Amid a jazzy riff-cloud of Brit-rock romp, the Arctic Monkeys’ Favourite Worst Nightmare – cutting a sharp slice of nonstop partying, fame and jaded adolescence – valiantly defends the title earned by their hot-item debut (the fastest-selling debut album in UK history) by poking fun at the band’s overnight Internet popularity and cheeky relationship with record execs. Aside from giving their newest album a contrived title (what can we expect, really, considering the band name), these Sheffield boys have managed to pull a more mature kind of rabbit out from under their cute little caps.

In case we hadn’t already noticed, “”Brianstorm”” lets us know that beautiful boys in T-shirts and ties get everything they want: “”‘Cause you’re smooth and you’re wet/And she’s not aware yet, but she’s yours,”” Alex Turner warbles in that deliciously thick Yorkshire accent. He further rebels against life’s tedium in songs like “”Florescent Adolescent,”” as the hypnotizing hum of synthesizers lay ode to the dampened appeal of middle-aged sex, pondering, “”You used to get it in your fishnets/ Now you only get it in your night dress.””

With kickin’ bar-fight rhythms and shuffling hip-hop shticks, Nightmare never once breaks for a self-conscious strut or sluggish pit stop. Turner keeps the upper hand by taking jabs at his own overexposure – “”Do me a favor / Tell me to go away!”” he cries – with an acerbic sense of humor that pokes loose, believable fun at the industry of which he’s now such a part. Stop it, you silly little Monkeys you – you had us at hello.