Brut indeed. I am still dumbfounded by the events of April 10. Perhaps there is some seedy menace lurking in the punching, infectious sounds of Art Brut, as I'm positive there was something more fueling the bit flesh, torn knees, kicked faces and violent ejections that manifested among my friends and me than merely the archetypal though pathetic case of two naturally semi-hysterical girls with too much gin in their systems.
I arrived at the Ottobar just in time to catch the last half of the Roger Sisters' set. With their reputation as a quirky Brooklyn dance/garage band, I found it odd that their stronger songs tended to be the slower, more deliberate numbers rather than the ones that all but commanded "DANCE!" at a glazed-over audience whose collective physical exertion amounted to a sporadic, light foot tapping. Sure, audience apathy is no new malaise (I'm from New York), but I sensed the people around me seemed to be in agreement as the three-piece would switch from a Bush Tetras-lite rocker into said darker, more serene pieces, languid guitar lines bordering on beautiful even, with audience interest peaking at these points.
Amid the smoky din of the in-between time, anticipation not quite palpable but lying sinisterly in repose across the dance floor and in dark corners, rumor had it that Art Brut's set-list in fact began with "Enter Sandman," and I can't say the 11-year-old Black Album fan in me wasn't a bit intrigued. Yeah, so I used to listen to too much post-1990 Metallica. And by too much I mean any at all. The band opened with that instantly recognizable riff, and while it would have been pretty amusing to hear this five-strong crew of South Londoners actually cover it, they instead broke into "Formed a Band," the first song off their LP Bang Bang Rock n' Roll.
Released in 2005 on Fierce Panda Records, Art Brut's debut LP plays like some splendid mash-up of humorous and exuberant (though sometimes peculiar) sexual tales half-shouted over straightforward, pulsing rock n' roll, infectious for its effortlessness and constant build. Initially wary of the band due in equal parts to the astoundingly high praise given by hackneyed, veritable tabloids Pitchfork and the NME, and to the fact that in what I considered a dreadful display of pompousness they named themselves after a category of outsider art, my penchant for unjustifiable preconceptions was proven downright foolish once again upon -- who knew! -- actually hearing the record. It combines the searing wit and clear pop sheen of a Pulp song cross-bred with an amped-up Television Personalities sense of melody and timing. Bang Bang Rock n' Roll is an excellent example of successfully blending influences rather than serving up cheap, sickly pale Talking Heads or Gang of Four facsimiles.
After an opening strong enough to draw the crowd toward the stage like some intensely popular televangelist and generate a buzzing audience energy, the band continued in what was essentially the LP on shuffle, a few new songs thrown in for good measure. There's not much else you can do when you've only got one album out.
Art Brut put on a truly enjoyable show, and their caustic enthusiasm was duly transferred to the swarm of us dancing below. Frontman Eddie Argos wasn't above responding to the inebriate and frequent crowd banter, either; in a band like Art Brut, how could he be? During one of the last breaks I hopped on the railing, hoisted my upper body above stage level and demanded that they play "Emily Kane" for yours truly, née Emily Jane. And they did! Replacing "rabid" with inebriated and "fan girl" with lunatic will also give you a sense of and explanation for my general behavior that night. Speaking of which: Dear the Ottobar, we probably shouldn't have acted like such jerks, but I'm inclined to say that after such a dynamic set, it was unavoidable. And Art Brut gets only higher praise in my book for that.
