A Review of The Last Shadow Puppets' "Everything You've Come to Expect"

So far, 2016 has been a year for the books.

Leo won his Oscar. We're witnessing one of the worst presidential candidacy races in history. UNC made it to the final four.

But politics and basketball aside, we're also bearing witness to an exciting time for new music. After eight years, Arctic Monkeys' frontman, Alex Turner, and former frontman of the Rascals/solo artist Miles Kane finally churned out the long overdue second album of their collaborative side project--Everything You've Come to Expect by The Last Shadow Puppets was released on April 1st, 2016.

Is it really everything we've come to expect, however? Eight years is an extremely long time to wait for a new project from any band--however, it's not like Turner and Kane were just sitting around, twiddling their thumbs. Since the 2008 release of The Age of the Understatement, Turner has been busy with the Arctic Monkeys, releasing three full length albums (Humbug in 2010, Suck it and See in 2011, and AM in 2013), as well as touring the U.S. and Europe extensively with the band. Kane left the Rascals as a result of their break up in 2009 and pursued a solo career, releasing The Colour of the Trap in 2011 and Don't Forget Who You Are in 2013. Turner and Kane themselves, as well as many other insiders, had hinted at the possibility of a new album for what seemed like forever, and the two best friends kept up their strange bromance through many a TV interview and Instagram post while rumors of LP2 seemed to be the opposite of urgent. 2008 was an odd time for Turner to randomly produce a side project, as Arctic Monkeys fame and success was growing with the anticipation of a career-solidifying third album. But the Last Shadow Puppets were wildly successful, leaving adoring fans desperate for more. Now, after three Arctic Monkeys albums, it seems time the foursome took a break--a perfect opportunity for The Last Shadow Puppets to take to the stage once more.

The Age of the Understatement was a tough act to follow. The album is, simply put, epic--one critic said of the debut, "equal parts 007-intrigue and spaghetti western-histronics, this is music at it's most cinematic." And how does EYCTE measure up? The album is full of hyperbolic piano riffs, provocative lyrics ("Ain't got anything to lick without you baby," sings Turner on Sweet Dreams, TN), and hypnotic choruses. It's the kind of music that makes you want to run across a beach in slow motion into your lover's arms. Both Turner and Kane's formidable lyricism and musical finesse combine to create an album as groovy and smooth as its cover art--golden, sexy, and, yes, cinematic. "60's string"-esque arrangements by Owen Pallet seem to fill the room upon every listen, and Turner's nuanced lyrics evoke many a suggestive image. After the sophisticated and yet relatively boring AM, EYCTE shows us how far Turner has come since his awkward, punkish teenage days when the Monkeys released their brilliant debut, Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not. Kane, too, proves his musical brilliance on this sun-soaked album as both songwriter and instrumentalist.

In conclusion, Turner and Kane, girl-crazy hopeless romantics, opt for the clean-cut glamour of big band sound while delivering vexing lyrics on the second LP of their brainchild of a music group. The Last Shadow Puppets is one of those under the radar bands that'll just make you feel cool when you listen to them.

Highlights: Miracle Aligner, Everything You've Come to Expect, The Bourne Identity

Traveling South (an essay)

Located right on the brink of the two Carolinas sits a sprawling landmark infamous to all who have journeyed southeast. A beacon of early 1950s rest stop/roadside attractions. A graveyard of tackiness with a lively Mexican-bandido mascot--a borderline graveyard in every respect.

Every trek down Interstate 95 has taken my family past this notorious place, and its image stains every storybook road trip we’ve taken to Hilton Head, South Carolina, for as long as I can remember. Those familiar with South of the Border know that it is quite the monument, and it’s a bit of a joke amongst Carolinians both north and south of this strangely out of place mini-metropolis. My family and I have never stopped inside (which is probably a good thing), but we’ve definitely considered doing so, just “for the experience”--a South of the Border bumper sticker was always a coveted item, and would be the ultimate proof of our bravery had we ever been adventurous enough to travel through its gigantic orange welcome sign. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to take a ride up its towering sombrero structure, the safety and integrity of which has always been questionable to me. My dad speaks wistfully of the days that he, my aunt and uncles and my grandparents would travel down to Hilton Head from New York--how the kids would beg and plead to stop at that brightly colored Mexico-themed Disneyland. I assume those were the South of the Border glory days, the days when you didn’t wonder if maybe it was a front for a drug cartel, but instead a pure and magical land complete with a motel, tiny amusement park, and souvenir shop.

Even if you’ve somehow never noticed it, you’ve probably noticed all one hundred and twenty of the billboards advertising South of the Border as you’ve gotten closer and closer. Every mile or so, there’s a brightly colored sign depicting a caricature of a poncho wearing, mustached man and his donkey friend, urging you with blank, painted on eyes to visit the ailing roadside tourist trap. I’ve always felt bad for the place, and it’s a miracle to me that it stays in business. In all my eighteen years of passing that barren wasteland of neon scaffolding and variegated buildings, I’ve never seen a single soul even filling up their car with South of the Border gas. It’s always been cold, distant, and sad, sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of highway forest, the fading yellow of its heroic sombrero a lonely still life against a Carolina blue sky.

We once drove past at night, and this time it came as a total surprise--the darkness had swallowed each and every apprising billboard. It was lit up like Christmas time, its colored bulbs framed by the inky night. I felt very old looking at this image of neglect, shining proudly off the side of the interstate. It was a lively ghost, a dim and yet formidable shell of itself in its heyday, a phantom tourist trap existing in the in between--unable to choose life or the hellish locale where dated places go to die. With my forehead pressed to the car window, I watched it fade backwards as we passed, a small blob of colorful light on an endless timeline.

30 Things I Learned While I Was in High School (a list)

1. Nothing's ever easy.

2. The hardest thing to realize about love is that there's never enough of it.

3. People want to be good.

4. It's impossible to divide your time evenly between a million different things. Learning the principles of time management is one of the most important parts of growing up. A lot of us juggled high school with jobs, sports, school plays, time with family, relationships, and volunteer work. We learned how to prioritize and how to find the right balance. These lessons will prove to be the most valuable to us when we're in college as well as later on in life. But I learned that the most important thing to remember when it comes to managing your time is that you can't do it all.

5. Try your hardest to do the right thing, even if the right thing isn't popular.

6. ...But it's important to keep in mind that one mistake isn't going to define you for the rest of your life. We're young. We'll make mistakes.

7. Sometimes, short stories have no underlying meaning. Sometimes, the stories are just short.

8. There will be times when the customer is definitely wrong--there's just nothing you can do about it.

9. Crunchy peanut butter is better.

10. If you want to be friends with somebody, you usually have to work pretty hard for it. It's not always as simple as just having a class together and favoriting each other's tweets. In fact, if you want anything bad, you gotta fight for it.

11. Being nice pays off.

12. Food solves a lot of things.

13. Sometimes you may be the only one who's right, even if nobody else agrees with you. Trust yourself. Stick to your guns.

14. Conversation isn't the only way to connect. It can be nice to not talk.

15. It's okay to do things alone and to want to do things alone. See a movie, read a book, or take a walk. It's equally as important to get to know yourself as it is to get to know other people.

16. Always disable text preview.

17. The simplest and often times the best thing that you can do for others is display genuine gratitude. Always take the time to thank people--teachers who wrote recommendation letters, friends who did a favor, co-workers who picked up shifts. It'll make you feel better at the end of the day.

18. Speaking of feeling better at the end of the day, never underestimate the healing properties of a hot shower and a good night's sleep. Laughter is also the best medicine--that is a cliche that is also true. I recommend Demetri Martin's stand-up routine on Netflix, or any YouTube compilation of the funniest New Girl moments. Phone a friend. Buy yourself an ice cream. You won't regret it.

19. The scariest moment is always just before you start.

20. Fighting fire with fire can be surprisingly effective.

21. Education isn't a gun held to your head--it's a weapon in your hands.

22. Sometimes all you can say is "yikes" and move on.

23. There's such a thing as a healthy amount of procrastination. I've found that if I try to accomplish something all at once, the result is much less gratifying. Sometimes it's necessary to let things sit for a while, to return with an open-mind later on. You don't have to fix everything right now.

24. Life isn't a support system for art--it's the other way around.

25. Reading for pleasure is cool. So is making mix CDs.

26. Rooting for the villain is useless.

27. "The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you'll let things upset you." -Lost In Translation (filed under Quotations That Turned Out to be Applicable)

28. If you're excited about something, you have to work at it.

29. More good days will come.

30.A year is much shorter than it sounds.

Dear Admissions Counselor (a poem)

Dear admissions counselor,

I’ve made a lot of promises to you.

I’m sure you’ve read about them.

My aspirations outlined in my essays;

my resume and transcript, telling indicators of my potentially bright future.

I’d like to thank you for your time and consideration.

I’m sure you’ve seen far too many essays and applications in your day,

some ridiculously good, some frighteningly bad,

and while I found mine to be relatively strong when I fared them well and pressed submit,

they may have lost their zeal by the time they reached your hands after a long day

of dissecting students' lives.

The truth is, I really know nothing about you, admissions counselor,

but you know quite a lot about me--

my job history, how many A’s I’ve gotten, what my teachers have to say about me, if anything.

I’m sure you have a family--

a wife or a husband and perhaps some kids of your own.

Maybe they’re in college right now, or already navigating the ghost town of adulthood,

but then again, they may not have even begun this process yet,

maybe they're still in diapers or starting middle school,

and you’re just waiting anxiously

for the day when somebody exactly like you

is scrutinizing your daughter’s essays and frowning contemplatively

while they mull over her grades and test scores.

I can’t be certain, but I’d imagine that it’s not very hard for you

to only let your applicants exist as words on paper, because, let’s face it,

it’s easier that way.

You probably want to get home to your family and maybe your dog

after a long day of checking yeses and nos, 

of stuffing envelopes with rejection letters or car decals, 

admissions counselor.

I don’t mean to waste your time, and I’m not trying to beg

for an acceptance--I like to think that I’m above that, 

but if you read my essays again, there’s probably a note of desperation in between 

each of the meticulously placed words.

Can you really blame me?

I only wanted to introduce myself a little more accurately--

sure, it’s drilled into your mind that whatever’s in that file

with my name on it is the ultimate assessment of

how I’d do at your school,

and I’m not questioning your judgment, admissions counselor,

because I trust that you’re pretty damn good at your job.

But, you see, it would have been distasteful for me to use the word “damn”

on my application and sometimes I curse like a sailor,

especially during an episode of road rage and

I like to eat plain bagels with butter and honey

and sometimes I dance in the shower when I’m in a good mood

and sometimes I spend money on things I don’t need

like DVDs or Star Wars Band-Aids.

See, none of that was deemed relevant

when I took the fictional seminar on How to Apply to College.

The point, admissions counselor, is that I wanted to be more honest with you,

because some nights I skipped studying for a test

and I probably could’ve reviewed more for the SAT

and there were a few instances that I even went to concerts instead of

doing my APUSH homework and I’ve even ditched school

once or twice because I “wasn’t feeling well”.

I’m sure you’ve guessed at stuff like that.

I mean, no high school student

could maintain a 5.0, fall in love, see all the Oscar-nominated movies,

and save the world without their head exploding, right?

I did some of those things,

and I did those few things all at once without suffering a mental breakdown.

I think that's pretty impressive.

You hold all the cards, admissions counselor.

You’re changing lives,

you’re running this whole show, and I should really be

bowing at your feet.

You have my answer, and you’ve probably had it

for many months now

and I’m really scared and I don’t know when I’ll hear from you next,

but when I do, that’s when I start planning my next move

(literally and figuratively).

Because this fall

I could be at your university

or I could be at any of the others that have already sent me

happy letters and car decals and student store coupons and

skies full of congratulations.

They want me bad, admissions counselor,

but I’m still waiting for you.

You know me.

You know that I'm a pretty smart kid and you know that I want to study journalism 

and you know that I’m the oldest of three siblings.

Hell, you even know where I live.

But I’m asking you now to remember how much power you have.

To take a break from playing collegiate God and

recall what it was like when you mailed off your application materials

with your fingers crossed in vain.

I’m asking for you to remember who I am

when I write a book or end world hunger

or beg you for change on the street

and realize that the degree hanging on my wall at home

will, in some small and yet eternally significant way,

be because of you.

Harry Potter Essay

In wrapping up my college application process, I finally stumbled upon the one prompt that will henceforth always stick out in my mind. The prompt that I had absolutely no trouble with whatsoever. The prompt that will make my last name a little bit more visible and (hopefully) advantageous. At the end of this long and seemingly never-ending road of unforgiving word counts, fixing, editing, scrutinizing, rereading again and again and again, and that shaky feeling you get right before you hit "submit", there is a gleaming light. For my final college essay, I got to write about Harry Potter. And to celebrate, I wanted to share. 

In the Harry Potter series, a “sorting hat” divides students into four “houses.” Each house has its own characteristics that can roughly be translated as bravery, intelligence, ambition, and duty.  If you were to create a sorting hat, upon which characteristics would you base the sort?  In which “house” would you put yourself? 

Growing up immersed in the world of Harry Potter, I was always drawn to the idea of the four different houses. Desperate to know where I fit in, and even more desperate to know why, I developed the notion that these houses could represent the different sectors of high school students. I’m surrounded by thespians and jocks, mathletes and history buffs. Everybody’s different, but somehow, everybody’s connected. And so I’d simplify the disparities into the following: creativity, logic, spirit, and diplomacy.

            Students in the house of diplomacy would be defined as tactful and judicious. They would be the speech and debate kids—the editors, the leaders, and the speakers. Sagacious and intuitive, they would handle situations in a most politic manner.

Logical students would excel in anything that involves problem-solving. They would be the thinkers—deliberate and precise. Math and science would be their language; equations and riddles would be their drugs of choice.

            In contrast, the spirited students would be the dreamers. They would be impassioned and energetic—contagiously enthused. Here one would find students with an extensive knowledge of show tunes or outstanding athletic ability. Fervent and driven, they would pour their heart and soul into everything.

            The final house would be for the creative ones—the artists. Bright. Resourceful. Their common room would be littered with scribbled poems and quick sketches on paper scraps. One would find students wearing headphones and writing feverishly in notebooks. Their imaginations would run rampant, filling them up, making them whole. This would be my home. The sincerity I pour into my work and interests combines the varying convictions that would make each house unique. I choose to invest my youthful exuberance into self-development, and I seek to inspire. To create. To dream. To make the world I want out of myself. 

THE STREETS THAT RAISED ME

I wrote this piece for a college essay prompt, but I started to realize that I was feeling pretty sentimental about Cary and all this college stuff in general, so I wanted to put this out there: 

My hometown and I are dear old friends.

We fight, sometimes. We don’t always get along. There are times when we don’t speak. When I hole up in my room and I read or I watch a movie and try to forget that the world outside exists. But it eventually passes, and I miss the familiarity of my favorite restaurants and bookstores.

My hometown isn’t all that small, but I know every road like I know the back of my palm, down to each little pothole and street sign. I know where to go out to eat, and what I like to order there. I can calculate the distance between myself and nearest movie theater in a heartbeat. As a kid, I built castles in these woods and won colored ribbons in these swimming pools. I’m comfortable here. I’ve read books and written poetry and fallen in love within this suburban backdrop. Sometimes, I don’t want to leave, simply because I don’t know where I’ll end up.

There isn’t any cinematic cliff overlooking the city where I live, or a pier overlooking the ocean, or any other stargazing hotspot. In fact, not all that much is very unique about this place. But we have always tolerated each other’s shortcomings. My hometown has expanded as I’ve gotten older; we’ve grown up together.  Although there are times when all I want to do is get out, I have to give this town credit for providing me with a setting in which an incalculable number of beautiful, different things happened to me. The late night shifts at Harris Teeter. The swim meets that never ended. The two a.m. Waffle House breakfast. The midnight movie premieres. The long drives that took us all the way across town in the name of Cook-Out milkshakes. The snowfalls that stranded us in our homes for days, with only the company of tomato soup, films, and each other. The rainy high school football games I braved for yearbook photos and a free tie dye tee shirt. The people I came to know and love and trust because of all of this. 

I love my hometown. I’m excited to leave, but I guess that’s just the way that it is. Eventually, you grow up. You have to move on. You don’t have much of a choice. Some friends stay with us forever, or at least for a while. But I can’t be seventeen forever, reflecting on all that this small town has offered to me. I’m going to have to move onto something new. Make friends with new places; fall in love with a different city or town. The comfort that I have always been able to find in my hometown has facilitated an optimism inside of me that will never burn out. My hometown and I are old friends. That will always be true. But if I leave and I don’t come back, my hometown will understand, and so will I.

ALL POSSIBLE FUTURES

This is the title piece for my Thomas Wolfe scholarship portfolio. I thought that I would share:

In APUSH we learned about a naturalist named John Muir who said that “nature is only ugly if it is not wild.”

And while I enjoy a scenic view as much as the next guy, I also think there’s something alluring about the anti-salvation of urbanization—the way in which the concept of unity is translated through white-lined wedges of parking lots, lamp posts strung with stickered words, and city awnings dripping with rain.

I mean, we’ve built tunnels in the ocean. There are buildings that scrape the sky.

I like our world. I know we’ve screwed with it, a lot, but there’s not much we can do at this point other than enjoy it the way it’s become.

That’s not to say it’s not worth saving. And it’s not fair that he’ll be staring at beautiful paintings in the sky while I’m staring at beautiful paintings on white walls and we can’t be together.

Then again, all nice sunsets are merely a coalition of empyrean hues and all works of art are just systemic strokes on a canvas.

I’ve been to a few national parks. I’ve stood in the North Atlantic and felt the sea swirl around me, too baffling for any human to ever completely chart and comprehend. I’ve been rural enough to lay outside and be overwhelmed by the sheer volume of stars. I’ve seen whales in white-capped waters, I’ve climbed mountains, I’ve been to famous cities and famous museums. Truthfully, though, I’d trade all of it away for him.

I’ve seen him sit in his dark room and think about the future, making caricatures with gentle fingertips on his twisted premonitions.

The lacuna inside of him was taking up space, and it sometimes felt like a leering villain and sometimes felt like his best friend.

But here’s the best kept secret I know: Life is still beautiful.

Sure, forests burn down and whales die and cities collapse on themselves, and that sucks. But somewhere in the world right now, a waterfall churns itself over a jagged ledge and into a clear pool, cradled by a bowl of solid rock. And there might be nobody there to see it. Even though violence and destruction may fulminate from time to time, there is no abeyance of beauty in this world. Flowers sprout from piles of rubble. Lightning leaves timeless scars on tree trunks. Nature’s contumacious attitude creates magic in places it theoretically shouldn’t.

So do not lose faith in our sad little planet just because trash litters sidewalks and gas-guzzling cars circumspect tired old roads. Forgive the ignorance of humanity. Forgive the forgetful, the broken, the tired, the lazy, the guilty, the lonely. Forgive the world for beating the shit out of itself.

I forgive it because he’s here, standing next to me, braving this capacious imbroglio we have so ignorantly deemed “life.”

I’d still lay quietly with him even if the world were literally splitting apart at the seams, magma seeping from cracked slabs of rock and mountain tops tumbling into the ocean.