Et tu, Art Brut, Eh?
First, a huge SFB#! shout out to Robo Kobo for grabbing tickets to Sunday's Lee's show. I am ashamed to admit that I was so consumed with matters of lesser import (finding gainful employment, pursuing literary ambitions, etc…) that I almost missed it.

Those in the know will already be familiar with this band’s raison d’etre. Eddie Argos and his Brutish Gang draw their name from a late 40s French movement of outsider artists (are there any other kind?) named Compagnie de l'Art Brut . For the uninitiated (BITTER INDIE LIFESTYLE ED: those whose real jobs, investments, sporting clubs and families take valuable time away from reading every indie music mag in print and on-line) Art Brut, the movement, espoused "works that were in their ‘raw’ state, uncooked by cultural and artistic influences". While Art Brut, the band, certainly are raw and uncooked on record and on stage, it is debatable if they’ve escaped the all cultural and artistic influences given the impact Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers have had on the band. But I suppose where the musical flesh may be weak the creative spirit is very willing. Art Brut are outsiders within the current London ‘Scallywags and Rapscallions’ scene. To wit, one of my favourte stories about Eddie relates how he picked up an issue of NME on the strength of a headline screaming "THE NEXT JARVIS COCKER" only to find the magazine was declaring himself the new title holder.

With such with falutin’ (to use the technical term) artistic aims, one might think the band were a sullen group of fan-despising miscreants. And, so it was with great trepidation that your humble narrator approached the looming figure, who could easily pass for the bastard off-spring of Alan Cummings and John Cleese, with compact disc and Sharpie in hand. Robo sat poised with camera in true paparazzo stance. There I stood be-anoraked and teetering on the brink of full-blown-obsessional-adolescent-man-love-adulation when Eddie cheerfully started scribbling all over the liner notes. He proceeded to tell me how tired the band were since they’ve had no sleep since Manhattan; how he was de-shoed at La Guardia; and how he was up all night chatting with his on-line TO fans. This wasn’t the whinging of a self-entitled rock star. No, he was genuinely sorry he hadn’t spent more time talking to fans and watching the openers. I suspect he would have told me about the in flight meal and movie if I hadn’t interrupted and had Robo snap the picture. Eddie treated me like an old mate he met in the pub. He really is "talking for the kids" and don’t all of us 33-and-a-1/3 Rob Gordons know it. It definitely set the tone.

Moments later Art Brut take to the stage with the massive riff from "Back in Black". The show starts off on shaky ground. Lee’s is only 2/3rds full at most. Angus’ thunder gave way to a hesitant "Formed A Band". A haggard front man and typically standoffish crowd add up to a restrained version fading out with "Road Runner" tributes to their speak/sing forebear Richman. The sound isn’t great but we know every clever-clever lyric by heart-a fact that is proved by the post-first-song Q&A session that breaks the ice. "Yes, Emily Kane is a real person." "No I don’t hate the NME." The band find their momentum with "My little brother". Add a quick attack at an established star-"if Pete Doherty’s so great, why can’t he enjoy life straight?"-and they hit their stride. They are endearingly and unabashedly shambolic tonight. They continue to gain strength through the next two songs until the base amp catches fire. The recent ‘London’s Burning’ tradition of guerilla gigging has served them well and prepared them for any adversity. Eddie starts up another Q&A between calls for a base amp mechanic or fireman. Eddie seizes an opportunity for improv and admits to sabotaging all of the band’s gear then goes on to say that Art Brut will play until they are all on fire. Now that’s dedication. The fire has the unexpected effect of bringing band and audience closer together. The guitarists tear into the next song and by "Modern Art" the moderate crowd is on their feet and bouncing along. Eddie improves the Tate Modern lines with what I can only imagine is yesterday’s experience at Manhattan’s Museum of Modern Art. At this point the show really takes off. The riffs are massive. The drummer stands up. It’s like The Libertines show I’ve always hoped for without the fear of physical violence. Admitting he’s never been there as "My Girl" gives way to "Moving To LA", Eddie admits going there might inspire a song about why he won’t be moving there any time soon. "No, this next song is not about the Queen," he chides a petulant audience member before "Emily Kane". The bridge relates the recent reunion between the star-crossed lovers that gave way to a realization about the nature of first loves. Following "Bad Weekend", Eddie demands we all go out and form bands. More than one of us is in agreement. Before the last song Eddie the consummate showman takes a musical interlude to introduce his band and dub them with their Canadian counterparts’ names in honour of the underage fans that couldn’t get in.

They leave the stage long enough for Eddie to put his tie and pork pie back on before bashing through "Bang Bang Rock and Roll" and "18,000 Lira". Good night, their will be no second encore. Leave them wanting more. For all their outsider art posing they are true entertainers at heart. I suppose if we all formed a band there would no longer be an outside. We’d all be talking for the kids and wouldn’t the world be a better place for it. Probably not. Hail Art Brut

0. Back in Black Intro
1. Formed A Band
2. My Little Brother
3. New Song Written on Plane to Amercia (?)
4. Rusted Guns of Milan

Interval for ice cream and extinguishing base amp fire

5. Blame it on the trains
6. Modern Art
7. Moving To L.A.
8. Emily Kane
9. Bad Weekend
10. Good Weekend

Encore

11. Bang Bang Rock and Roll
12. 18,000 Lira  ¶ 9:58 PM