldies,” and barn-burners “Brianstorm” and “Balaclava” fare much better live than on record. Overall, The Monkeys delivered a much more polished performance compared to previous NYC efforts. The lads still seem a bit rigid onstage, but have effectively shaken off the “deer in headlights” look they sported back in March of ’06 at Webster Hall. Alex Turner possesses ample charisma, exercising his acerbic wit sporadically. However, this is a band that doesn’t bother themselves with bullshit onstage histrionics (see: Johnny Borrell) - they just let their kickass tunes speak for themselves. The obvious highlights were “I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor,” as the horde passed up the robot in lieu of moshing, “When the Sun Goes Down,” and perennial set-closer, “A Certain Romance” - a beauteous ballad that concludes every Monkeys show in triumphant fashion. There were some slight technical difficulties during “The View From the Afternoon” and “Fluorescent Adolescent,” but this is mere nitpicking when dealing with such zesty, urgent tunes, amplified by a mesmerizing lighting scheme that has become a venue staple of Hammerstein Ballroom.
The surprisingly young Nashville natives, Be Your Own Pet, led by certifiably hot/ almost certainly epileptic Jemina Pearl, did an ample job of lubing up the crowd with their collection of primal, 2-minute pop-punk burners. They sound like the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s on methamphetamines, and earned some new fans with their hysterical theatrics and violent shredding.
Still, this night belonged to Arctic Monkeys who, in just over a year, have matured into an excellent live band, dazzling their legions of fans with song after song of Britpop perfection. With the likes of David Byrne, Regina Spektor, The Strokes, and - Gasp! - Lindsay Lohan in attendance, you knew it was going to be a very special night; and quite frankly Ms. Lohan, most fluorescent of adolescents, won’t settle for anything less.
--Marlow Stern
Photo by Perou
