Paperjam

Art Brut at Birmingham Academy 2

Gigs // Jim // 16th June 2007

Its been raining with a vengeance all afternoon and now its shifted from merely pissing it down to what you would have to describe as a downpour of biblical proportions, being out in it for even a few moments leaves me wetter and more uncomfortable than that time I ended up at that party round at Michael Barrymore’s place.

Getting to the train is going to require us walking through a flooded tunnel, I’m up for it but Craig and Nick are far too sensible. Realising that the trains are likely to be scuppered anyhow, Nick heroically offers to drive us over to Brum. What a nice man. We zip along the A45 listening to The Wedding Present while the rain switches from biblical downpour to apocalyptic deluge, Craig says we should go to a pet shop and ask for two of everything.

Nick gets us to town in no time at all considering the hellish conditions, Meet up with Steve and Paul who have been to the Bachus Bar, but didn’t get enough crystals for a significant amount of time in the Crystal Dome it would appear.

The Academy 2 has the atmosphere of a sweaty armpit at the best of times, tonight it is like the dank, sweaty jock-strap of a sumo wrestler who trains in a sewer and sleeps in hospital waste. Pungent.

Drinks are in hand, including a depressingly tee-total lime and soda for me. Support band Vincent Vincent and The Villains appear and start off some kind of indie/retro latin thing. A couple next to us know every word and dance along happily, Vincent is glaring at someone at the front in a manner between lust and hate, turns out it is a young lady, who even after one song from VVATV is holding up a banner reading “When are Art Brut coming on?” The crowd aren’t going mad and Vincent’s Suggs meets Zammo banter isn’t going down as well as it might.

All of their songs sound more or less the same and as Nick points out by singing “Blue Hoteeellll”, Chris Isaak would probably be turning in his grave - if he were dead. Music being the marvellous barometer of subjective taste that it is, views on VVATV vary wildly even within our five man party:
Paul: A nascent fan and cheering loudly, well to be fair Paul does everything quite loudly.
Craig: Seems fairly impressed, likes the jauntiness of it.
Me: Not impressed, bored, think the Libertines have a lot to answer for.
Nick: Openly critical.
Steve: Bordering on the edge of fury: “This is why I don’t come out very often, grrrr”

However someone at the back is very upset indeed, as one song kicks off something is yelled along the lines of “EAT YOUR OWN SHIT, YOU FUCKING FUCK”. Ahh, a critic. VV does a good job of ignoring this and they finish off with a song that sounds exactly like Wicked Game to a smattering of appreciation.

The chaps get more drinks, I can’t handle anymore lime and soda so I go without. I gaze at their dodgy pints of lager with the sort of deep, sincere, longing that I usually reserve for barmaids wearing Morrissey t-shirts. But my will remains iron clad.

After all manner of roadie soundchecking, most of Art Brut troop out and start chopping out Pump Up The Volume, Eddie Argos barrels on and yelps his way through it, including some fine improvised radio static noises. The crowd are fairly unmoved until they rampage into an extended, joyous Modern Art. We are jumping around at the front, Paul is virtually onstage and Eddie is getting his shirt slightly ripped off by the girls in front of me. He is sporting a good honest paunch and has lost the ‘tache. Probably a good move, although I am in no position to criticise any man’s facial hair (or comment on his paunch for that matter).

Eddie is already running through his repertoire of quality banter and stage antics, but it is the marvellously named Jasper Future who seems to be getting the lions share of camera phone love from the oestrogen powered section of the sweaty mob.

Bad sex ballad Rusted Gun Of Milan is as painful as usual and Bad Weekend doesn’t come with the usual homework setting speech but instead we get Eddie railing against computer games (“Fuck off Grand Theft Auto”) and an impassioned plea for us all to go home and form bands. Errr, not sure if the world is ready for the Nazi synthesiser/Frank Zappa/Bedroom Miserabilist/2 turntables and a microphone/General Zod on vocals mashup that would ensue from that.

Tracks from the excitingly imminent new album are getting a good airing including St Pauli, which they are going to win the Eurovision Song Contest with next year. My absolute favourite of the songs from the stuff I’ve heard so far from It’s a Bit Complicated is the ode to being hungover, Late Sunday, which loses something without the Britpop horn section but is a belter none the less.

The stuff off the first album is going down really well with the crowd and we are all happy when a request for 18,000 Lira leads to it being hastily worked out. Everyone seems to shout out a slightly perplexed “…sounded like a lot of money” at the end.

Oh good grief what is happening here? Some massive geezer, resembling Eddie Murphy on steroids has taken a fancy to bass player Freddy Feedback and is shovelling everyone out of the way to get near to the object of his desire. Oh fuck me sideways, he’s got his shirt off and is waving it round his head, it slaps me wetly in the face, oh thanks for that mate.

We get My Little Brother and then Nag, Nag, Nag, Nag, Nag, Nag, Nag, Nag which sees Craig launch some sort of bouncy “we’ve all had enough now mate” assault on Eddie Murphy on steroids who has now taken to standing stock-still and holding a pint of Guinness aloft in tribute towards the left-hand side of the stage.

Emily Kane brings an extended lecture from Eddie about how his usual well-rehearsed dissertation during the song about how you shouldn’t mope over ex-girlfriends is actually probably really terrible advice, besides which, he sagely adds, you shouldn’t really turn to people in bands for advice. After all, they are just showing off.

A quick break for the encore and they are back, Ian Catskilken is derided for his Jimmy Page double necked guitar and they blast through new single Direct Hit. We’re hoping for a surprise guest appearance from Hank Starrs but it doesn’t happen.

They finish with a well drilled, big rock finale of Good Weekend, we are all yelling “Got myself a brand new girlfriend”, except for a bloke near me who is banging on about a “Grand old whirlpool” which sort of works. Eddie Murphy on steroids is now at the barrier asking Freddy Feedback what she would like to drink. Eddie Argos fixes him with a concerned/amused look and in his closing remarks says that she’ll have a vodka and coke.

All done we are sweaty and satiated, the consensus is a very happy one, Craig seemed to enjoy his Art Brut initiation and I reckon they get better each time I see them. We go our separate ways, although the Leamington contingent stops briefly to partake in what Douglas Coupland characters refer to, with a certain accuracy, as The Taint.

Some big old links that really, really want to buy you a drink...

Art Brut MySpace Page

At the time of writing has the whole new album on it. Have a go at Sound of Summer, like the story of me as a 17 year old set to the bit at the end of Rock and Roll Suicide

Art Brut Web Site

Its their web site.