My humble opinion, for the reader’s consideration, is that it is time to abandon the goal of “not taking things too seriously” when it comes to the art we love. I absolutely revel in taking myself and my interests just a little too seriously; if I don’t do it, who will? Whether that means treating One Direction like our generation’s The Beatles or letting Taylor Swift evolve in the cultural consciousness from an endlessly upbeat pop princess to the mature, poetic voice that gave us Folklore and Evermore, I take my pop culture interests and treat them as I do my love for certain works of classic literature or Golden Age Hollywood films.
This new perspective of mine began with Arctic Monkeys. Many will be familiar with them from TikTok’s recent resurgence of the “2014 Tumblr alt-aesthetic.” Their 2013 album AM provided a series of anthems for teens who “weren’t like other girls.” The band’s appeal has straddled across various demographics for the length of their career, finding an audience in school-age kids, their dad-rock-loving fathers, and their token “cool aunt” who saw Queen at Live Aid.
Arctic Monkeys’ body of work is settling-in with a sort of endurance considered comparable to The Beatles; they are musicians taken seriously by critics and fans alike. Their music is not brought down by its mass appeal or made inaccessible by pretension. Their success is attributable to many factors, including their achievements in lyricism which have proven nothing short of poetic. Still, anything short of literal poetry does not usually get the attention and analysis reserved for 400-level English Literature seminars. If we treated every song on the radio with deference similar to classic poetry, would we have a deeper appreciation for the music of our time without waiting for the lens of nostalgia?
Their second album, Favourite Worst Nightmare (2007), contains a song called “505.” The first time I listened to this song, I had no idea what it was about. I understood every word, saw the visuals in my head, but it bothered me. I felt that I wasn’t “getting it,” despite loving the music. I felt similarly about the band in general, trying to figure out what about their music stood out to me so much that I had their albums on repeat for weeks.
The speaker wants to go back to 505, (which, in the literal sense, is usually interpreted to be a hotel room) where the object of his affection is waiting. 505 is more than a physical space; it is a place in time that serves as a symbol of the speaker’s devastation. A crystalized memory shattered by the reality that followed. The speaker knows from the start that every return to 505 will end the same way, but he goes anyway, and takes his listeners along to a state of being between a promising before and a corrupted after.
Once again you’ve had to greet me with goodbye, the speaker mourns; the very moment the speaker crosses into 505, it falls apart. He occupies that space between going back to what he wants and losing it again throughout the piece. The repeating choruses communicate the cyclical nature of his relationship to 505, and impart to the listener his desire to return to and remain on the threshold of this memory before he crumbles with it. The song “505” is so captivating because of its liminality, of the way the speaker is stuck in an ever-repeating loop of time, participating in the motions gladly every time the adventure begins again.
I return to this song because I love its cyclical nature, the same way the speaker is completely unashamed of his fixation and the lengths he’s willing to go to get back to 505, if it’s a seven hour flight or a 45-minute drive. His sincere obsession with 505 leaves the listener craving an explanation. We want to know why: why he would adore his darling, even with their hands around his neck; why he’s not only willing but desperate to go back, despite the knife twists and frightening bite. I love the feeling of peering over his shoulder, of being on the precipice of a disastrous series of events. It’s like reading a tragedy for the tenth time, knowing that the closest you can get to a happy ending is starting the play again and hoping the catharsis pays off.
Arctic Monkeys’ broad appeal comes from their ability to strike a balance between their distinctive alt-rock riffs and lyricism that is simultaneously accessible and genius. They take themselves and their music seriously, and so should we. To the speaker, his return to 505 is the single most important thing in the world, at least for the four minutes and thirteen seconds of the song. The desired liminal moment in his memory can reconcile the tragedy that comes afterwards with whatever tantalising hope existed before. In its musical and lyrical styling, “505” does for its listeners what Arctic Monkeys does in the music industry. They create a liminal space, where they can exist with their music and their listeners. In “505,” that space is a haunting memory of anticipation—before ruination. In the broader world of music, they create a space in which they can exist on the threshold between so many demographics of music-lovers.
