Paperjam

Art Brut @ Birmingham Bar Academy

Gigs // Jim // 14th November 2005

Yes, that’s right. We went to this bloody ages ago. Due to a severe attack of laziness in conjunction with a nasty bout of day job related busy-ness (shudder) I’ve only just managed to write the bugger up.

Anyhow, On October 4th a paper-jam deputation consisting of Steve, Jim W, Nick, yet another Jim (heartbroken at the time with a convincing thousand-yard stare) and myself piled over to Birmingham to see the trendy and amusing indie/punk Art Brut.

For the pre-match drinks Nick and I sequestered ourselves in the subterranean splendour of the Bachus Bar (under a hotel near New Street). A cosy, if a bit strange, place to enjoy a snug drink or two while marvelling at the Medieval, Egyptian, Renaissance, etc themed décor. Pleasant though it was, an underground bar is a fairly stupid place to go if you are waiting for a call on your mobile, fortunately the others find their way in and we had a drink surrounded by what looked like a diet version of the British Museum.

Then it was off to Bar Academy to get slowly drunk and listen to me holding forth on some bollocks or other while the support band was grinding away in the main bit upstairs. After several drinks it was time to move up stairs, minus lovelorn Jim whose quest to find a spare ticket had not gone well – he decided to go for a walk, presumably while whistling “What Becomes of The Broken Hearted?”

Once upstairs into the, lets say, intimate venue it is time to get more drinks at the bar, which looked like a good spot as any to get a view of proceedings. Next to me was a couple, the male half of which was a tall geezer in a hat, looking distinctly like Alfred Molina. After attracting the attention of the person serving, the following conversation (roughly) took place:

Me (pissed, shouting at Steve): “What are you having?”

Molina: “What do you want, mate?”

Me (possibly a bit dismissively): “Nothing, I was talking to my mate.”

Molina (a touch defensive, holding up hands): “Alright, alright”

Steve: “A pint of bitter”

Me (confused): “No problem, it’s just that I was talking to him” (pointing at Steve)

Molina: “OK” (Pause) “Are you sure you didn’t want anything?”

Me (confused): “Yes…”

Steve: “A pint of bitter”

Molina (walks off)

Steve: “That bloke looks like Alfred Molina”

Me: “Yeah he does. I reckon he’s trying to look like he’s in the band, dressing like the singer”

Steve: “But really badly”

Me: “Ha Ha”

Jim W (Appearing excitedly): “What did he say?”

Me: “Who?”

Jim W: “ The singer, Eddie, you were just talking to him”

Me (noticing that Molina has just walked onto the stage): “Oh dear”

Steve: “A pint of bitter”

The drinks were finally procured and Art Brut kicked off into a rampaging set consisting mostly of their excellent album plus some other tracks. Steve pointed out that the one about staying in bed when you should be going to work (Blame it on the Trains) could easily become my theme tune at work.

Eddie seemed unperturbed by our confusing bar encounter and proved to be an excellent front man, seemingly happy to make up the words as he went along to winningly comedic effect, especially during Rusted Gun Of Milan – wry smiles all round from the gents in the room. Introducing Emily Kane he pointed out that he wasn’t in love with her anymore (presumably for the benefit of the young lady at the bar) and didn’t even seem phased by the strange man (who looked about twenty-three) punching the air and shouting “Oi, Molina” between songs.

Molina and Argos: Related? Both like to wear ties...

Early on they played what is probably their best song, Modern Art, which got us all going. Switching to the present tense; Steve heroically leads us forward to jump around like idiots at the front in the tragic way that only men in their late twenties and early thirties can – Nick is wearing a leather jacket and I worry that he is going to pass out. The crowd are quite fanatical and know all the words, including the way lines are phrased on the record, which I find a touch creepy. They don’t seem to care when Eddie freestyles off elsewhere and carry on with their own version.

By now things are getting sweaty and the jumping about is getting more fervent, a huge bloke behind me is using my shoulders for leverage and is starting off a chant of “Art Brut, Top of the Pops!” which we all feel compiled to join in with. Eddie kicks of every song with the slightly lispy catch phrase “Are you ready, Art Brut?”, which he dashes out in what seems about two syllables and then introduces the rest of the band in a showbiz instrumental segment.

The effortless banter and improvisation means that you can see why he is being compared to Jarvis Cocker who, incidentally, pissed on my shoe in the gents at the Wheatsheaf in Stoke-on-Trent about a million years ago.

Like their songs, Art Brut don’t hang about and before long it is all over. The general consensus is that they were completely ace, Nick and I decamp to MacDonalds where he has six meals while I ask a bunch of oh-so-sarcastic student girlies what they thought of it.

Would definitely go and see them again and would try to be a touch more polite if I bumped into Mr Argos at the bar (especially as he has taken to slagging off Bloc Party at regular intervals, get in!).

Bang, Bang Here's Some Links...

Art Brut

The band web site, apparently they have been opening for Oasis. Crikey.

Alfred Molina @ IMDB

Check out Coffee and Cigarettes, very good.

Beaten up by Bloc Party?

A sad, sad tale.