Arctic Monkeys spark euphoria with long-awaited return to Sheffield

You don’t wear a cravat in Sheffield. It’s not the done thing. A tumbling shagpile haircut redolent of a Butlin’s Elvis could land you in hot water too. But different rules apply if you’re Alex Turner, lead singer of the Arctic Monkeys, gazing out over 40,000 people at the first of two sun-drenched shows, their first hometown appearances in five years. As he launched into “A Certain Romance”, a misty-eyed love letter to the city from the band’s 2006 debut album, all sartorial excesses were instantly forgiven.

The Arctic Monkeys are Sheffield’s band. Few of their stature are as revered by the city that made them and so rooted in a sense of place. Yet that loyalty has been tested since the creative volte-face of 2018’s Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino and last year’s The Car. Heady conceptual lyrics and luscious string arrangements are far removed from the origins of the band, who, barely out of their teens, rose to fame with songs about lager-fuelled scraps and unscrupulous bouncers.

Friday evening’s crowd was a patchwork of football terrace casuals, excited students and diehard older couples. “Sensational,” bellowed Turner as the cavernous final note of “Sculptures of Anything Goes” rang out into the twilight and they roared their agreement.

Drummer Matt Helders tumbled into “Brianstorm”, sparking pandemonium at the front as brilliant blue smoke announced the arrival of the evening’s first flare — the dominant colour of the band’s beloved Sheffield Wednesday. Older songs such as the euphoric “505” were driven by Helders’ signature propulsive style while newer, more measured cuts like “Four Out of Five” came cushioned by a precise hi-hat here, a careful cymbal roll there.

The open-air setting of Hillsborough Park and the beer-friendly weather hardly seemed conducive to their recent brand of spacey contemplation. But when last year’s longing single “There’d Better Be a Mirrorball” arrived, accompanied by crystalline shards and warm orange hues sent out by a descending disco ball, it was met with the ferocious applause it deserved.

The visual flourishes continued. For “Body Paint”, refracted fireworks splashed across a circular backdrop and, during an extended outro, Turner turned his Gretsch guitar vertically to the dying light like some trident-wielding Neptune, oozing confidence. “Arabella”, an obvious touchstone for its crunching riffs and slinking verses, was followed by a brief detour into Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs”, a knowing embrace of the band’s wider rock lineage.

But the loudest reception greeted the kitchen-sink realism of “Mardy Bum” and the raucous “I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor”, both now firmly established in Britain’s cultural consciousness. They had even greater resonance tonight, the crowd screaming the lyrics word-for-word into each other’s faces, arms slung joyfully around necks.

An elongated “R U Mine?” prefigured the tide of people flowing steadily away from the park, into the night. Three huge concerts at London’s Emirates Stadium and the band’s third Glastonbury headline slot are still to come, but the homecoming had made its mark. Twenty years to the month after their first gig in the tiny upstairs room of Sheffield pub The Grapes, this was as much a celebration of a city united as the long-awaited return of its most talented sons.

★★★★★

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