Somewhere at the end of this half smoked cigarette, there is a sentence waiting. It will contain all the right quotes and statistics, all the histories and traumas. I will let it speak and then I will be silent.
It will place you in the living rooms of nervous mothers waiting to hear back from daughters and sons who still haven’t returned from a protest. It will slam you against the back of a military jeep and call you a whore in a language you never wanted to learn. You will feel choked with grief or loss or white phosphorus. Or all three.
After all, in Gaza, it’s always all three.
“I smelt your scent on a seatbelt,” he sings on Cornerstone, which may just be the best thing Arctic Monkeys have ever recorded. The lyrics are a dazzling display of what Turner can do: a fabulously witty, poignant evocation of lost love, packed with weirdly suggestive details. The music is a long, wistful acoustic sigh, the melody so effortlessly lovely that you can’t believe no one’s come up with it before.
— Alexis Petridis