Boys, boys, boys. Look. From the very inception of ‘Arctic Monkeys’ and down the rocky road of band life no doubt fitted with potholes of woe and despair, all the way to this, the 61st year of our Queen’s (might I say rather successful?) reign, you have inspired in your fans a deep sense of camaraderie, of little stick figure cutouts holding hands, of near constant creamery. That is to say I, for one, cream myself a little every time my ear catches the twang of the guitar (Hey, there, electric) or the bam bam bam of the drums.
Being like Ingrid Bergman (that is to say, of course, low maintenance), all I require is the rhythm, man. Give me that sweet and low down bass and percussion and you’ve found yourself a happy woman. Really, look no further, kids. Oh, blub blub blub, who will love me? This kid.