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Whatever people said they were, that’s what they’re not: Arctic Monkeys in retrospect

On Jan. 23, popular British rock band Arctic Monkeys celebrated 17 years of their debut LP, “Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not.” This album is one of the most influential rock albums of the 21st century and stands as an early testimony of the power of the Internet in the music industry. With the release of their seventh studio album, “The Car,” and a long list of tour dates spanning multiple countries on almost every continent, it’s important to take a step back and look at how the famed quartet got their start. 

How did they get so popular, and how have they evolved into what they are today?

Arctic Monkeys was formed in 2002 by founding members Alex Turner (lead vocals, guitar), Matt Helders (drums) and Andy Nicholson (bass) in Sheffield, England. They soon brought on Jamie Cook as a second guitarist and began making music, playing their first gig at a Sheffield pub called The Grapes in 2003. 

The band soon garnered a large and loyal following from their live shows and from a fan-made MySpace page promoting the band’s 18-track demo. Their first EP “Five Minutes with Arctic Monkeys” was released in 2005 — featuring tracks such as “Fake Tales of San Francisco” and “From the Ritz to the Rubble” — and they soon signed with Domino. 

The release of “WPSIA” in 2006 was monumental beyond comparison. This LP remains the fastest-selling debut album in UK history, surpassing the previous holder by nearly 60,000 copies. Sales from the first day were more than those of the top-20 combined, and the numbers from its first week in the U.K. were more than the first year in the U.S. 

Arctic Monkeys became famous nearly overnight throughout the U.K. In response to their sudden popularity, Nicholson became overwhelmed and left the band to work on his own musical projects. The band replaced him with Nick O’Malley, and the lineup has been the same ever since. 

Over the next decade, the band regularly released music — whether it be LPs, EPs or B-sides (of which they have over 40) — and continued to grow in popularity. They have received 104 award nominations and garnered 42 wins, even having the opportunity to perform at the 2012 London Olympic opening ceremony along with Paul McCartney (The Beatles) and Alex Trimble (Two Door Cinema Club).

After a hiatus from their world-renowned album “AM,” the Monkeys began to look at their music with a fresh set of eyes. While their previous music had been characterized by energetic instrumentals and vocals, their new project, “Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino,” changed that. Taking inspiration from a variety of media including Stanley Kubrick films and The Beach Boys’ “Pet Sounds,” they created a concept album about a lunar hotel and casino from the perspective of different patrons and employees around the base. Turner croons about religion, politics, consumerism and culture with a jazzy, space-aged edge that threw off many fans upon first listen. 

Many longtime fans have had a hard time coping with their new sound and further evolution with “The Car,” but have found more authenticity and maturity from the music. While the band has always been lyrically masterful, their recent albums have shown a return to their incisive commentary on society and modern culture as a whole while maintaining their innovative instrumentation. 

As a lover of music, music history and Arctic Monkeys, I was thrilled to be able to write this. Out of the four years I’ve had Spotify, they have been my top artist for three. “WPSIA” is an iconic and incredibly well-made album that remains one of my favorite works of theirs — but “Humbug” will always be in the top spot. Their diverse and extensive discography serves to fit any mood and situation, and they continue to impress as time passes.

Despite the connotations from their debut album title, whatever people have been saying about Arctic Monkeys regarding their pure talent and star-power is exactly what they are and will remain for years to come.

Contact Anna Falk at afalk@nd.edu

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Viewpoint

What makes an icon

There are a few words in my lexicon that have snuck their way into my lingo much to my woeful resignation. They say the way a person speaks tells you everything you need to know about them — I like to think that I can play at some meek facade of depth and intellect when needed, with lengthy words I credit to SAT prep and the odd Latin saying that I picked up from movies. But the merciless grip of the stampede that is social media introduces at least a dozen outlandish pieces of vocabulary each month.

It starts with a commitment to irony. In mockery of the way the English language is slowly deteriorating, I’ll begin to use words like slay or dubs to hyper-exaggerate a situation. I swear, the innuendo here is that my use of the word comes with the precedent that I am joking. Until I’m not. 

One of the most humbling moments I’ve had in my college career occurred when I was visiting a professor for office hours. He very eloquently provided a helpful explanation for my questions, and between my mental scramble to make sense of what he was saying while jotting down every economic theory he had referenced, I had a eureka moment where the problem I had spent the entire day grappling with suddenly made sense. My excitement got the best of me. “Oh,” I blurted out. “Based.” 

The incredulous look he gave me is permanently engraved in my memory. Just like these words have a way of etching themselves into my daily dialogue, until one day you find yourself speaking to your highly-achieved, beyond-respectable professor the way you did last night with your friends while planning your Friday evening. To my professor, based is but a common English word usually used with some sort of subject or predicate. Movies are based on books. A company is based in Chicago. But by some arbitrary, collective judgment made by pop culture and the internet, another word that started off as an ironic joke is now one I unironcically use by habit.

Another word became a topic of debate for my friends and I at dinner the other day — iconic. The word is beat to death and reminds you of that girl on the Internet who rambles on about overhyped Manhattan restaurants that serve you subpar food for insulting prices. You’ll roll your eyes every time you hear it. Nonetheless, as we all reluctantly agreed, we can’t stop using it. 

What concerns and humors me is the fact that while we have decidedly significant beacons of generations past to refer to as iconic, our very own generation seems to offer very few moments of substance in comparison. This is in no way a belittlement of the strides we’ve made in redefining world views. I would sound like a broken record talking about how impressed I am of our generation’s conviction and resilience — that’s not what this is about. During our conversation, my friends and I reflected on the defining cultural moments that we could most easily recall from the last few years. While we cite The Beatles’ genius messages of anti-war in their music or the grace and elegance of Audrey Hepburn as iconic, the tokens of “Gen Z culture” are decisively more offbeat.

Perhaps I could argue that we actually live in quite riveting times. Scroll through any one of the seemingly endless variety of media platforms or eavesdrop on the next table’s breakfast chats at the diner, and it becomes all too apparent how fascinated our society is with topics that have arguably zero stake in our daily lives: Britney Spears, freed at last; Lady Gaga’s meat dress; the reception of Bennifer 2.0; the Oprah/Harry/Megan interview. We are, reluctantly or willingly, in the merciless grip of pop culture and the endless spawning of out-of-touch celebrity moments or reality TV shows that surely cost us a handful of brain cells as we sit through each episode. 

It’s the irony and hilarity of the idea of our children one day looking back at Lady Gaga’s said meat dress and calling it iconic, or whatever word would have popped up by then to replace it. Or maybe the romanticized, impressionable view we have of preceding times will translate directly to the next generations and they’ll start idolizing the pop culture moments we now find so ridiculous. If you asked me, though, nothing beats waking up in the morning to a New York Times headline debunking whether Lea Michele can or cannot read — I wouldn’t change that for the world. 

Reyna Lim is a sophomore double majoring in finance and English. She enjoys writing about her unsolicited opinions, assessing celebrity homes in Architectural Digest videos and collecting lip gloss. Reach out with coffee bean recommendations and ‘80s playlists at slim6@nd.edu.

The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.

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Viewpoint

You are not the main character

You are not that guy. You are not Him. You are not a “girlboss.” You are not the main character. And that is fine. Neither am I. Neither is anyone.

Thinking of yourself as the main character in some sort of extravagant movie is a mindset that I find both annoying and problematic. But before I nail my 95 theses into words, I ought to explain the context before the student population of main characters motions to excommunicate me.

The main character trend finds its origin in social media on platforms like TikTok and Instagram, where influencers produce videos romanticizing their lives and encourage the audience to do likewise. Often, these videos follow the format of “a day in the life of a (insert occupation),” a mock public service announcement to do something or even self-help vlogs. More specifically, influencers call their audience to find seemingly mundane activities or routines and add a Hollywood-esque aesthetic to it. In essence, living as a main character in your own movie entails putting on the rose-colored glasses. Under this internet pretense, you might find yourself eating avocado toast inside a cozy brunch café on a sunny Sunday morning. You did it for the aesthetic. The phone eats first, right? Take a step back from your hypothetical seat by the window and realize what is going on. You paid $13 for two slices of avocado toast, though you do not like the taste of avocados. You queued 45 minutes outside sweating, waiting for a table to open. You along with every other main character seated in the café were independently engaged in a scene from their movie. Turns out you happened to be just like everyone else.

What I am insinuating is that the whole main character mantra is unrealistic — flawed. It suffocates the subscriber in a cloud of toxic positivity. “Your life is a slay. You ought not worry about what others say about you because they are simply haters, side characters, really. You only live once.” My life is, in fact, not a slay. There are struggles, disappointments, triumphs, frustrations and everything in between. It is vital to acknowledge both the good and the bad and contextualize their significance in the grand scheme of things. Although haters do exist, educated criticism is a healthy means of gauging, even regulating, one’s life. If I am acting foolish, I hope that my friends will hold me accountable on the grounds that they care for me. It is true that one only lives once, but that acronym carries a loaded connotation: glorifying haphazard actions on account of limited opportunities. I am not shooting down taking risks or doing dangerous things. I simply propose an alternative to YOLO, one that emphasizes a more focused attention to what really matters in our short lives. We ought to attend to our relationships because those really do matter.

Relationships with others and oneself is a concept that the main character trend jumbles. Assigning everybody but yourself the role of side character is not only a utilitarian outlook but also demeaning. Thinking that others only serve their purpose by their utility in benefiting your life is a flawed mindset. It has it that another’s value is inherently lower because the story does not directly follow them. Their lines are scripted and numbered. After they perform, a director pulls them off set and they vanish in relevance to the production. With respect to oneself, perceiving yourself as a main character tends to border on narcissism, a dubious outcome for a seemingly good intention. And I get it, people place their lives into a movie narrative because they desire to assert a degree of control over a chaotic world that seems uncontrollable. A movie is a structured form of media that has a plot characterized by exposition, rising action, climax and denouement. Attaching oneself to that sort of stability is a reasonable endeavor, a noble one at that, but I find assigning an inferior value to others truly problematic.

I pose a solution to the main character issue: Be real with yourself but more importantly, be real with others. This is quite the opposite of the fiction fairyland of positivity supported by this trend. Embrace authenticity, like when you find yourself cruising down an empty highway at midnight blasting music with your closest friends on a breezy summer night. Forget the Instagram story that convinces, in vain, your followers of your perfect lifestyle. Think about how grateful you are for life itself and that time spent with such close friends. That was not a main character moment, but it was a core memory shared among the people dearest to you. The accumulation of these times spent with other human beings is what we will ultimately remember when we lie on our deathbeds, not the multiple occasions of avocado toast dates with your phone.

And if you are the demographic that I have hypothetically targeted, I apologize for creating such specific hypotheticals. I invite you to think about the prospect that you can live a truly fulfilling life without being that guy, Him, a “girlboss” or the main character.

Jonah Tran is a first-year at Notre Dame doubling majoring in finance and economics and minoring in classics. Although fully embracing the notorious title of a “Menbroza,” he prides himself on being an Educated Young Southern Gentleman. You can contact Jonah by email jtran5@nd.edu.

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Beauty in simplicity: Children’s television

I had only once seen the 2002 Disney classic, “Lilo & Stitch,” as a child. Although I eagerly watched (and rewatched!) Disney movies as a child, all I could remember of this particular movie was thinking it was adorable. Upon rewatching it as an adult, I expected a lighthearted, feel-good film about a young girl adopting an alien.

Instead, I was greeted by the heart-wrenching story of two sisters rebuilding their lives after the tragic loss of their parents. Like many of the greatest children’s films, “Lilo & Stitch” excels at communicating heavy, adult themes to children while maintaining its entertainment value as a cartoon about a cute alien and his companions. The value of children’s television like “Lilo & Stitch” to people beyond its target audience cannot and should not be overlooked. 

Lilo, 7, and her sister Nani, 19 — struggling financially and emotionally — stumble across trouble with otherworldly authorities when they adopt an alien named Stitch. Lilo, believing Stitch to be an injured dog, buys him from the shelter as a pet. Much of the conflict throughout the movie, on the surface, centers around Lilo and Stitch’s escapades in Hawaii. 

However, many moments in the film allude to heavy emotional conflicts in a way that children would understand, but might not read too much into. For example, at one point Stitch contemplates leaving Lilo and Nani. As she watches him go, Lilo clutches a photo of her sister and parents, saying, “If you want to leave, you can. I’ll remember you, though. I remember everyone that leaves.” 

The message is simple and easy for a child to grasp: Lilo is upset about Stitch leaving, and it reminds her of her parents’ tragedy. The movie goes on, however, and the conflict between the aliens and Stitch recaptures the young audience’s attention. This kind of storytelling makes the movie’s darker themes accessible to younger audiences; scenes like this clearly convey Lilo’s sadness to children, even if they may not fully understand how Stitch represents her grief and fear of abandonment. The movie moves past its emotional conflicts to scenes of Lilo and Stitch goofing off or high stakes physical conflicts with the alien authorities — quickly enough for younger audiences to appreciate the movie for being fun and cute, while still understanding the emotional hurdles the protagonists face.

This is a huge part of what makes children’s television like “Lilo and Stitch” so great. Other major hits like “Avatar: The Last Airbender and “Steven Universe” employ similar tactics to convey real-life problems, like LGBTQ+ issues, ableism and colonialism to children using fantasy elements to metaphorically represent and mirror the problems that many people face both now and in the past.

Simple constructs can convey so much to both children and adults in a way that is entertaining and fun. For example, in “Avatar: The Last Airbender,” a character named Toph is smothered by her parents, unable to leave her home and enjoy the world because she is blind. Toph is also an “earthbender,” a superpower within the show that she uses to control and essentially terraform the ground, rocks and even sand. Unbeknownst to most people, she understands the world around her by feeling the vibrations in the earth, which she refers to as her own way of seeing. 

Her parents believe her to be “fragile” because of her disability; however, it is one of her greatest strengths. Because she has learned how to feel the vibrations in the Earth, she is one of the greatest earthbenders and fully capable of protecting herself. Despite this, many people refuse to acknowledge her talents because she is a blind young girl. Toph’s struggles are the narrative of a girl constantly confronted with ableism and sexism, always proving those who doubt her strength wrong. 

Toph’s story, like “Lilo & Stitch,” is entertaining to both children and adults. But more than that, it’s important to show narratives like this in children’s television especially, both to teach children about real life issues and to empower young members of communities that have been repeatedly discriminated against. 

At a time when LGBTQ+ representation was not prevalent in children’s television, “Steven Universe” creator Rebecca Sugar fought to feature queer and nonbinary characters in the Cartoon Network show. 

“As I’m writing about this, as I’m pitching this, I’m also getting a lot of pushback,” Sugar said in an interview with the Los Angeles Times. “This was not considered acceptable material for children at the time. … [But] who is speaking to a generation of children about why they deserve to exist? About how they deserve to exist? I wanted to be able to do that.” 

Sugar perfectly describes why representation is so important in children’s television. Media is an integral part of our culture; having role models like the characters in “Steven Universe” is incredibly important to support young children and make them feel accepted into a society in which there is so much conflict about people’s identities. 

Children’s television may not be considered by society to be important to a child’s development or entertaining to adults, yet many works contradict this sentiment. The genre’s ability to convey difficult topics like grief and trauma to a wide range of audiences cannot be ignored, as well as its power as a tool to teach young children about real-world problems. Works that feature underrepresented minorities can be empowering for young children in a society that discriminates against many communities. For these reasons, the value of children’s television cannot be understated.

The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.

Caitlin Brannigan

Caitlin is a sophomore from New Jersey studying psychology and English. She will forever defend her young adult novels and is overjoyed to have a platform to rant. She can be reached for comment at cbrannig@nd.edu or @CaitlinBrannig on Twitter.