Arctic Monkeys – Earls Court, London 26/10/13

In 2006, a certain Sheffield band, full of confidence and talent and the arrogance of youth, released an EP called Who The F-ck Are The Arctic Monkeys? Seven years on, that remains a damn good question.

When they first came to prominence in the midst of the mid-noughties indie-rock revival, Arctic Monkeys distinguished themselves with a rawness, wit and authenticity that many of their contemporaries sorely lacked. But almost a decade on, we find a bequiffed Alex Turner channelling the ghost of Elvis Presley and a fancy light-show centred around a 20 foot AM logo and floor-mounted disco balls. What happened to the working-class heroes of yesteryear? Has fame gone to their heads? And what effect has this had on their music?

Well, despite the evolution of Turner from scruffy T-shirted teen to flash showman (not entirely unanticipated, given his Last Shadow Puppets side-project) the Arctic Monkeys still come across as pretty grounded lads. Their staging budget may have gone up, but they remain steadfastly unpretentious – the focus is very much on playing the songs with as much energy as they can muster, with little time for banter or gimmickry. Although he lacks the charisma and loucheness of fellow Sheffielder Jarvis Cocker, Turner does have a certain poise about him, not to mention a similarly distinctive vocal style.

Most importantly, their songwriting has also developed – and mostly for the better. Opening with “Do I Wanna Know?,” a moody, taut slab of stoner-rock, is almost a statement of intent; the jauntier, more light-hearted Arctic Monkeys of old have given way to a darker, punchier, more complex beast. This point is pressed with the stadium rock swagger of “Arabella”, although moments like the subtly funky “Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High” and the piano-heavy bounce of “Snap Out Of It” suggest they’ve not entirely jettisoned their poppier instincts.

But as solid as the new songs were, the highlights were invariably the old favourites – the rollocking breathlessness of “Brianstorm”, a lighter-waving rendition of “Mardy Bum” and “I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor” – which inevitably sparked a moshpits which encompassed half the venue. In truth, I’m still not entirely sure who the f-ck the Arctic Monkeys are, but when they’re playing shows this accomplished, I don’t think it matters.

Photograph by Steve Asenjo. See full gallery here.