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sophaeros · 4 months

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arctic monkeys for q magazine, june 2011 (x) (x)

ARCTIC MONKEYS: Inside Alex Turner's Head

Words Sylvia Patterson Portrait John Wright

The day Arctic Monkeys moved into their six bedroom, Spanish-style villa in the Hollywood Hills, where the first-floor balcony looked over the patio swimming pool, they knew exactly what to do.

"From the balcony, you could get on t'roof and jump in't pool," chirps the Monkeys' most gregarious member, drummer Matt Helders, in his homely Yorkshire way. "We looked at it and said, That's definitely gonna happen. So by the end, we did a couple of 'em. Somersaults in t'pool, from the roof. At night time."

In January 2011, as Sheffield and the rest of Britain endured its bitterest winter in a century, Arctic Monkeys capered among the palm trees, eschewing hotels for a millionaire's Hollywood homestead as they recorded and mixed their fourth studio album, Suck It and See.

The four Monkeys, alongside producer James Ford and engineer James Brown, lived what they called the "American man thing": watched Super Bowl on giant TVs, played ping-pong, hired two Mustangs, cooked cartoon Tom And Jerry-sized steaks on barbecues on Sundays, had girlfriends over to visit, all cooking and drinking around the colossal outdoor kitchen area featuring a fridge and two dishwashers. Living atop the Hills, they could see the Pacific Ocean beyond by day, the infinite glittering lights of downtown LA by night.

Every day, en route to Sound City Studios, they'd travel in a seven-seater four-by-four through the mountains, via bohemian 60s enclave Laurel Canyon, blaring out the tunes: The Stones Roses, The Cramps, the Misfits' Hollywood Babylon. For the sometime teenage art-punk renegades whose guitarist, Jamie Cook, was once ejected from London's Met Bar for refusing to pay €22 for two beers, the comedy rock'n'roll life still feels, however, absolutely nothing like reality.

NICK O'MALLEY: "It were really as if we were on holiday. When we came back it's the most post-holiday blues I've ever had!"

JAMIE COOK: "It's hard to comment on that. It were just really good fun."

MATT HELDERS: "We always said, As soon as things like that feel normal, we're in trouble. But it's just funny. You might think it would get more and more serious as you get older but it's getting funnier. We've done four albums now and I'm still only 24, I'm still immature to an extent. So who cares?"

Alex? Al? Are you there?

ALEX TURNER: "Yeah, it were good times. But we were in the studio most of the time. So there's no real wild Hollywood stories. Hmn. Yeah."

Wednesday, 16 March 2011, Strongroom Bar, Shoreditch, East London, 11am. Alex Turner, 25, slips entirely alone into an empty art-crowd brasserie looking like an indie girl's indie dream boy: mop-top bouffant hair which coils, in curlicues, directly into his cheekbones, army-green waist-length jacket, baggy-arsed skinny jeans, black cord zip-up cardigan, simple gold chain, supermoon sized chocolate-brown eyes.

Almost six years after I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor became the indie-punk anthem of a generation (from the first of Arctic Monkeys' three Number 1 albums), and nothing prepares you for the curious phenomenon of Alex Turner "in conversation". Unlike so many of the Monkeys frenetic early songs, he operates in slow motion, seemingly underwater, carrying a protective shell on his back, perhaps indie rock's very own diamond-backed terrapin. The most celebrated young wordsmith in rock'n roll today talks fulsomely, in fact, only in shapeless, curling sentences punctuated with "maybe... hmn.. yeah", an anecdotal wilderness sketching pictures as vague as a cloud. He is, though, simultaneously adorable: amenable, gentle, graceful, and as Northern as a 70s grandpa who literally greets you with "ey oop?".

"People think I'm a miserable bastard," he notes, cheerfully, "but it's just the way me face falls." Still profoundly private, if not as hermetically sealed as a vacuum-packed length of Frankfurter, his fante-shy reticence extends not only to his personal life (his four-year relationship with It-girl/TV presenter Alexa Chung, whom he never mentions) but to insider details generally. Take the Monkeys’ Hollywood high jinks documented above: not one word of it was described by Turner. Before Q was informed by his other Monkey bandmates, Turner’s anecdotal aversion unfolded like this:

Describe the lovely villa you were in. AT: "Well... we certainly had a... good view."

Of what? AT: "Well, we were up quite high."

The downtown LA lights going on forever? AT: "I dunno. It was definitely that thing of getting a bit of sort of sunshine. Is it vitamin D? If you can get vitamin D on your record, you've got a bit of a head start. So we'd get up and drive to the studio."

What were you driving? AT: "Nothing... spectacular. But yeah, we'd drive up the studio, spend all day there and sort of, y know, get back. To be honest... we had limited time. So we spent as much time as possible kind of getting into it, like, in the studio.

So your favourite adventures were what? AT: "Well, they were really… minimal. We were working out there!"

Any nightclubs or anything, perhaps? AT: "You really want the goss 'ere, don't you?"

Yes, please. AT: "I could make some up. Nah!"

And this was on the second time of asking. It's perhaps obvious: Alex Turner, one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation (four Monkeys albums and two EPs in five years, The Last Shadow Puppets side-project, a bewitching acoustic soundtrack for his actor/video director friend Richard Ayoade's feature-length debut Submarine), is dedicated only to the cause – of being the best he can possibly be. He simply remembers the songs much more than the somersaults.

Throughout 2009, Arctic Monkeys toured third album Humbug – the record mostly made in the Californian desert with Queens Of The Stone Age man-monolith Josh Homme – across the planet. While hardly some cranium-blistering opus, its heavier sonic meanderings considerably slowed the Arctic Monkeys' live sets and on 23 August 2009, Q watched them headline the Lowlands Festival, Holland and witnessed a hitherto unthinkable sight – swathes of perplexed Monkeys fans trudging away from the stage. With the sludge rock mood matching their cascading dude-rock hair it seemed obvious: they'd smoked way too much outrageously strong weed in the desert.

"Heheheh, yeah," responds Turner, unperturbed. "That's your theory. You probably weren't alone."

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Turner's arm is now nonchalantly draped along the back of a beaten-up brown leather sofa. He ponders his band's somewhat contrary reputation…

"I think starting the headline set at Reading with a cover of a Nick Cave tune perhaps was a bit contrary. D'youknowhat Imean?! But to be honest, that summer, at those festivals, we had a great time. And I know some fans enjoyed those sets 10 times more. And you can't just do, y’know, another Mardy Bum or whatever. Because how could you, really?"

With Humbug, notes Turner, "I went into corners I hadn't before, because I needed to see what were there," but by spring 2010 he wanted their fourth album to be "more song-based" and less lyrically "removed". He was "organised this time", studied "the good songwriters" (from Nick Cave, The Byrds and Leonard Cohen to country colossi Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline), discovered "the other three strings" on his guitar, and wrote 12 songs through the spring and summer of 2010, mostly in the fourth-floor New York flat he shared with Chung before the couple moved back to London late last summer (the New York MTV show It's On With Alexa Chung was cancelled after two seasons). The result: major-key melodies, harmonised singing and classic song structures.

At the same time he revisited the opposite extreme: bands such as Black Sabbath and The Stooges ("we wanted a few wig-outs as well"); he was also still heavily influenced by the oil-thick grinder rock of Josh Homme, who is clearly now a permanent Monkeys hero. After four months' rehearsals in London, on 8 January the Monkeys relocated to LA for five swift weeks of production and Homme came to visit, singing backing vocals on All My Own Stunts. Tequila was involved.

"Tequila is probably me favourite," manages Turner, by way of an anecdote. "But it takes a certain climate... It's not the same... in the rain. Yeah. [Looks to be contemplating a lyric] Tequila in the rain."

Vocally, he developed the caramel richness first unveiled on The Last Shadow Puppets' Scott Walker-esque The Age Of The Understatement, finding a crooner's vibrato. "Everything before was so tight,” he notes, clutching his neck. "Probably just through nerves. That's just not there any more." Suck It and See contains at least four of the most glittering, sing-along, world-class pop songs (and obvious singles) of Arctic Monkeys' career: the towering, clanging She's Thunderstorms, the summertime stunner The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, the heavenly harmonised title track and the Echo & The Bunnymen-esque jangly pop of closer That's Where You're Wrong.

Elsewhere, in typically contrary "fashion", there's preposterous head-banger bedlam (Brick By Brick, the rollicking faux-heavy rock download they released in March "just for fun", featuring vocals by Helders; Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair, and Library Pictures). News arrives that the first single proper will be Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair. Q is perplexed. Brilliantly titled, certainly, but arriving after Brick By Brick, the new album will appear to the planet as some comedy pastiche metal album for 12-year-old boys.

You've got all these colossal, summery, indie-pop classics and you've gone for... The Chair? AT: [Laughing uproariously] "The Chair! I'm now calling it The Chair, that's cool. Well for once it weren't even our suggestion. It was Laurence's (Bell, Domino label boss). And I were, Fucking too right! He's awesome. It'd be good to get a bit of fucking rock'n'roll out there, won't it? It's riffs. It's loud. It's funny."

If you don't release The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala as a single I'm going round Domino to kick Laurence's "awesome" butt. AT: "I think it'll be the next one!"

The record's title, meanwhile, could've been more enigmatically original than the un-loved phrase Suck It and See. The band, struggling with ideas due to the opposing sonic moods, invented an inspiration-conjuring ruse: to think of new names for effects pedals in the style of Tom Wolfe, Turner being long enamoured with the American author's legendarily psychedelic books The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, "cos that just sounds awesome".

"There's the Big Muff pedal," he elaborates, "That’s the classic. I've got the Valve Slapper. And there's the Tube Screamer. So we came up with the Thunder Suckle Fuzz Canyon. And… wait till I assemble it in me mind… em… it'll come to me… The Blonde-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap. So we were going for summat like that."

A wasted opportunity?

"Nah. Because some of those things ended up in the lyrics anyway. Suck It and See was just easier."

Alex Turner, rock'n'roll's premier descriptive art-poet, still writes his lyrics long-hand in spiral-bound notebooks. "Writing lyrics is a craft that I've practised a bit now," he avers. "In me notebook it looks like sums. Theories. There's words and arrows going everywhere. There's always a few possibilities and I write the word 'OR' in a square."

For our most celebrated colloquial sketch-writer of the everyday observation (all betting pencils, boy slags and ice-cream van aggravations) the more successful he becomes, the less he orbits the ordinary. "I'm not struggling with that, to be honest," he decides. "In fact I'm enjoying writing lyrics much more than I did. Stories. Describing a picture. Um. There's quite a bit of weather and time in this one. Which is probably not reassuring. 'Oh God, he's writing about the weather.' Maybe leave that out!"

There are also some direct, funny, romantic observations: "That's not a skirt, girl, that's a sawn-off shotgun/And I only hope you've got it aimed at me..." (from the title track).

Some of your romantic quips, now, must be about Alexa. AT: "Right. Yeah. Definitely. Well... there's always been that side to our songs, when we weren't writing about... the fucking taxi rank. It's kind of inevitably... people you're with." [At the mention of Chung's name, Turner is visibly aggrieved, head sliding into his neck, terrapin-esque indeed.]

It must have been very grounding being in a proper relationship through all this madness. Because if you weren't, girls would be jumping all over your head. AT: "Em. Hmn. Well, of course that helps you to... I don't really know.. what the other way would be."

Does Alexa wonder if the lyrics are about her? AT: "Oh there's none of that. Yeah, no, there's no looking over the shoulder."

She must be curious, at least. "Maybe."

Did you ever watch Popworld? AT: [Nervous laughter] "Em! Now and again."

Did you ever see the episode where she helps Paul McCartney write a song about shoes? AT: "Ah, yeah I think so, maybe I did see that."

Well, if I was you, I'd have been thinking, "She's the one for me." AT: "Well. Yeah... maybe that would've... sealed the deal! Hmn. But maybe that wasn't when i got the ray of light. When was? Nah [buries head in hands]. I might have to go for a cigarette..."

Q can't torture him any more and joins him for a snout. Turner smokes Camels from a crumpled, sad, soft-pack and resembles a teenager again. As early song You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me says, "Never tenser/Could all go a bit Frank Spencer…”

In January 2006, when Arctic Monkeys' Number 1 album Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not became the fastest-selling debut in UK history, inadvertently redefining the concept of autonomy and further imploding the decimated music industry (& wasn't their idea to be "the MySpace band", it was their fans': the Monkeys merely kick-started viral marketing by giving away demos at gigs), the 19- and 20-year-old Monkeys were terrible at fame. They weren't so much insurrectionary teenage upstarts as teenage innocents culturally traumatised by the peak-era fame democracy.

To their generation (born in the mid-'80s) fame was now synonymous with some-twat-off-the-telly a world of foaming tabloid hysteria where renown and celebrity meant, in fact, you were talentless. Hence their interview diffidence and receiving awards via videos dressed up as the Wizard OfOz and the Village People. Which only, ironically, made them even more celebrated and famous. (“That were a product of us just trying to hold onto the reins," thinks Turner today. "Being uncooperative.")

Q meets The Other Three one morning at 11am, in the well-appointed, empty bar of the Bethnal Green, Bast London hotel they're staying in (all three live in Sheffield, with their girlfriends, in their own homes). First to arrive is the industrious, sensible and cheerful Helders, crunching into a hangover-curing green apple. He has recovered from last year's boxing accident at the gym, which left his broken arm requiring a fitted plate. Now impressively purple-scarred, the break felt "interesting" and the doctor couldn't resist the one-armed drummer jest: "D'you like Def Leppard?"

Currently enjoying an enduring bromance with Diddy, he still doesn't feel famous, "it just doesn't feel that real, there's no paparazzi waiting for me to trip up." He and Turner, during the four-month rehearsals last year, became an accomplished roast dinner cooking duo for the band. "I reckon we could have us our own cookbook," he beams. "Pictures of us stirring, with a whisk."

O'Malley, an agreeable, twinkly-eyed 25-year-old with a strikingly deep voice and a winningly huge smile, is still coyly embarrassed by the interview process. A replacement for the departed original bass player Andy Nicholson in May 2006, he went from Asda shelf-filler to Glastonbury headliner in 13 months and still finds the Monkeys "a massive adventure". His life in Sheffield is profoundly normal – he's delighted that his new home since last October has an open-hearth fireplace: "Me parents had electric bars." He has also discovered cooking. “I’m just a pretty shit-hot housewife, most of the time," he smiles. "I cook stews, fish combinations, curries, chillies. I made a beef pho noodle soup the other day, Vietnamese, I surprised meself, had some mates round for that."

Recently, at his dad's 50th birthday bash, the party band, made up of family and friends, insisted he join them onstage "for ...The Dancefloor. So I were up there [mimes playing bass, all sheepish] and it were the wrong pitch, they didn't know the words or 'owt, going, Makin eyes... er..." He has no extra-curricular musical ambitions. "I'm happy just playing bass," he smiles. "I've never had the skill of doing songs meself. It'd be shit!"

Cook, 25, is still spectacularly embarrassed by the interview process. He perches upright, with a fixed nervous smile, newly shorn of the beard and ponytail he sported in LA: "Rockin' a pone, yeah, because I could get away with it." With his classic preppy haircut and dapper green military coat (from London's swish department store, Liberty), he looks like a handsome '40s film star. (Turner deems Cook "the band heartbreaker" and had a word with him post-LA: "I said to him, Come on, mate, you've got to get that beard shaved off. Get the girls back into us. Shift some posters.")

His life in Sheffield is also profoundly normal. He still plays Sunday League football with his local pub team, The Pack Horse FC (position, left back), remains in his long-term relationship with page-three-model-turned-make-up-artist Katie Downes and "potters about" at home, refusing to describe said home, "cos I'll get burgled".

A tiler by trade, he always vowed, should the Monkeys sign a deal, that he'd throw his trowel in a Sheffield river on his last day of work. "I never did fling me trowel," he confirms. "Probably still in me shed." He's never considered what his band represents to his generation. "I'd go insane thinking about it, I'm pretty good at not thinking about it… Oh God. I'm terrible at this!"

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Alex Turner is cloudily describing his everyday life. "I just keep meself to meself," he confounds. He mostly stays indoors and his perfect night in with Alexa is "watching loads of Sopranos. And doing roast dinners".

No longer spindle-limbed, he attends a gym and has handsomely well-defined arms – "You have to look after yourself."

Suddenly, Crying Lightning from Humbug rumbles over the bar stereo. "Wow. How about that? I was quite happy the other morning cos Brick By Brick were on the round-up goals on Soccer AM. It's still exciting when that happens. It was like Brick By Brick is real."

He spends his days writing music, "listening to records", and recommends Blues Run The Game by doomed '60s minstrel Jackson C Frank ("who's that lass?... Laura Marling, she did a cover recently), a simple, acoustic, deep and regretful stunner about missing someone on the road.

Lyrically, he cites as an example of greatness the Nick Cave B-side Little Empty Boat [from ‘97 single Into My Arms ], a comically sinister paean to a sexual power struggle: "Your knowledge is impressive and your argument is good/But I am the resurrection babe and you're standing on my foot."

"I need a hobby," he suddenly decides. "I'd like to learn another language." Since his mum is a German teacher (his dad teaches music), surely he can speak some German? "I know how to ask somebody if they've had fun at Christmas." Go on, then. "Nah!"

Where Turner's creative gifts stem from remains a contemporary rock'n'roll mystery; he became a fledgling songwriter at 16, after the gift of a guitar at Christmas from his parents. An only child, did his folks, perhaps, foresee artistic greatness? "I doubt it!" he balks. "Cos I didn't. I wasn't... a show kid." Like the others, he doesn't analyse the past, or the future.

"You can't constantly be thinking about what's happened," he reasons, "it's just about getting on with it." The elaborate pinky ring he now constantly wears, however, a silver, gold and ruby metal-goth corker featuring the words DEATH RAMPS is a permanent reminder of he and his best friends’ past. The Death Ramps is not only a Monkeys pseudonym and B-side to Teddy Picker, but a place they used to ride their bikes in Sheffield as kids.

"Up in the woods near where we lived," he nods. "Just little hills. But when you're eight years old they're death ramps." The ring was custom made by a friend of his, who runs top-end rock'n'roll jewellery emporium The Great Frog near London's Carnaby Street. Ask Turner why he thinks the chase between his writing and speaking eloquence is quite so mesmerisingly vast and he attempts a theory.

"Well, writing isn't the same as speaking," he muses. "Not for me. I seem to struggle more and more with... conversation. Talking onstage... I can't do it any more. Hmn. I'll have to work on that."

The ever-helpful Helders has a better theory.

"Since he's been writing songs," he ponders, “It seems like he’s always thinking about that. So even when he’s talking to you now, he’s thinking about the next thing that rhymes with a word. Even when he’s driving. We joke he’s a bad driver, his focus is never 100 per cent on what he’s doing. Which is good for us cos it means he’s got another 12 songs up his sleeve. I think music must be the easiest way for him to be concise and get everything out. Otherwise his head would explode.”

The Shoreditch.com photo studios, 18 March. Alex Turner, today, is more ethereally distracted than ever, transfixed by the studio iPod, playing Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, a version of I’d Rather Go Blind. Occasionally, he’ll completely lose his conversational thread, “Um. I’ve dropped a stitch.”

The first to arrive for Q’s photoshoot, he greets his incoming bandmates with enormous hugs (and also hugs them goodbye). Today, Q feels it’s pointless poking its pickaxe of serious enquiry further into Turner’s vacuum-packed soul and wonders if he’ll play, instead, a daft game. It’s called Popworld Questions, as first posed by someone he knows rather well.

“Oh, OK. Let’s do it,” he blinks, now perched in an empty dressing room. He then vigorously shakes his head, “Um…I’ve gotta snap back into it.”

Here, then, are some genuine “Alexa Chung on Popworld” questions (2006-2007), as originally posed to Matt Willis, Amy Winehouse, Robbie Williams, Pussycat Dolls, Kaiser Chiefs and Diddy.

Why do indie bands wear such tight jeans? AT: “Um. I supposed they do. They haven’t always. When we first were playing I was definitely in flares. You need to be quite tall to get the full effect, though. So, that's why this indie band wears such tight jeans, cos we've not got the legs for flares."

What makes you tick in the sexy department? AT: "Wow. Pass. What do I find most attractive in a woman? Something in the head? That's definitely a requirement. Well... Hmn. I'm struggling."

Tell us about all the lovely groupies. AT: "No!"

If dogs had human hands instead of paws, would you consider trying to teach them to play the piano? AT: "Absolutely. I'd teach Hey Jude."

How many plums d'you think you can comfortably fit in one hand? AT: "They're not very big. [Holds small, pale, girly hand up for inspection] It's a shame. Probably three. Diddy only managed two? Maybe not then. I can carry a lot of glasses at once, though. If they're small ones I can do four."

Are you cool? AT: "Not as much as I'd like to be. There's this clip where Clint Eastwood is on a talkshow and he gets asked, Everybody thinks of you as defining cool, what d'you think about that? And he gets his cigs out, takes one out, flicks it into his mouth, lights it and says, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Here, Turner locates his Camels soft-pack and attempts to do a Clint Eastwood. He flicks one upwards towards his mouth. And misses. Flicks another. And misses. "Third time lucky?" He misses. "I'll get it the next time." And succeeds. "Hey. Fourth time. Don't put that in! So there you go. I'm four steps away from where I wanna be."

Thank you very much for joining me here on Popworld, here's my clammy hand again. There it is, let it slip, hmmn. You can let go now. AT: "OK! Were you a Popworld fan, then? It was funny. Cool. What were we talking about, before?"

Blimey, Alex. What must you be like when you're completely stoned out of your head? AT: "Stoned? What d'you mean, cos I seem like that anyway? Yeah. A lot of people... tell me I'm a bit... dreamy. But I like the idea of that. Of being somewhere else."

Two days earlier, Turner had contemplated what he wanted from all this, in the end. Many seconds later he gave his deceptively ambitious answer.

"I just wanna write better songs," he decided. "And better lyrics. I just definitely wanna be good at it. Hmn. Yeah.”

—

RUFUS BLACK: AKA Matt Helders, on his ongoing bromance with Diddy

Matt Helders has known preposterous rap titan Diddy since they met in Miami in 2008. “He goes, Arctic Monkeys! Then he said summat about a B-side and I was like, He's not lying! I just thought, This is funny, I'm gonna go with this for a while." Last October Diddy texted Helders, suggesting he play drums with his Diddy Dirty Money band on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, to give his own drummer a day off. “I were bowling with me girifriend at the time. In Sheffield, on a Sunday." On the day of recording, says Helder, "We had a musical director. That were one of the maddest times of my life. Next day Diddy said, Why don't you just stay? Come along with me. So I went everywhere with him." Diddy had "a convoy of cars" and made sure Helders was always in his. "He'd stop his car and go, Where's Matt? You're coming with me! So I'd get in his car. Just me, him, his security, driver." Diddy, by now, had given him a pseudonym - Rufus Black. "He kept saying, I don't wanna fuck up your image. And I'm, I don't think it's gonna do me any harm!" He stayed in Diddy's spectacularly expensive hotel. Some weeks later, Helders almost returned to the Dirty Money drumstool for a gig in Glasgow. "But we were rehearsing in London. I were like, I might come, how are you getting there? And he were like, Jet. Jump on t’jet with me. But I had to stay in Bethnal Green instead.”

Love’s young dream: Diddy (left) with Helders

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #matt helders #nick o'malley #jamie cook #sias era #interviews #q magazine #my image id #bands #this is such a funny interview honestly shfjwjs #self proclaimed housewife nick my beloved......#also why did the interviewer describe alex's hands as small pale and girly HELPME #btw im missing page 93 it's probabky just a photospread but yeah #i managed to find the dead links' images on vk #eye contact #not my scan

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turnersverse · 2 months

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with the exception of you i dislike everyone in the room.

a/n: this is my first fic and i have no idea what i'm doing so please bear with! please feel free to leave any feedback bc the last time i wrote was over a year ago sooooo ...

you discover alex's true feelings for you after finding his notebook he is always writing in but never shows anyone

friends to lovers, alex and reader have been friends for about 10 years !

you'd been in the studio all day with the band, even though you weren't apart of it you would often help with some of the guitar parts, seeing as you played it yourself. the monkeys already had about 4 songs for their new record, and you had a feeling this album could boost them to worldwide fame.

you were sat next to jamie, who was plucking at random strings on his guitar, his face scrunched up in concentration as he worked out in his brain the arrangement of notes. matt and nick were stood behind alex, who was hunched over his notebook that he wrote anything to do with the monkey's music in.

"al, mate, we need the lyrics. i don't know what i'm doing over here." jamie said, still looking at his guitar.

"just write a riff or something, i dunno." alex mumbled, before adding. "and can you two stop breathing down my neck? all i'm going to be able to write is how nick o'malley's annoyingly hot breath was gliding over the back of my head."

matt and nick just laughed as alex glared at them, nick starting to purposefully blow air at alex.

"right, stop it now." alex frowned, standing up from his seat. "i'm going for a smoke." and with that he left the room.

"he's got loads of songs in that stupid little book, he just doesn't want us to see them. i have a theory that he's just gonna start a solo project." matt said, sitting down on the sofa next to you. nick still hovered by alex's previous seat, looking between the notebook and the other three.

"no, nick, you can't." you said, knowing what nick was planning on doing.

matt caught on quickly, "i mean, it wouldn't hurt. al's not gonna know..."

"yeah but if he doesn't want us to see them, he'll have a good reason for it." you argued. jamie sighed and stood up, walking to the door.

"i'll go speak to him." the guitarist said before leaving the room.

you sat back, more comfortably, on the sofa. "why don't one of you write something? 'r u mine' is fairly based on the drums."

matt just scoffed, "yeah, i'll write summat, and then alex will come up with some lyrics that won't fit it at all." this had happened just the other day with jamie, who had written 'the best riff of his life' (as he'd called it) before alex showed the rest of the band the lyrics to a song he'd called 'mad sounds', which was much slower than what jamie had come up with.

"lets just have a peak.." nick said, inching closer to the notebook.

"nick, no." you said firmly.

"nick, yes!" matt said, a stupid grin on his face. the drummer looked at his mate, and a look was exchanged between the two. before you could even register their plan, matt had pinned your arms behind your back as nick grabbed the notebook.

you gasped in shock, looking between the two lads. matt was laughing whilst nick flicked through the book, until he stopped. you watched as his eyes scanned the page, before he spoke up. "hey, this is really good."

"let us see then." matt said, and nick handed the notebook to matt. you glanced over, although you knew your best mate would be fuming if he found out, the anticipation had got to you. scribbled at the top of the page were the words 'stop the world i wanna get off with you'. you read through the lyrics, finding that the song was obviously some sort of love song.

"that is really good." you said quietly, a few lyrics sticking out to you. a few phrases you'd heard before. matt hummed, and started tapping the floor with his foot. he flicked to the next page, where alex had written the guitar part.

"oh yeah." matt nodded, "this is similar to the tune we did the other day. 'why'd you only call me when you're high?'"

nick nodded, "yeah i noticed that. dunno who the lyrics are about but its pretty good." as he mentioned the lyrics, matt glanced at him, a certain look in his eyes.

you caught that, confusion written on your face. alex was your best mate, if something was going on, he'd tell you. but you felt like you were missing something here.

just as nick was about to say something, alex and jamie walked back into the room. you, matt and nick all looked between each other and alex, your eyes saying 'uh oh'. alex glanced at matts lap and saw the book.

"what the fuck?" he stormed over to matt and snatched his precious notebook up.

"alex, its good!" matt said, raising his arms up in defence.

"i dont want to do that one." he said angrily.

"why not?" you added in, looking at alex.

alex sighed, looking at you before sitting in the seat he had been in before. "lets just do something else."

"no, lets do this." nick said, his hands now on his hips.

"i wanna see." jamie said, walking to alex and picking up the notebook. alex didnt stop him, he just sat watching jamie's reaction.

after a few moments, jamie looked up with a smile, "this is really good."

"thanks." alex mumbled.

"we could do it. we could do a bit of.." matt stood up and went to his drums, picking up his drumsticks and drumming a bit of a beat. "we could do a bit of that."

alex nodded in approval, "yeah. i wrote the guitar as well. its on the next page."

matt smiled, now knowing that alex had given in as jamie flicked to the next page and looked at the guitar part. "yeahhhhh." he said, nodding his head. he put the notebook down and picked up his guitar, strumming the parts he remembered. everyone in the room collectively nodded, as nick picked up his bass and started playing stuff that would go along with the main guitar.

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

the band finished up in the studio 3 hours later, with a demo recorded for the album. alex had offered for you to go round his for tea, and you had gladly accepted. this was something the two of you did often; you would get together and order some sort of takeaway and spend most of the night talking. this had been a sort of tradition ever since alex bought his first house, and you and him spent the first night in there talking until the sun rose.

alex put out his cigarette before unlocking his car as you finished locking up the building. you got into the passenger side, flicking the radio on when alex started the car.

'starman' by david bowie was playing, a song you had always been fond of. you hummed along the the melodies as alex sat in a comfortable silence.

"i was thinking of covering summat for the album." alex spoke up, his accent prominent in his words.

"yeah?" you glance over at him, knowing he probably had an idea of what he wanted to cover by the tone of his voice.

"i was thinking that poem, the one you really like."

"what, 'i wanna be yours'?"

alex nodded. "yeah. thought it would be nice."

you nodded, a small smile on your face. "if you could pull it off. whats all this about though, with the new song and that? a new lover maybe?" you said, wiggling your eyebrows at alex.

"what? no!" he said, looking at you and then back at the road. "stop wiggling your eyebrows at me, you knob."

you just laugh in response, shaking your head as you turned your attention to the road. after a few moments, alex spoke up again.

"did you like the song though? i thought the lyrics were a bit.. i dunno.. cheesy."

"i think it's really good, al. it's similar to the stuff you wrote for 'suck it and see', in a way." you commented, holding back the other thoughts you had.

"yeah, i havent been feeling very.. romantic, lets say, since me and alexa broke up." alex said quietly, knowing that for the past 10 years, there probably hadn't been a single day he hadn't felt that way.

the two settled into a comfortable silence for the remainder of the journey back to alex's house. when they arrived, alex unlocked the door and you went straight to his living room, grabbing 'your' blanket from the back of the settee before settling in the corner of his l-shaped sofa, where you always sat. alex came back into the room with two cans: a can of carling and a pre-mix malibu and pineapple. he passed the latter to you, a quiet 'thank you' leaving your lips.

"chinese or pizza?" alex said, holding up the menus he had also collected from the kitchen.

you hummed, thinking for a moment. "pizza. usual order?"

alex nodded, reaching for his phone to order the food. you got comfy in your seat, pulling the blanket over your legs. you took the tv remote off the coffee table and flicked through the channels, not really reading what was on as something else plagued your mind.

"alright, cheers mate." alex said as he ended the call. "pizza will be here in 45 minutes."

you nodded, your eyes still focused on the tv screen. alex came and sat down next to you, pulling some of the blanket on to his lap and watching you try to find something to watch.

"that sounds good." he said to a true crime series you had stopped your scrolling to read the description of. you clicked on it and placed the remote back down on the coffee table, now concentrating on the series.

alex watched you for a few moments before watching the tv as well. he felt as if something was off with you. usually you would rest your head on his shoulder. he also felt like you'd been a lot quieter today, which you never are.

"are you okay?" he spoke up, watching you turn to look at him.

"uh, yeah." you said quickly, turning your attention back to the screen.

sighing, alex reached for the remote and paused the series. "no you're not. whats up?"

you pull your legs up to your chest, avoiding eye contact. "nothing, its just.." you trail off.

"just..?" alex said, waiting for you to continue.

you sigh, just deciding to spit it out. "the new song.. the lyrics."

alex felt his heart drop, knowing that you knew. "yeah?"

"'with the exception of you i dislike everyone in the room'. you said that to me. at the 'suck it and see' release party." you say, quietly.

"y/n.." alex said, praying silently for you to look at him. "i'm sorry."

you look up at him, confusion written all over your face. "why are you sorry?"

"i dunno, i'm sorry for letting my silly old heart feel like this. i understand if you don't feel the same. but every word in that song is true. the meaning of it all.. and i've always felt this way. thats not the only one as well. so many songs have been inspired by you, and how i feel for you. i'm so, so sorry if you don't reciprocate these feelings, but i can't hide them anymore." alex said, and you could see it all in his eyes. the desperation for you to feel the same, the fear of rejection, the look of love.

you didn't know what to do. you knew you felt the same, and it scared you. it scared you that you'd always loved alex, but could never bring yourself to do anything about it. you never dreamed he would feel the same until today.

"please say something." alex said quietly, watching you.

"i feel the same way." was all you could say at first. you watched as the look in alex's eyes completely changed, how it softened.

"it scares me alex, because i dont want to lose you. i can't lose you. you're my best friend, but i've always felt more. i've always longed to be the one you write songs about. the one you kiss goodnight and wake up beside every morning. but i'm so, so scared. i'm scared i'll ruin it all and i'll lose you. i'm scared of love." you say quietly. the next thing you knew, alexs arms were around your waist, pulling you to his chest.

you clutched onto him, relishing in the feeling of being in his arms. "don't feel like that. don't be scared. you'll never lose me." alex said softly.

you look up at him, watching as his gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, your breath stolen away as he closed the gap between you and met your lips with his. and in that moment, you knew that had been where you were wrong. as your lips fit alex's perfectly like a puzzle. you knew you were made for each other, soulmates both platonically and romantically.

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

another little a/n: i didn't really know where i was going with this, and i'm sorry if the endings shit😪

p.s if you noticed the miles reference ily

#alex turner x reader #alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner fic #am era

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puppys-rhythm-heaven · 7 months

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hyperfixations are funny cuz sometimes i remember that most people probably can't like. name every rhythm heaven game in order. i can just casually do it. actually most rhythm heaven fans probably could do that we're all kind of unhinged about funni moosic gayme-

#puppy rambles #rhythm hell #here let me do it real quick #karate man rhythm tweezers marching orders spaceball clappy trio sneaky spirits samurai slice origins rat race sick beats bon odori #wizard's waltz showtime bunny hop tram & pauline space dance quiz show (regrettably) night walk power calligraphy polyrhythm rap men #bouncy road ninja bodyguard toss boys fireworks tap trial snappy trio bon dance cosmic dance rap women turbo tap trial #karate man 2 rhythm tweezers 2 ninja reincarnate night walk 2 marcher 2 #bouncy road 2 toss boys 2 polyrhythm 2 (purgatory) spaceball 2 sneaky spirits 2 #built to scale glee club fillbots fan club rhythm rally shoot-'em-up blue birds moai doo-wop #love lizards crop stomp freeze frame the dazzles munchy monk dj school (<3) drummer duel love lab #splashdown big rock finish dog ninja frog hop space soccer lockstep rockers karate man airboarder #built to scale 2 the dazzles 2 frog hop 2 fan club 2 rhythm rally 2 fillbots 2 blue birds 2 lockstep 2 #moai doo-wop 2 glee club 2 karate man 2 space soccer 2 shoot-'em-up 2 splashdown 2 munchy monk 2 rockers 2 #hole in one screwbot factory see-saw double date fork lifter tambourine board meeting monkey watch #working dough built to scale air rally figure fighter ringside packing pests micro-row samurai slice #catch of the day flipper-flop exhibition match flock step launch party donk-donk bossa nova love rap #tap troupe shrimp shuffle cheer readers karate man night walk #samurai slice 2 working dough 2 built to scale 2 double date 2 love rap 2 cheer readers 2 hole in one 2 screwbot factory 2 #figure fighter 2 micro-row 2 packing pests 2 karate man 2 #(hhhhhh prequels time)#karate man fillbots air rally catchy tune rhythm tweezers glee club figure fighter fruit basket #clappy trio shoot-'em-up micro-row first contact tongue lashing sneaky spirits rhythm rally flipper-flop lumbearjack super samurai slice #sumo brothers catchy tune 2 fruit basket 2 second contact animal acrobat lumbearjack 2 tangotronic #pajama party blue bear kitties! jungle gymnast super samurai slice 2 karate man senior #i prooooobably mixed up a couple tengoku games. can never remember if samurai slice origins or rat race is first #should be everything though. unless tumblr does something dumb

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bouncybongfairy · 9 months

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Opposites Attract

Rodrick Heffley x Fem Reader

Summary: One Friday after school, you are trying to practice for an important audition coming up. As you start, you suddenly hear an obnoxiously loud drumming coming from next door. After arguing back and forth for a while, it becomes clear that neither of you is budging. You desperately need this rehearsal time and ask him what it will take to get the peace and quiet you need. He tells you he'll stop if you let him take you on a date tomorrow to the Drive-In tomorrow night.

Word Count: 2k+

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

You were sitting in the last period, trying to get some homework done. It was Friday and you could tell everyone was itching for the weekend to start. Once you noticed that you only had 5 minutes until the bell rang, you started packing your bag up. Unlike most students, you had to stay after school and rehearse for your 1st chair violin position on Monday. You grabbed a tissue and cleaned your glasses, watching the clock as time dragged by. Once the bell rang, you stayed seated until most of your peers exited. You would just be waiting as kinds shoved their way through the small opening. After the doorway was less crowded you made your way to the E-wing where the music room was located. You were close with your orchestra teacher and she would let you stay after class in order to get a little practice in. It was nice to have the entire room to yourself, you took your violin out of the case and started tuning. After you had rosined your bow, you started practicing when you heard an off-rhythm drumming. At first, you were trying to ignore it, unfortunately, you would find yourself focusing on the drumming while counting rests. Eventually, you couldn’t take it so you packed your violin up and tried to find where the music was coming from.

You went into the theater and saw someone banging away at a drum set that was placed in the middle of the stage. You immediately recognized the drummer as Rodrick Heffley. He had certainly made a reputation for himself this year, getting caught spray painting the side of the school; doing donuts in the parking lot, and of course, you knew he smoked. He was sweating and his shaggy hair was sticking to his forehead. His eyebrows were furrowed because of how much he was exerting himself. He was really lanky but his arms were toned, mostly likely due to how much he plays. He was wearing an Arctic Monkeys t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black skinny jeans. His backpack, which was covered in buttons and pins, was sitting next to the drum kit. He reached down to pull a water bottle and took a drink. His head was tilted up and a couple of water droplets were running down his throat. You walked passed the aisle of seats and approached him, when he noticed you he immediately paused.

“I’m really trying to practice and I can barely hear myself think over your banging,” you said crossing your arms.

“Well, what do you want me to do about that? I’m trying to practice too, you know,” he said.

“I have an audition this Monday and I really need to be 100% focused during this practice,” you explained.

“I have a gig next Friday and also need some quiet time,” he said.

“If I give you 10 bucks will you please let me practice?” you proposed.

“Actually I have a better idea, what if we went out tomorrow night? We can go see the new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie at the Drive-In,” he said.

“Really? Do you even know my name?” you huffed.

“Y/N. I would ask you if you know mine but I’m pretty sure you do,” he said, smirking at you.

“Well then, can I give you my number?” you asked.

“Sure can,” he said. You climbed up on stage and grabbed a pen out of your jacket pocket. You grabbed his hand and wrote your number on his hand.

He thanked you and then you quickly made your way back to the music room. You continued on with practicing but were now preoccupied with thinking about what you just agreed to. Not having much experience with dating, you felt a little nervous. Rodrick seemed so confident with talking to girls, that was part of the reason you liked him. You just didn’t want to come off as naive or clueless. Eventually, you come to the conclusion that you can no longer focus on the music and have your mom come to pick you up. The entire car ride and even once you got home you couldn’t get your mind off him. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive. He just had that bad-boy vibrato that only certain guys have. Not to mention you two completely and utterly fit the trope of the sweet girl with the bad boy stereotype. Most of your friends, especially the ones that you took orchestra with, always talked down on metal or angsty music. You, on the other hand, felt differently. Music that isn’t your taste isn’t bad music and most people your age couldn’t seem to grasp that. All your friends saw him as a grimy skater boy but what was wrong with that? You even asked them why they would be ashamed to be like the guys their famous idols pretend to be. Getting tired of the anxiety thinking about tomorrow was causing you to wash up and head to bed.

The next day you start getting ready around 6:30 pm. You were sitting on the floor of your bedroom, in front of a mirror that was propped against the wall. Separating your hair into layers you slowly began flat ironing. You had gotten a text from Rodrick that said he was going to pick you up around 8. Although you still had some anxiety, you were really excited. This was going to be your first date and the fact that it was with someone you were so attracted to made it that much. It took you 10 minutes to get your left lash to stick but you were finally done with your make-up. You changed into a jean skirt, a black v-neck, and a white sweater. By the time you were fully done, he texted you that he was on the way. You practically jumped out of your skin when you read it. You felt like your blood was running hot and cold at the same time. Your mom gave you 20 dollars and a kiss on the cheek before she left. When you walked outside your house, the first thing you noticed was his van. It also smelt like his cologne but not in an overwhelming way. You knew he had a band but you didn’t realize it was named Loaded Diper. Practically skipping down the driveway you climb into the front seat. The first thing you noticed was the A.C. being on blast, you were also surprised by how clean everything was.

“Hey,” you greeted him.

“Hi, you look really pretty,” he said, which made you blush.

“Thanks, so are you excited to see the new TMNT movie? I heard it got really good reviews,” you said.

“For sure, I’ve been looking forward to it for a while,” he said.

You drove in comfortable silence up until you got to the Drive-In. You offered to pay but he ignored you and your pleas. Once he found a spot in the back, the two of you made your way to the snack bar. It was a vintage 60’s theme which you thought was cool. There were records hung on the call, all the booths were cherry red and the floor had a checkered pattern. As you waited in line, Rodrick put his arms around your shoulder which made your stomach flip. You were surprised by how much he ordered. Seriously, you hoped he wasn’t expecting help. You helped him carry everything back: nachos, popcorn, fresh chocolate chip cookies, two slurpees, and two hotdogs. When he parked, he turned the van around so that the back doors were facing the screen. He opened the doors and you were actually surprised by how much effort he put into it. There was a thick layer of blankets stacked on the floor of the van. Several pillows lined up against the driver and passenger seats. A small battery-powered lantern was hung from the center of the ceiling. There were stickers all over the interior of the car which made you smile. It looked so cute and cozy. You slipped your shoes off and climbed into the back with him. You were nervous, to the point where your teeth were chattering a little. The trailers that played before the movie were still running; he had already eaten half his nachos.

“Where do you put all that?” you joked.

“We’ll never know,” he said.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, pointing to your legs that were shaking a bit.

“A little, I’ve never been on a date before,” you admitted, taking a sip from your Slurpee.

“Since we’re sharing secrets, you’re the first girl that actually said yes when I asked. Even then you only did it to rehearse,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“After I gave you my number, I only practiced for like 15 minutes because it was all I could think about,” you said.

“Really?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

“What is so unbelievable?” you asked.

“I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t think I was your type,” he confessed.

“That’s fair, we don’t necessarily run with the same crowd. I have to admit though, usually all the guys I’m around are scared to get a bit of dirt under their fingernails. It’s not like I seek trouble but I really like you, your style, taste in music, and demeanor you know?” you said.

He was blushing really hard, looking down so that his hair covered his eyes. You could still see his smirk though, it made you feel giddy knowing you had this effect on him. He pulled a pen out of his pocket, at first you questioned whether he should be smoking when he had to drive home. He reassured you that he had a high tolerance and that the effects would wear off by the time the movie ended. You were really nervous, especially because you’d never smoked before. He took a couple of hits to show you how to properly inhale. He also reassured you that if you didn’t want to or didn’t want him to smoke then it was okay. This warmed your heart, knowing that he didn’t want you to feel pressured. You grabbed his hand, feeling too insecure to hold it yourself. You took a big hit and then coughed it out, the smoke burning your throat. He laughed as you took a huge drink of your Slurpee to help the stinging sensation. After taking one or two more hits, you could feel it kicking in. You couldn’t stop giggling which was amusing to Rodrick.

“Now I understand how you can eat all this food,” you said while taking a big bite of a hotdog.

“Your eyes are so red,” he laughed.

“Really?” you asked, grabbing your phone and looking at your appearance.

“Can we take a selfie together?” you asked, he nodded his head yes.

You scooted closer to him and took a selfie with your back camera with flash. When you showed Rodrick he was impressed with how well they came out. After that, he started talking to you about what his plans were for his band. You were surprised with how far ahead he had thought into the future; you know, about what type of label he wanted to be signed to and merch that he wanted to design. You told him about how you wanted to make movie scores and he thought it was really cool. It was now completely dark and the movie was starting. You covered your legs with the blanket and turned to face Rodrick. He had just taken a hit and blew the small hit into your face. You playfully inhaled which made him laugh, you then kissed his cheek. He turns and smiles at you before giving you a quick peck on the lips. After you cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder, and start enjoying the movie. o

#rodrick x reader #rodrick heffley #rodrick heffley x y/n #rodrick x y/n #rodrick rules #rodrick heffley fanfic #diary of a wimpy kid #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley imagine

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