Ol’ mate Alex Turner can proselytise the invincible virtues of rock‘n’roll from the hallowed podium of the Brit Awards all he wants, and I take solace in the fact he might be on the piss-take, but inviting the comparison with War Pigs on Arabella doesn’t make a solid case for the current state of rawk affairs. The track is pretty solid, but is that enough these days? Probably, I guess. Turner is a cunning lyricist, flicking across the mic like a switchblade. But don’t kid yourself mate, you’re not breaking through any glass ceilings here.