Twenty years after Arctic Monkeys reached the top of the charts with their debut single, Andy Nicholson revisits the whirlwind through an archive of candid photos – now brought to life in his new book and an upcoming Sheffield exhibition.
When Andy Nicholson stumbled across an old USB hard drive around a decade ago, he didn’t expect much. It had been sitting there for years, a chunk of metal filled with forgotten content from another lifetime. But when he finally managed to get it working, the former Arctic Monkeys bassist found himself staring into a time capsule – hundreds of unseen photographs from the band’s formative years, when everything was happening at once and a group of young lads were going from the Grapes to Saturday Night Live in what felt like the blink of an eye.
“I opened it up and thought, oh my God,” he tells me, taking a seat in his Neepsend photography studio. “There were just folders inside folders, one picture here, one picture there, thousands of them. I started dragging them all into one place, and it brought everything back.”
The result of that discovery is I Bet This Looks Good on your Coffee Table – a 175-page photobook capturing the band’s rapid ascent between 2005 and 2007. The collection is part diary, part scrapbook and part tribute to the friendship of four ordinary teens who suddenly found themselves a long way from their High Green stomping ground. To mark its release, Nicholson is staging a free exhibition at Yorkshire Artspace on 22-23 November, featuring a curated selection of prints, memorabilia, early instruments and interactive displays.
“It all depended on where I was mentally, to be honest,” he admits when I ask about the process of sorting through the archive. “It was painful at first, so I left them alone. Then I started sending them to Al or Helders, and it became fun. What started out quite heavy turned into something positive – like a breath of fresh air. It went from being a painful reminder to something that made me smile again.”
Nicholson, now 39, was only 19 when Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not became the fastest-selling debut album in British history. For a while, it felt like the whole world had its eyes on a band from the northern suburbs of Sheffield. While the hype grew and the column inches stacked up, he carried a small digital camera, capturing the reality behind the frenzy before a tough departure in 2006 – one he’s admitted took a long time to fully process.
Not that there was any realisation back then that the pictures would one day fill a book or hang in an exhibition. “I wasn’t really thinking of it as documenting anything. I just liked taking pictures. My grandad and my uncle were always into photography – my uncle worked at The Star – so I guess I picked it up from them. Everyone’s got that one mate who always brings a camera, haven’t they? That was me.”
Those images now form the backbone of the project: a baby-faced group battling tour exhaustion in dressing rooms, playing Pro Evo on tour buses and mucking about in hotels. In direct contrast to the glossy magazine shoots that were taking place, Nicholson’s photographs often show the quieter, in-between moments of band life – everything from backstage giddiness to the monotony of another long-haul flight.
“When you’re in it, you don’t really realise what’s happening,” he explains. “We’d be watching ourselves on the news, but in the eye of the storm it’s pretty quiet. We were just 19-year-olds from England playing Saturday Night Live and not really giving a shit. We were basically children – I don’t think you really become a proper adult until you reach, like, 30 – and our attitude was just mates having a laugh.”
The idea of turning the archive into a book first surfaced not long after he’d organised the photos. Nicholson mentioned it to designer Tom Sykes, a friend from school, who helped him sketch out an early layout with handwritten captions and rough-edged pages. Then the project went quiet.
“Life got in the way. Tom was busy touring with his brother, and I wasn’t really ready. It just sat there for years. Then one day we saw each other, and he asked, ‘What’s happening with that idea?’ and it made me think, yeah, what is happening with it?”
It wasn’t until he realised 2025 would mark the 20th anniversary of the band’s debut single that things finally took shape. “That gave me a reason to do it properly. Otherwise it was just something I kept saying I’d get round to. Setting that anniversary as a goal meant I had to see it through.”
In the eye of the storm it’s pretty quiet. We were just 19-year-olds from England playing Saturday Night Live and not really giving a shit.
The finished book exists in two editions: a standard version and a deluxe anniversary one, complete with a signed Instax photo from the archive, a tote bag, a coffee coaster and a vinyl recording of Nicholson in conversation with Chris McClure, the friend who appeared on the album’s instantly recognisable cover.
“Chris wasn’t just the lad on the front. He was part of the crew. He came on tour, sold merch, checked guitars he didn’t know how to tune. He’s also one of the best storytellers I know. We recorded about an hour of chatting about the photos, and the idea is people can put the vinyl on, open the book and flick through while we’re talking.”
It was important to him that he explained the motivations behind it to the band. Once the first copies were printed, he shared them around. “I sent one to Helders, showed Al, gave Jamie a copy, showed Al’s mum and dad. After that, I felt better about releasing it. I wanted people to know it wasn’t a tell-all. It’s not about gossip or drama – that’s not me. It’s just my perspective from inside the tornado.”
The exhibition will build on that idea. Alongside framed prints and the original instruments he and Turner first played as teenagers, the aim is to create an immersive space for fans old and new.
“I want it to feel like you’re standing inside the book,” he explains. “There’ll be the guitars we got for Christmas, my old bass, and a playlist of all the music we were listening to at the time – the Strokes, Outkast, Dr Dre. It’s free entry, and I want people to bring their kids. A lot of those early fans have families now.”
There’ll also be activities for children and a wall where visitors can write down their memories of gigs or songs and pin them up. “It’s about community,” he says. “That’s what Sheffield’s always been. It’s about people coming together.”
Talk then turns to the city itself. Nicholson still lives in Sheffield and speaks fondly of how its creative scene continues to evolve. “It’s always had that thing where everyone knows everyone. Back then, it was bands like us, Milburn and Reverend and the Makers, but now it’s photographers, designers, DJs, all sorts. It’s that same energy, just spread out.”
He credits that tight-knit community for keeping him grounded while the aforementioned tornado was in full flow. “When it all kicked off, people around here didn’t treat us any different. You’d come home from tour and still be Andy from down the road. That’s the best thing about this place – no one lets you get above your station.”
That attitude, he says, also shaped Arctic Monkeys’ approach. “We weren’t chasing success. We weren’t sitting around thinking, ‘Let’s be the biggest band in the world.’ We were just mates making music. I think that’s why people connected with it – because it was honest.”
Nearly two decades later, Nicholson remains proud of what they achieved but just as aware of what it represents to others. “With time away from it, I now understand what that album did for people,” he says. “I hear stories about how it soundtracked their lives, and that’s amazing. Once you release music, it’s not yours anymore. It belongs to whoever listens to it – and that’s how it should be.”
Looking ahead, he hopes the book and the exhibition will give these people a chance to celebrate what that music meant to them, while also inspiring others to pursue their own dreams – whatever form they take. “If this makes even one kid pick up a camera or start a band, that’s class.”
“I grew up on council estates – me and my brother raised by my mum,” he continues, finding his flow. “I want people to see my perspective, to see that it’s possible to do the things you want without compromising your attitude or who you are. You don’t need thousands of pounds’ worth of equipment. Keep your attitude, stick to your guns and you can do it.”
It’s clear that this project for Andy isn’t as much about nostalgia as it is about reclaiming the narrative and moving forward. Whenever a Monkeys anniversary rolls around, he’s often approached for comment – his words then dropped between paragraphs detailing someone else’s interpretation of the band’s intentions and impact. This time around, through his own photographs – grainy, imperfect but full of life – and some accompanying words, Andy Nicholson is telling it his way.
Before I stop recording, he pauses. “It isn’t about trying to relive the past. It’s more about showing people what it actually was – four friends figuring it out, growing up, making mistakes. It’s my story within the story.”
I Bet This Looks Good on Your Coffee Table is available for pre-order here. The accompanying exhibition runs at Yorkshire Artspace on 22–23 November 2025.
