![]() ![]() ![]() It doesn't exactly bode well for Favourite Worst Nightmare. ![]() That must be reassuring for anyone who thought their recent attendance at an awards ceremony - where they refused to walk up the red carpet, refused to have their photograph taken, refused to share a table and then gave an acceptance speech in which they called their fellow award winners "shit" - represented a craven capitulation to the demands of celebrity culture.īrianstorm's lyrics are cut from the same sarky cloth as their debut single, Fake Tales of San Francisco, but listening to it you're haunted by the thought that hearing a multimillion-selling rock star sneering at an unwanted interloper in his dressing room might not be quite as edifying as hearing a whip-smart teenager chuckling at his peers in the indie disco. You could say that being so uncommercial sends out a message about the Arctic Monkeys' continued ability to be difficult despite their vast success. Brianstorm sounds like an entry in what seems to be a competition among major artists to see just how devoid of a tune a single can be and still make the upper reaches of the chart, raising the stakes substantially over last year's winner, SexyBack by Justin Timberlake. Even by the standards of the Arctic Monkeys - a band preoccupied with puncturing expectations, as only people saddled with unrealistic expectations can be - the single that heralds the follow-up to the biggest-selling debut album in British history is a deflating experience.
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