Art Brut @ ‘The Run Off’, Cobarna, Stevenage, Mon 4th July 2005
With praise from NME, the Fly and even Radio Times, here come Art Brut, direct from London, fresh from releasing their debut album ‘Bang Bang Rock ‘n’ Roll’ on the good old Fierce Panda label. Wow, this must be the first ‘name’ band to play in Stevenage since, um, Abdoujaparov, the Carter USM spin-off, in 2000. Oddly enough, the band’s guest keyboard player tonight is that guy Rich who’s played with both bands and used to front the town’s own indie-pop chancers, Allergy. But enough of this old-time chatter! What of Art Brut?
It’s good for them to have such a post-modern, self-reflecting song as ‘Formed a Band’, in which the frontman stands on the crowd barrier and calls out his intention “to write a song as universal as ‘Happy Birthday’… and yes, this is my real singing voice”. It’s also good to have a song about how ‘Modern Art’ makes you want to “rock out.” It’s even quite good to have a song called ‘These Animal Menswe@r’ - namechecking two old bands whose pigeonholed place at the bottom of the Britpop pile has disguised a few good moments. The band’s rough-and-ready honesty is plain for all to see; these half-spoken words are the driving force of their music.
The only problem with such reliance on lyrics (or critical concentration on them) is that if they can’t be heard properly, the songs all start to sound much the same. Of course, it’s the clichéd complaint of a boring old man that “you can’t make out the words”. Art Brut get by on the sound of rock ‘n’ roll wreckage, all indie-garage swagger and punky riffs. If the sound were a little more stripped-back, it might be akin to the Fall. No New Wave pretensions here, although a little more style wouldn’t go amiss, since more synth action would be in keeping with their lyrical similarity to Pulp. Also, in his general demeanour (and little moustache), that frontman known as Eddie Argos could be compared to Jarvis Cocker (crossed with Freddie Mercury, perhaps). His restless energy can hold a crowd as he walks the stage with his shirt undone, shaking hands and shouting exhortations. “Go out and form your own band! Write me a magazine I want to read!” That sort of thing’s better than self-pity. “Look at us – we formed a band!” They certainly have, this rag-tag bunch. A besuited young-professional-type, a punky bloke, a stand-up drummer, and “a well-fit bass player,” as a random stranger said to me after the show. And in Mr Argos, a youth-leader who can call on the band to recreate the sounds of Stevenage – a Hogshead pub and a Mecca bingo-hall – and a general wish for something more. Yeah, they formed a band. They could be better, but at least they're not bland.
