Knee Socks & Interstellagator-Skin Boots: A Decade of Arctic Monkeys’ AM
We're looking back on the Sheffield band's fifth studio album, one of the most important rock projects of the century, on its 10th anniversary
Photo by Steve Jennings/Getty Images for CBS Radio, Inc.
Today marks the 10-year anniversary of one of the most influential indie rock albums of this century. A timeless compilation of lust-filled tracks, Arctic Monkeys’ AM solidified the band’s rockstar status beyond the UK and across the world. Not only was it their most successful album to date, it helped birth the iconic, definitive Tumblr aesthetic, reshaped music discovery and has remained a time-capsule for generations of angsty teens’ first loves, heartbreaks and emotionally turbulent adolescence.
The simplicity of the album cover first caught my eye—an amplitude modulation soundwave forming the letters “AM” in the center, perfectly designed for hazy backdrops at stadium shows. Its edginess was effortless and could fit anywhere, be it a blog feed or floating on the lockscreen of an iPod touch. Following The 1975’s self-titled debut and The Neighbourhood’s I Love You, AM added fuel to the fire that was indie music’s soft-grunge obsession.
But the recent resurgence of AM—and the accompanying Alex Turner fancam edits—has made me feel ancient. Walking into Boston’s TD Garden on September 3, I found myself lost in swarms of teenagers fawning over the enigmatic frontman. Dressed in fishnets paired with pleated skirts and baby tees, it’s almost difficult to distinguish these newer fans from my teenage self. Admittedly, I’m re-entering my own fangirl phase, awing alongside them like I did on Tumblr a decade ago. Arctic Monkeys dominated the app at the time, with lyrics from “Knee Socks” plastered across black-and-white photos with checkered overlays flooding feeds. Open my timeline and you’ll still find “I Wanna Be Yours (5% Slower)” reblogged from nearly 10 years ago.
Where I had Tumblr, today’s teens have TikTok. Scattered across my For You page are fit checks to “Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?” (now using the “nightcore version” rather than “slowed and reverbed”) as fans queue outside venues as early as 2AM. When I saw Arctic Monkeys five years ago, “venue camping” wasn’t on anyone’s mind—I missed my train and showed up at Brooklyn Steel towards the very end of Cameron Avery’s opening set. I was alone, but soon got absorbed into the crowd of Brits as the strides of “Do I Wanna Know?” filled the steel factory. By the end of the night, I was placed by the front of the crowd for the electric “R U Mine?” encore and felt embraced by the comradeship shared by loyal fans. At TD Garden, I thought I’d feel a disconnect between myself and their younger audience—concert culture is changing, and Arctic Monkeys have since released two new albums—but as soon as the first inkling of “Snap Out of It” poured into the arena, I knew the magic of AM hadn’t gone away. If anything, newer fans have only reminded us veterans of how potent the album still is.
While the band’s debut album, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, had already propelled them to fame in the UK in 2006, liking them in the US in the 2010s still felt niche—and that’s how we preferred it. I could talk about the band without anyone else knowing who they were, which made the fandom feel like a secret society. My love for music had always been lyrically driven, and AM excelled in that department. The way Turner created worlds around the complexities of unreciprocated desire, hushed postgame flirtations and—what today would be labeled as—“situationships” made it easy to escape teenage mundanity and place my reality into theirs.
Listening to AM felt like a two-way confessional. In-between showing my mom videos of Matty Healy downing a bottle of whiskey on stage (and telling her that I simply had to go see this live), I’d put Arctic Monkeys’ lyric videos on the TV in the family room, praising Turner as a “lyrical genius” on par with the greats of my parents’ childhood—like Billy Joel and Neil Young. When my first high school crush rejected me at a Halloween party, I could chalk it up to finally relating to lyrics like, “Drunken monologues, confused because / It’s not like I’m falling in love, I just want you / To do me no good / And you look like you could.”
And in the same way that AM helped me deal with rejection, it also soundtracked falling in love for the first time. Within that “secret society,” I found someone else who shared this affection for Arctic Monkeys, and texting nonstop about rumors of the band’s post-AM return slowly transpired into texting nonstop about everything. “No. 1 Party Anthem”’s grip loosened as songs like “Knee Socks” took its place—celebrating this winter love that felt so beautifully consuming and powerful at the time. Though the connection between us grew beyond music, AM was, without a doubt, its starting point—and a throughline for the next few years.
So how did Arctic Monkeys go from being a band for the UK fratboy, to becoming beloved by indie teens and music lovers across the globe? With a flawless run of six #1 albums on the UK’s Official Albums Chart, the influence they’ve had on the European music scene—and beyond—is undeniable. Marked by the organized chaos of Jamie Cook’s guitar riffs and the cheekiness of Turner’s lyricism—delivered, of course, in a thick Sheffield accent—their debut album still encapsulates the band’s explosive success. Talk of the band circled in the UK as a result of constant gigging around Sheffield and the assistance of MySpace, the largest social networking platform from 2005 to 2009 and a haven for music discovery.
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