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Art Brut

Art Brut
Art Brut vs. Satan
(Downtown, 2009)

Art Brut makes music about the music they love. Art Brut vs. Satan is an ode to various strains of the punk and indie scenes, as well as the DIY ethos that spur them. Heavily accented Brit Eddie Argos waxes lyrical about the lo-fi aesthetic to the point of romanticism, but rightfully so. “Slap dash for no cash, those are the records I like / Why would you wanna sound like U2? Just press record and play it straight through!” he exuberantly wails. After all, it’s the raw background noises, the crack in the singer’s voice, the fingers on the fretboard, the seething of the tape hiss that add glimmers of humanity, not to mention reality, to the music we adore. When recorded in the family basement, it’s the kind of music that makes parents say, “turn it down,” and as Argos notes, we can hear them say it in the recording. There’s nothing more punk rock than that.

But what’s most refreshing is the band’s unbridled enthusiasm for the genre that they love and pay homage to. The Frank Black-helmed production lends Art Brut newfound confidence. While they still retain their scrappy Bang Bang Rock & Roll charm, there’s an improved sharpness to the melodies and a greater comfort level with their instruments. But more importantly, there is also no pretense of hipper-than-thou elitism or jaded cynicism. On “The Replacements”, Argos marvels that he can’t believe he just discovered the titular band. It’s a down-to-earth admission that’s nearly unheard of in the indie realm. And one that kids might be making in regard to Art Brut 20 years from now.

by: Jessica Gentile

published: May 13, 2009 in column: Reviews

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Brakes

by: Dan Weiss

Brakes
Touchdown
(FatCat, 2009)

People will accuse the new Brakes record of pointlessness (if they know who Brakes are, that is), which will bring up a good discussion of what the point of Brakes was in the first place. People mostly hate novelty bands, side projects, and particularly junctions of the two that grow in seriousness as they go. Occasionally, a hit helps. These guys don’t have one. And what’s more, they stole a member of a more serious band who people like, British Sea Power’s Eamon Hamilton, who adores playing an under loved alt-rock archetype: The bald shrieky guy. Of course, I’m speaking from my post in America, where I nabbed the debut Give Blood from a dollar bin, not Britain, where the same record was voted #1 by Rough Trade Shop. The even better follow-up Beatific Visions seemed to stall everywhere; who wouldn’t want to hear a Frank Black clone spazzing “Porcupine or pineapple?! Porcupine or pineapple?!” in their ear? I guess it’s just me then.

Barring an iPod commercial appearance or some minor airplay coup for “Oh! Forever”, the new Touchdown looks to fare even worse—third album by novelt-ish side project of minor critic heroes anyone? As such, expectations are simpler: Dimmer production, more jam-with-hooks than full-fledged melodies, and no Pipettes guest spot (they—she?—ain’t faring so well themselves these days). There’s not a one-minute dick joke or a sweeping country ballad in sight. What that leaves, and what Fall fans and Rough Trade shoppers should know so well, is a moving-to-keep-moving album, another ground out in the finest Hüsker Dü or Fall fashion for spontaneity, not expedience, even if it’s their least spontaneous yet.

by: Dan Weiss

published: April 27, 2009 in column: Reviews

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