Remember when you used to be a rascal?

The changing faces of Arctic Monkeys and red Bordeaux

Drinking notes: on music and wine is a short weekend newsletter exploring music and wine pairings, delving into stories and observations about each. Written by two music-loving wine professionals.

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The concept of musicians reinventing their image and sound is nothing new. From Miles Davis to Madonna, The Beatles to Beyoncé, evolution has often been the key to success, the key to keeping audiences on their toes, or, perhaps, keeping their own growing sense of boredom at bay. Wine is a living thing, unconsciously yet constantly evolving in the barrel, the bottle, and the glass, but much like music, when is a wine truly at its best?

The question is, of course, subjective, though with certain styles of wine it’s easy to tell. No one in their right mind is drinking Prosecco with 10 years of age, nor are they saving bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau for a special occasion (if you are, I need a quiet word with you in the comments). Similarly, for one-hit wonders or bands suffering from second-album syndrome, we can probably tell when a musician’s peak is. For others it’s much more difficult to gauge.

One safe bet, however, is the reds of Bordeaux, famed for their ageability and their transformations from spiky youth to civilised elder statesman. This evolution reminds me of the career progression of Arctic Monkeys. One of Rock ‘n’ Roll’s cohort of chameleons, over the past 20 years, they have perfected every reptilian form in their pursuit of musical immortality; we’ve seen them go from the snapping crocodiles of their formative years to the lounge lizards of late, via the snake-hipped, slicked-back-haired posers in between.

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Don’t believe the hype

There have been few more hotly anticipated releases than Arctic Monkey’s rampaging pub-punk debut Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not (2006). At the time, it was the fastest selling debut album in the UK (until living legend Leona Lewis broke the record), picking up numerous accolades for the band’s high-voltage track listing and Alex Turner’s caustic turn of phrase. The album is relentless and steely, produced back when Matt Helders seemingly held a grudge against his own drum kit, while Turner’s northern accent and kitchen sink realism are the purest expression of Sheffield terroir.

Youthful claret can often be all elbows and knobbly knees, its searingly high acidity and chunky-knit tannins making their presence felt, while the deep colour leaves an indelible mark (Pronamel sold separately). Matching Arctic Monkeys’ energy levels and its driving guitar riffs, there is still a lot to love about the younger wines of Bordeaux however, with the fun-loving flavours of blackcurrant gummies and liquorice wheels hard to resist.

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One for the Road

Fast-forward seven years and Arctic Monkey’s fifth studio album AM (2013) represented another significant shift in style and image. Ditching the denim jackets and centre partings, the band emerged from Humbug and Suck It and See’s sandstorm of stoner-rock wearing tailored blazers and doing their best ‘blue steel’ (talk to the duck’s arse, because the face ain’t listening). After a few extra years in bottle, the wine too moves from its awkward phase to a state of ultra-cool self-confidence. For many, this is often regarded as the ‘sweet spot’.

Of the band’s 10 most streamed songs, 6 come from AM, pointing towards both its commerciality as well as its songs-to-suit-all approach. Likewise, the tannins of teenage angst have softened, and the wine is much more comfortable in its own skin, as the fresh, unrefined fruits of yesteryear become more concentrated; we find more prunes than plums, with notes of leather, menthol, and tobacco coming to the fore as if Turner himself has turned into the wine.

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The ballad of what could’ve been

After an enterprising stint on the moon, the band crash-landed on the roof of a multi-storey car park with their new cinematic take on lounge pop. With the opening line of track one of The Car (2022), Turner tells us (or perhaps himself) not to get emotional, yet by now, we’re more emotional than we’ve ever been, with wine and music wearing their hearts fully on their sleeves. Long gone are the days of drinking tropical fruit-flavoured alcopops and jousting with pool cues down the local, as we move into a new era, a new age of sophistication and deep contemplation, all with Sazerac suitably in hand.

Turner has dropped a vocal range or two by now, just as the wine has wizened with age, the deep purple hue turning to a translucent garnet, the spunky blackcurrant a shrivelled up, richly concentrated dried fig. Though there’s less obvious fire and energy (Helders has settled his differences), the complexity and depth remain; the heavy-handed electric guitars have been replaced by the delicately touched keys of a piano. This is a more morose expression of both Turner’s caustic wit and groove-filled musicianship, much as this is now a more wistful wine. Hassle-free and effortlessly intricate, there are flavours of wild mushroom, soy sauce, and bresaola. While the Monkey’s debut offered a raw version of the band’s talent and vision, their most recent release is an exploration of air-dried artistry, an exhibition in slow-going introspection.

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Pinpointing an artist’s best period is often an impossible task, a mere matter of preference. Yet, while we can replay our favourite musicians’ ‘best’ moments whenever we please, sadly the same can’t be said for many bottles of wine. Finding the right moment to pull the cork or twist the cap can be a matter of patience, money, and luck (often it’s all three). There are times when a bottle has been opened too soon and a wine is far too young, too reticent in its youth, while there are other moments when the wine tastes tired, a shadow of its former self – the oenological equivalent to falling asleep on the night bus and waking up at the depot.

Then again, much of what makes wine great, like many things in life, is down to the occasion on which it is enjoyed. The spriteliness of a young bottle of Bordeaux might be your go-to now, but who’s to say you won’t crave the reflective and melancholic character of an aged claret tomorrow?

One thing’s for certain, evolution is here to stay.