Art Brut v Satan
Do not fret. Despite the album title, Art Brut have not gone goth. Indeed, not a lot has changed from the DIY indie philosophy of old. Instead, their third album sees them stick to their guns and such a plan makes superb sense when you can boast a lead singer such as Eddie Argos. Few can sing lyrics that could be read as embarrassing phone calls to best mates on the morning after the night before. But then most lead singers are not as brutally honest as this geeky frontman. Admitting the odd night of drunken debauchery is fine, but admitting to a nerdy fan boy fetish as he does in 'DC Comics' and 'Chocolate Milkshake' could be taken as somewhat perturbing.
Everyday life is delved into as the sole subject matter, a feature that endears Argos and his band far more than tales of sentimental nonsense. We all get the bus from time to time just as Argos admits during 'The Passenger', why not write about it. Much in the same vein as Jarvis Cocker’s tales from his Pulp heyday, 'Am I Normal?' reads more like a letter to an agony aunt on why this poor sod cannot get a girl. That 'What A Rush' then divulges on liaisons with a member of the opposite sex despite differing taste in 60s bands, should spark hope in us all.
Whether bravado or just another exhibit of bizarre lyrical tendencies, 'Demons Out!' sees Argos on the hunt of the people that most likely support his own income, “This is Art Brut versus Satan. The record buying public, we hate them!”. Yes, they sound like most two bob bands given a two week tutorial in subversive indie pop, but what they do, they do effortlessly. Insistent, puerile guitar licks that could easily be mistaken for a 45rpm Ramones record played at 33 during 'Slap Dash For No Cash'. Or maybe 'The Replacements', as seems their inspiration during their unrelenting ode of the same name.
By 'Summer Job' you can easily have forgiven Argos for his lazy, spoken vocal delivery yet the combination involving backing singers seems a relief. Amidst the preceding three minute ditties of daily minutiae, 'Mysterious Bruises' stands alone. Not for the seven minute duration or the now accepted tale of eccentricity but instead of the indie-pop, jagged, controlled agit-funk flourishes.
Not a lot has changed from Art Brut, but then, why should it.