Fakes Tales of San Francisco - Arctic Monkeys

Fake Tales of San Francisco by Arctic Monkeys

Song Title: Fake Tales of San Francisco
Artist: Arctic Monkeys
Album: Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not
Year: 2006

Why I never skip it?
Last year, during May half term, I taught a particularly lovely Year 11 class the joys of Further Maths. After a morning of learning the wonder of calculus, it was time for lunch, and so off I went to the staffroom to get some soup. Upon returning, my ears caught the sound of piano music and singing coming from the assembly hall. I looked inside and found four of my female students, sitting around the piano, belting out some Arctic Monkeys. These were 15 year old girls singing the soundtrack to my university days. I had just assumed that they were all into Cia, Bruno Mars, or any number of other artists on the “who are kids listening to these days” page I have just Googled. Upon further interrogation, it turned out they were also aware of the existence of Oasis and the Stone Roses. It was one of the happiest moments of my life – slightly pathetic, I know. And thus began a mutual musical education between us that has lasted to this day. It also reminded me how much I love this song about fakers and wannabees, from a group whose only flaw is that they are from the wrong side of the Pennines.

Favourite Lyric:
So all that’s left
Is the proof that love’s not only blind but deaf

Lyrics:
Fake Tales of San Francisco
Echo through the room
More point to a wedding disco
Without a bride or groom
There’s a super cool band yeah
With their trilbys and their glasses of white wine
And all the weekend rockstars are in the toilets
Practicing their lines

I don’t want to hear you
(Kick me out, kick me out)
I don’t want to hear, you know
(Kick me out, kick me out)
I don’t want to hear you
(Kick me out, kick me out)
I don’t want to hear you
I don’t want to hear your

Fake Tales of San Francisco
Echo through the air
And there’s a few bored faces at the back
All wishing they weren’t there

And as the microphone squeaks
A young girl’s telephone beeps
Yeah she’s dashing for the exit
Oh she’s running to the streets outside
“Oh you’ve saved me,” she screams down the line
“The band were fucking wank
And I’m not having a nice time”

I don’t want to hear you
(Kick me out, kick me out)
I don’t want to hear, you know
(Kick me out, kick me out)

Yeah but his bird said it’s amazing, though
So all that’s left
Is the proof that love’s not only blind but deaf

He talks of San Francisco, he’s from Hunter’s Bar
I don’t quite know the distance
But I’m sure that’s far
Yeah I’m sure it’s pretty far

And yeah, I’d love to tell you all my problem
You’re not from New York City, you’re from Rotherham
So get off the bandwagon, and put down the handbook
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Get off the bandwagon and put down the handbook
Get off the bandwagon and put down the handbook
Get off the bandwagon and put down the handbook
Get off the bandwagon and put down the handbook