Silence has followed the High Green quartet since they closed the curtains on 'The Car' tour, but the rumour mill is far from quiet. With alleged studio sessions in November and a sudden website refresh, the prospect of 'AM8' feels more tangible than ever. This excitement is only heightened by the mystery surrounding a potential 'War Child' project and the fact that we are currently in the 20th-anniversary month of their debut, 'Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not'. To bridge the gap during this 'long drought,' I’ve revisited their evolution, from the jagged indie rock of the mid-2000s to today's cinematic lounge-pop. While we wait for the Sheffield legends to break their silence, here are my Top 10 Arctic Monkeys songs.
A standout effort from the band's last record, 'The Car', 'Body Paint' is a masterclass in drama, bombast, and pure ambition. For many fans, this track represented a triumphant return to form, a vibrant, technicolour response to the divisive, monochrome nature of 'Tranquillity Base Hotel & Casino'. It is a total band affair, heavily indebted to the 1970s and draped in lush strings and cinematic textures.
At its core, 'Body Paint' explores the murky waters of emotional manipulation and self-deception. Lyrically, it is Turner at his most evocative and biting. He opens with a scathing observation:
"For a master of deception and subterfuge / You've made yourself quite the bed to lie in / Do your time travelin' through the tannin' booth / So you don't let the sun catch you cryin'" The "tanning booth" serves as a classic Turner-esque metaphor for artificiality and the desperate need to maintain appearances. The "body paint" itself acts as a trace of a secret life or a mask for the raw, vulnerable truths beneath: "Still a trace of body paint / On your legs and on your arms and on your face." Interestingly, Turner turns the lens on himself toward the end, admitting, "I'm keepin' on my costume... I'm callin' it a writin' tool," acknowledging his own role in the theatre of performance.
Despite the orchestral sophistication, the band’s DNA remains intact. Jamie Cook, Nick O’Malley, and Matt Helders provide a powerful foundation for Turner’s delicate vocal performance. However, it was on the road where the song truly transformed. As the band moved into massive stadiums during 'The Car' tour, 'Body Paint' became the undisputed live highlight.
The studio version's subtle tension was traded for a searing, guitar-heavy jam that proved the band hadn't lost their rock-and-roll teeth. This reached its peak during their 2023 Glastonbury headline set; amidst a polarising performance, 'Body Paint' was the moment the entire Pyramid Stage unified. They closed the main set with a brutally invigorating outro that felt like a definitive statement of their greatness. If their previous era boxed them in, here they are flourishing in full, vivid colour.
'Humbug' was a pivot point that redefined the Arctic Monkeys forever. By retreating to the Mojave Desert to work with Josh Homme, the band underwent a sonic metamorphosis. The tracks born from these sessions were a far cry from the frenetic, "lightning-in-a-bottle" energy of their debut, 'Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not', or the jagged precision of 'Favourite Worst Nightmare'. In retrospect, 'Humbug' wasn't just a third album; it was their most vital evolution, the moment the Sheffield quartet realised they weren't just the biggest band in the UK indie pond; they were burgeoning rock icons.
'Secret Door' serves as the crown jewel of this transformation. If the first two records were a sprint, 'Secret Door' is a slow, hypnotic crawl through the shadows. It is beautifully sludgy, trading the band's signature speed for a heavy, psychedelic waltz. Lyrically, it is a masterclass in cryptic storytelling. When Turner sings, "Fools on parade cavort and carry on for waiting eyes / That you would rather be beside than in front of / But she’s never been the kind to be hollowed by the stares," he is likely referencing the intrusive lens of the paparazzi and the desire to escape the spectacle.
What makes the track truly stand out is its defiance of traditional songwriting. The structure is an unconventional journey: Chorus, Verse, Bridge, Verse, Bridge, Chorus, Chorus. It ignores the standard pop formula, instead opting for a "revolving door" effect that mirrors the title. Despite its bizarre lyrics and experimental pacing, 'Secret Door' remains a quintessential classic. It captures a band at their most courageous, proving they were willing to leave the safety of the dancefloor to find something much more enduring.
Without the evolution the band made on 'Humbug', you quite simply don't get to 'AM' and Arctic Monkeys becoming the biggest band in the world.
I have often championed 'Suck It and See' as my personal favourite Arctic Monkeys record. Years ago, the NME described Alex Turner as a "method actor," noting how he inhabits a distinct character for every era. While 'Tranquillity Base Hotel & Casino' found him as a lounge-dwelling lounge lizard and 'AM' transformed him into a leather-clad, greaser rock-god, 'Suck It and See' feels different. Here, Turner plays a character that feels closest to his true self: a Lou Reed-esque singer-songwriter crafting lovelorn guitar ballads.
'Piledriver Waltz' is the crown jewel of this period. Originally written for the Submarine soundtrack, the version on 'Suck It and See' transforms a solo acoustic piece into a shimmering, full-band waltz. It begins with one of the most staggering, charming opening lines in indie history: "I etched the face of a stopwatch on the back of a raindrop." It’s a line that perfectly captures the fleeting, fragile nature of time and memory.
You can make a very strong case for these lyrics being Turner's finest to date. Take this verse, for example:
"You look like you've been for breakfast at the Heartbreak Hotel / And sat in the back booth by the pamphlets and the literature on how to lose / Your waitress was miserable and so was your food / If you're gonna try and walk on water, make sure you wear your comfortable shoes."
The imagery is cinematic yet crushing, a vivid tableau of a painfully protracted breakup. It’s brilliant, biting, and quintessentially British. On an album that serves as a high-water mark for indie-pop, 'Piledriver Waltz' feels like more than just a song; it feels like eavesdropping on a conversation you weren't supposed to hear. It is a masterpiece of emotional storytelling that proves Turner doesn't always need a wall of sound to be powerful.
Multifaceted storytelling and an impeccably airtight rhythm section result in a tremendous payoff on the band’s first-ever recorded track, 'Fake Tales of San Francisco'. Beneath the circular, hypnotic bass loops is a snapshot of Arctic Monkeys at their formative best: sharp-eyed chroniclers of the nightlife they inhabited and unafraid to puncture pretension.
At its heart, the song is a scathing critique of local bands who trade their own identities for a "fake" Americanised image. Turner’s lyrics act as a "handbook" on how to spot a poser. He begins with a sarcastically polite compliment: "And there's a super cool band, yeah, with the trilbies and the glasses of white wine / And all the weekend rockstars in the toilets practicing their lines." The mention of the trilby—a hat often used as a shortcut to "cool"—and the "weekend rockstar" label exposes them as amateurs merely playing a part before returning to their weekday jobs.
The chorus, with its repetitive chant of "I don’t wanna hear you (kick me out, kick me out)," captures the perspective of a bored audience. It’s as if the crowd is daring the band or the bouncers to eject them just to spare them from another song. Turner even aims the band's inner circle, mocking a supportive girlfriend with the biting line: "Yeah, but his bird said it's amazing, so now all that's left is the proof that love's not only blind but deaf." It’s a hilarious, brutal way of saying that even affection can't make this music sound good.
It’s remarkable to think Turner was only a teenager when he wrote this. His grasp of local geography and cultural nuances was already elite. The famous line "But you're not from New York City, you're from Rotherham" isn't just a geographical takedown; it’s a brilliant easter egg for beady-eyed football fans. Rotherham United play their home games at the New York Stadium, making the comparison both a literal and metaphorical reality.
Whether you first heard it on the 'Five Minutes with Arctic Monkeys' EP or on their record-breaking debut, 'Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not', 'Fake Tales of San Francisco' remains the ultimate anthem for authenticity.
While it might seem like an obvious choice, 'Fluorescent Adolescent' remains a staple of the band’s discography for a reason. Its energy is nothing short of infectious, glorious, unsteady, beautiful, and silly in a way that only early Arctic Monkeys tracks could achieve. It is the sound of a band mastering the "indie-disco" floor-filler while maintaining a sharp, literate edge.
From the opening refrain, "You used to get it in your fishnets / Now you only get it in your night dress", the listener is immediately dropped into a story about the fading spark of youth. Yet, the way Turner navigates this narrative is anything but ordinary. The song is brazen in its bite and dripping with quintessentially Northern imagery. References like "Was it a Mecca dauber or a betting pencil?" ground the song in a specific reality, yet the track remains profoundly romantic.
There is a deep, heartfelt sentimentality buried beneath the upbeat tempo, particularly in the bridge:
"And those dreams weren't as daft as they seem / Not as daft as they seem, my love, when you dream them up."
It is in the climax, however, where the song finds its true emotional weight:
"You're falling about / You took a left off Last Laugh Lane / You were just sounding it out / But you're not coming back again"
It’s a fantastical, fairytale-like journey that hits remarkably close to home. Even eighteen years after its release on 'Favourite Worst Nightmare', it is easy to see why 'Fluorescent Adolescent' is routinely ranked as one of the band's finest compositions. It manages to be both a celebration of the past and a bittersweet acknowledgement of the present, flourishing in a space between nostalgia and pure pop perfection.
Opening with a haunting organ sample lifted from Ennio Morricone’s legendary 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly' score, '505' marked the first time Arctic Monkeys explored truly cinematic territory. It possesses an atmospheric, filmic depth that, unlike some of the band's more recent, patient work, still pulsates and intensifies with every jagged guitar riff and explosive drum beat.
Though it has since become a global anthem, '505' had a humble start, originally peaking at a modest Number 73 on the UK Singles Chart. However, the song’s legacy has been redefined by the digital age. Thanks to a massive resurgence on platforms like TikTok, '505' transcended its era to become the band's third most-streamed song on Spotify, resonating with a new generation of fans who weren't even born when 'Favourite Worst Nightmare' first dropped.
The NME famously described the track as "the tear-jerker finale that has you floating from the theatre as the credits roll." It is a fitting description for the crowning moment of an album tasked with the impossible: following up the fastest-selling debut in British history. Turner’s songwriting here is visceral and desperate; you can practically feel the humidity in the air as he sings about returning to that hotel room.
The track’s brilliance lies in its slow-burning structure, a masterclass in tension and release. When the drums finally kick in, and the guitars swell into that iconic, distorted climax, it’s easy to see why this song remains the emotional heartbeat of their live sets. It is a song full of vivid imagery and brilliant instrumentation that proved, even early on, that the Arctic Monkeys were never going to be "just another" indie band.
Every Top 10 list needs to find a home for this track. This is the song that launched Arctic Monkeys to the world, sending them roaring out of the gate with a velocity that hadn't been seen in years. In eight short words, a young Alex Turner set the band up for legendary status: "We are the Arctic Monkeys, don’t believe the hype."
The song is blistering, perfectly formed, and dripping with acerbic wit. While the band has arguably reached greater musical complexities in their later years, as a debut single, it stands as perhaps the greatest in British history. It belongs in the same pantheon as Oasis’s 'Supersonic', The Libertines 'What a Waster', or The Smiths' 'Hand in Glove', a moment where a band arrives fully formed and changes the culture overnight.
Debuting at Number One in October 2005, 'I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor' redefined the trajectory of British indie rock. In under three minutes, its frenetic tempo and spiky riffs captured the sweaty, chaotic energy of Northern club culture. Turner’s lyricism was immediately distinct, blending high-brow literary references with local grit. He famously sneers, "Oh, there ain't no love, no Montagues or Capulets / Just banging tunes and DJ sets," stripping away the romance of Shakespeare to reveal the messy reality of a Saturday night in Sheffield.
The track is also famously littered with clever cultural nods. When Turner sings, "Your name isn't Rio, but I don't care for sand," he’s throwing a cheeky jab at Duran Duran’s glamorous 1980s excess, a world away from the "dirty dancefloors" of South Yorkshire. Even the mention of the "robot from 1984" serves as a hyper-local tribute; 1984 were a cult Sheffield band fronted by Jon McClure, who would later find fame with Reverend and The Makers and remain a close mentor to the Monkeys.
Even now, two decades later, the song’s urgency remains undimmed. It continues to be the definitive generational touchstone, proving that sometimes, the hype is worth believing in.
In my opinion, truly great songs are the ones that tap into what Noel Gallagher calls "universal truths." With 'A Certain Romance', Alex Turner captures an experience many of us face: the bittersweet process of outgrowing the place you were raised. It is the definitive anthem for the transition from adolescence to adulthood, where the overfamiliarity of your hometown starts to feel claustrophobic, yet a nagging undercurrent of pride keeps drawing you back.
What ‘A Certain Romance’ offers is a small, quiet victory. It is emblematic of an entire suburban upbringing. Remarkably, the song has no real chorus and very few rhythmic shifts, yet it manages to condense all the tension and bombast of the teenage experience into five life-affirming minutes. No other Arctic Monkeys song feels more searing or more perfect. It’s the sound of believing in a band’s every word and feeling profoundly, disgustingly grateful for each new lyric.
As the track builds toward its earth-shaking climax, Jamie Cook’s guitar roars and Matt Helders’ pummelling drums coalesce. It is here that Turner reaches his epiphany: there really is no place like home. The song keeps spitting bile at a shallow culture where "there's only music so there's new ringtones," only to retract it moments later with a sigh: "Of course, it's all OK to carry on that way."
Ultimately, class solidarity wins out over contempt. When Turner sings, "Over there, there's friends of mine / What can I say? I've known them for a long time... You just cannot get angry in the same way," he captures the loyalty that transcends aesthetics or "cool." It is a perfect snapshot of a generation, serving as the crowning achievement of one of the greatest British debut albums ever. It’s a staggering piece of work, but in my eyes, two songs still manage to top it.
'That's Where You're Wrong' is, quite simply, the most underrated song in the Arctic Monkeys’ canon. It catches you with a deceptive simplicity: a buzzing, motorik bassline, shimmering guitars that owe a debt to The Smiths, and lyrics that feel both grounded and ethereal. Looking back, the song served as more than just the climax to their fourth album, 'Suck It and See'; it felt like the climax of their career up until that point. It is a big-hearted, full-blossoming love song that sounds exactly like the hazy Los Angeles sunset under which it was recorded.
There is an effortless quality to the track that perhaps explains why it doesn't always receive the monumental credit it deserves. While 'A Certain Romance' was about the friction of home, 'That's Where You're Wrong' feels like the freedom of the open road. It’s a track that was born to be a live classic, yet it has been treated like a guarded secret. To be honest, the band’s inability to keep it in the setlist with any consistency is quite sad.
The song did enjoy a brief, glorious resurrection in 2022 just before the release of 'The Car'. Most notably, it reappeared during their headline sets at Reading & Leeds Festival, a moment that felt like a gift to the long-term fans who had championed the track for a decade. Hearing those chiming opening chords ring out across a festival field proved that the song’s power hadn't faded; if anything, it had grown more poignant with age.
It is an exceptional piece of songwriting that perfectly balances the band's Sheffield grit with their newfound Californian glow. It’s a pinnacle of their discography that deserves to be shouted about from the rooftops.
I couldn't complete this list without mentioning 'AM' at least once. The band’s fifth album is a triumph from start to finish, one of the definitive records of the 2010s that introduced the Arctic Monkeys to a global audience. It was the moment they ceased to be defined by genre and instead became true artists. They stepped into a lineage of chameleons like Bowie, The Beatles, and Dylan; from this point on, they earned the right to sound however they liked while remaining quintessentially themselves.
'R U Mine?' originally surfaced in early 2012 for Record Store Day, kicking off a remarkable run that paved the way for the invincible, record-breaking 'AM' in 2013. This exhilarating track was their greatest display of raw power yet, and the band knew it. It is a song that is as much late-90s hip-hop in its rhythmic swing as it is mid-70s hard rock in its weight.
This track set the tone for the entire era, informing the writing process and introducing the world to "The Cosmic Opera Melodies of the Space Choirboys", the iconic, high-pitched backing vocals of Matt Helders and Nick O’Malley. You cannot understate the impact of this song; it turned the Arctic Monkeys into the biggest band on the planet and shifted the trajectory of modern guitar music. With its unphased bravado and electrifying changes of pace, 'R U Mine?' proved that the band’s abilities are truly limitless.
'Cornerstone' isn’t just my favourite Arctic Monkeys song; it is arguably the finest piece of writing in Alex Turner’s entire body of work. At first glance, it appears to be a whimsical post-breakup vignette: a narrator drifting through the rain-soaked pubs of Sheffield, desperately seeking a familiar face in the crowd. Look closer, however, and the song reveals itself to be a labyrinth of subtle storytelling, emotional twists, and devastating layers of meaning.
The surface narrative follows a man moving between four locations: 'The Battleship', 'The Rusty Hook', 'The Parrot’s Beak', and finally, 'The Cornerstone'. In each venue, he encounters women who bear a haunting resemblance to his ex-partner, only to be met with quiet rejection. It is a sequence that is bittersweet, awkward, and profoundly human.
Yet, it is the fan theories that give 'Cornerstone' its lasting resonance. One compelling interpretation suggests the song is an allegory for grief rather than mere heartbreak. In Sheffield, 'The Cornerstone' is the name of a well-known grief counselling centre. Through this lens, the "pub crawl" becomes a metaphor for the stages of mourning, with each false recognition representing a failed attempt to reclaim someone who is truly gone. This theory is bolstered by the "pirate" theme of the first three pubs, 'The Battleship', 'The Rusty Hook', and 'The Parrot’s Beak', suggesting a metaphorical search for "lost treasure" that only ends when he reaches the reality of 'The Cornerstone'.
A darker reading interprets the closing line, "Yes, you can call me anything you want", as a sign that the narrator’s desperation has led him to a transactional encounter. The earlier mention of being "on the phone to the middle man" could allude to an intermediary, suggesting that his search for emotional connection has collapsed into a hollow, paid intimacy. It is a tragic image that amplifies the song’s themes of emotional dislocation.
What makes 'Cornerstone' so special is its placement within the 'Humbug' era. While the rest of the record was defined by heavy desert-rock and Josh Homme-inspired sludge, Turner took a daring detour. He traded the loud riffs for a gentle, breezy melody that makes the underlying sadness hit even harder. It was a risky move at the time, but it resulted in a track that can still hush a rowdy festival crowd into pin-drop silence.
Nowhere was this more evident than at Glastonbury 2013, where Turner’s phrasing transformed the song into a massive, shared moment of quiet connection. 'Cornerstone' isn’t just a track you hear; it’s a story you inhabit and a memory you carry. It is the purest distillation of why the Arctic Monkeys are so special, and for me, it remains their undisputed masterpiece.
Ranking the discography of a band like the Arctic Monkeys is no easy task. From the teenage adrenaline of 'I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor' to the sophisticated, world-weary crooning of 'Body Paint', their career has been a series of fearless left turns. They are a rare breed in modern music: a band that refuses to repeat themselves, yet somehow manages to remain the most vital rock act of their generation.
Whether you lean toward the jagged grit of the early years or the cinematic elegance of their recent work, one thing is certain: the "long drought" is nearly over. As we look ahead to the 20th anniversary of the album that started it all, and keep a watchful eye on those November studio rumours and 'War Child' whispers, it feels as though the Sheffield quartet is preparing to shift the tectonic plates of the music world once again.
Thank you ever so much for reading
Jack