Arctic Monkeys
– Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino
If you came here for riff-heavy swagger, you’re out of luck. This isn’t AM, it’s 2001: A Space Oddity as written by a lounge singer with a sci-fi obsession and a strong cocktail in hand. Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino is Alex Turner letting his pompadour hair down and diving headfirst into something stranger, slower, and much weirder. It’s less rock show, more late-night hallucination in a velvet-curtained jazz bar orbiting the moon.
Best of…
Turner’s traded his leather jacket for a velvet smoking robe. The band, once the epitome of indie snarl, now drapes themselves in piano chords, moody basslines, and eerie atmospherics. This is a concept album, sort of, with a fictional hotel on the moon acting as a metaphor for fame, ego, and isolation. Every lyric sounds like it was lifted from a screenplay co-written by Stanley Kubrick and a tipsy cabaret performer. There are conspiracies, technology jokes, existential asides—Turner never sings a straight line when he can croon a crooked one.
What makes this bizarre detour oddly magnetic is its commitment. The Monkeys go full art-pop here, and while it can be divisive, it’s never dull. It’s the kind of record that confuses on the first listen, intrigues on the second, and somehow charms you by the third. There’s a surreal humor to it all, like Turner’s been trapped in the lobby of this lunar hotel too long and decided to make an album instead of checking out.
Choice Tracks
Star Treatment
Opens with the best misdirect in years: “I just wanted to be one of The Strokes.” But that’s bait. Instead, you get a spaced-out lounge monologue full of cosmic detachment and sly self-awareness. It’s woozy, slow, and oddly comforting.
Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino
The title track is a warped elevator ride to nowhere. Turner sounds like he’s ordering room service and questioning reality at the same time. The piano lingers, the melody teases, and the surreal vibes never let up.
Four Out of Five
The closest thing to a “single,” and even then it’s a sardonic ad campaign for a taqueria on the moon. It’s catchy in a sideways way, strutting with a tired kind of charisma. Turner delivers lines like he’s amused you’re still listening—and you are.
Batphone
A paranoid fever dream wrapped in minimalist funk. Turner muses about surveillance and technology like he’s been watching old Bond flicks on repeat. It’s sleek, strange, and a little unsettling.
Science Fiction
One of the record’s prettiest moments, even as it keeps things slippery and abstract. The melody aches gently, and Turner’s croon becomes less detached and more human for a fleeting minute. A rare glimpse of sincerity before drifting off again.
Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino isn’t here to please. It’s a detour, a diary entry, a lunar daydream wrapped in retrofuturist haze. It’ll frustrate fans craving the old hits, but for those who lean in, it’s a peculiar little masterpiece with a wicked sense of humor and a haunting sense of detachment. Arctic Monkeys didn’t just change lanes—they swerved into another dimension entirely.