I understand that a column in what we’re constantly being reminded is THE independent student newspaper (I should probably watch myself… the Editor giveth, and taketh away…) is probably not the best place to air personal grievances, but I feel inclined to nonetheless. Be thankful that what follows isn’t an open letter to my Year 10 maths teacher.

Dear Alex Turner,

I hope this finds you well. I’m guessing you probably don’t live in Sheffield anymore, but I won’t hold that against you. I hear L.A. is lovely this time of year.

I was first introduced to your band, Arctic Monkeys, at the age of around eight. I was drawn in by your charm and penchant for storytelling. I would even go so far as to say that as a writer I have been influenced by your music. The lyrics to ‘A Certain Romance’ are cracking (“There’s only music / so that there’s new ringtones”).

Don’t get me wrong, I understand that things have to change. You’re not the same floppy-haired 16-year-old that you used to be. Change is natural. That’s something we have to accept, especially in today’s fast-moving political and economic climate. Nowadays, if I go to someone’s birthday party, there is wine and fancy crisps instead of party rings. Life is full of disappointments, Alex. Write a song about that.

“You used to have cuddles in the kitchen with Mardy Bum. Now you’re smoking organic cigarettes with Arabella”

It’s not even that I don’t appreciate AM as an album. I’m okay with it. Adapting John Cooper Clarke’s classic ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ into a sexy ballad was a bold move. It paid off. However, I think I’ve found the rub. The crux of my issues with you, Alex, can be summed up as follows:

You used to have cuddles in the kitchen with Mardy Bum. Now you’re smoking organic cigarettes with Arabella.

All I’m saying is: be careful. Don’t sacrifice soul for sex appeal. You can give yourself a quiff and put on a leather jacket if you want, but you said it yourself:

You’re not from New York City, you’re from Rotherham.

So get off the bandwagon, and put down the handbook.

On nights out, there’s a reason people still get excited when ‘I Bet You Look Good on The Dancefloor’ comes on. It’s because it creates a picture of the very same shitty nightclub that they’re currently standing in. Contrast:

I wish you’d stop ignoring me, because it’s sending me to despair.

with:

I’m a puppet on a string, Tracy Island, time travelling diamond…

It’s like an explosion in a metaphor factory, Alex. We could deal with it on the Submarine soundtrack because “you went for breakfast at the Heartbreak Hotel” kinda makes sense, and you had the weight of Richard Ayoade behind you. But “misbehaving for days, great escape, lost track of time and space” sounds like you need to stop accepting tabs from a bloke who calls himself Thunderbolt Alan.

Remember your audience, Mr Turner. I’d say that most of your listeners are in the 15-30 age bracket, and they are people who certainly don’t want to be hearing songs by someone with more sexual success than them.

Social Deconstruction: Cambridge Swaps

What I’m trying to get through to you, Alex, is that in the world of ‘Despair in the Departure Lounge,’ and ‘Fluorescent Adolescent’ I felt hope. I felt camaraderie.

In the world of ‘Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?’ I feel woefully inadequate.

Perhaps I’m just cynical. You’re not my favourite frontman. You’re not my favourite band. But ever since I rode home from school in the car with my dad, both of us shouting at the top of our lungs:

I’M SO TENSE, NEVER TENSER, COULD ALL GO A BIT FRANK SPENCER.

You’ve had a place in my heart. And, if anything, writing this has been cathartic.

Yours,

Kate Collins

P.S. The jury’s still out on Suck It and See. And not just because of the album cover