There’s little more I can say about Art Brut at Manchester Academy 3 on 19th May 2005 that I didn’t already say in my previous review for their Roadhouse gig in February at The Ledge On The Edge. They still look (and sound) like they formed for a laugh, just to see what a band comprising a punk, goth, lumbering idiot savant, stockbroker and Ewan McGregor lookalike would end up like. And, against all odds, it works – if you don’t believe me then check out their excellent Bang Bang Rock And Roll album; hell, just listen to “Modern Art” for five days straight and try telling me that their existence is not justified.
Despite Eddie Argos being too ill for an encore, they played another blinding set which included particularly rousing versions of “Rusted Guns Of Milan” and “Moving to LA”. Lyrics were updated to keep things fresh: they’ve already written the song to make Israel and Palestine get along in “Formed A Band”, and in “Moving To LA” Eddie is drinking “sherry with Brian Ferry” instead of “Hennessy with Morrissey”. I bet he wishes he’d written that one before he recorded the album.
Eddie’s no-show for the encore prompted the roadie to cajole the crowd into singing the popular refrain of “Art Brut/Top Of The Pops” while the band flailed away at their instruments. Hopefully Art Brut can keep this momentum up and produce a second album to rival, or even better, their debut. However, when I think of Art Brut, I can’t help but think of Tiger, who, a decade ago, produced We Are Puppets, a rush of idiosynchratic punk pop not a million miles from Art Brut and an album of which I was rather enamoured at the time. Their second album Rosaria disappeared without a trace and couldn’t even find a place in my own CD collection. Fingers crossed that Argos and co. don’t go the same way.
Two nights later on 21st May 2005, JustHipper and I were in Toronto to see The Decemberists play a memorably theatrical performance at the Phoenix Theatre.
Kicking off with “The Infanta”, Colin Meloy and his merry band had the crowd in their thrall all the way through to the closing “The Mariner’s Revenge Song”, so much so that during a rousing “The Chimbley Sweep” Meloy persuaded the entire audience to sit down with a mere hand gesture, and then during “Mariner’s Revenge Song” got everyone to scream like little girls as guitarist Chris Funk, playing the role of the whale in the song, tried to eat us all. Scary stuff.
The Decemberists’ line-up has was augmented on this tour by the very welcome addition of Petra Haden on violin and vocals. She has a truly excellent voice and mesmerised the audience when she took lead duties in a faithful cover of Kate Bush’s “Wuthering Heights”. Hopefully she’ll become a permanent member, or at least stick around long enough to make it over to this side of the Atlantic when the band finally decide to tour over here again.
A week and a bit later we were in Atlanta to see The Futureheads at The Loft on 3rd June 2005. This was the second time we’d seen them in less than a month and was a better performance than at the Manchester Academy in May, mainly due to the absence of the legion of screaming girls that they seem to attract in Britain, and because there was a little less banter with the audience between songs to disrupt their flow.
Standout tracks on the night were “The City Is Here For You To Use”, “Stupid And Shallow” and the “Hounds Of Love” singalong. New track “Areas” failed to make much of an impression on second hearing. The gig was marred slightly by one idiot kid who, having already pissed most of the crowd off with his over-exhuberant moshing, found his way onto the stage and dived back into the throng. The waves parted and everyone watched, hoping that he’d land face first on the hardwood floor and do himself a serious injury. Alas, one person was unable to get out in time and took a mighty hit, breaking the idiot’s fall in the process. Barry Futurehead stopped the gig to make sure the guy who got hit was alright, pointing out that the stagediver wasn’t too clever landing on the hardest looking guy in the room (which he almost was). Unfortunately with all the attention on him the hard guy had to restrain himself from twatting the idiot and merely indicated that everything was alright, despite looking incredibly shaken up and pissed off. As the band recommenced the idiot was escorted from the venue by a leather jacket clad bouncer, hopefully to receive a good kicking outside. Not that I condone violence in any way, shape or form, of course.
Back in Blighty I went alone to see Smog at The Roadhouse, Manchester on 10th June 2005. Starting with “Say Valley Maker” they proceeded to play seven songs off the new A River Ain’t Too Much To Love album. For most bands such an opening gambit might lead to disgruntled murmurs and trips to the bar but such is the beauty of Bill Callahan’s latest offering that the crowd stayed hushed and reverent while Bill and his band, including The Dirty Three’s Jim White on drums, played with a quiet intensity. Bursts of wild applause and whoops of glee punctuated the songs with “The Well” going down particularly well.
The rest of the set was crammed with crowd-pleasers such as “Cold-Blooded Old Times”, “Bloodflow” and “Dress Sexy At My Funeral” as well as my personal Smog fave “River Guard”. The band played with an admirable restraint and Callahan was on top form, his deep, rich voice filling out the sparse arrangements. After 15 years and 12 or so albums, this is a man at the top of his game.
Television at Manchester Academy 2 on 23rd July 2005 was my first real chance to see the incredible guitar work of the legendary Tom Verlaine up close. I’d seen them at Glastonbury in 1992 but missed half the set after we turned up late on the Friday not knowing what time the festival started (we also missed The Breeders and The Blue Aeroplanes, the two other bands I really wanted to see that year).
Well, Tom was on fine form, in the guitar department at least, but his cohort Richard Lloyd was a revelation. I always thought that Lloyd did most of the donkey work while Verlaine did most of the intricate stuff but I couldn’t have been more wrong: Lloyd is every bit Verlaine’s equal. He got to do most of the soloing tonight (I suspect they swap the duties around a bit) and wowed the crowd with his speed and precision and relentless energy.
Much of the set I didn’t recognise, presumably new songs from a yet to be released album. They played a couple from their disappointing 1992 eponymous comeback but it was the Marquee Moon/Adventure material that the audience had come to hear. “Prove It” and “See No Evil” were pretty excellent but “Venus” stole the show. This song boasts one of the finest arrangements of a rock song known to man. I didn’t know where to look: do I watch Verlaine playing his superb arpeggiated chord progressions, or Lloyd and his effortless execution of the song’s brilliant descending main riff, not to mention Fred Smith and his anguine bassline, or even Billy Ficca, if only to wonder at how the drummer looks the same age as he did in the late Seventies while the rest of the band look very much in their fifties. It was easily the highlight of the evening but was still let down by Tom Verlaine’s vocals, which were a problem throughout the evening, the taut and edgy delivery of the original being replaced by a half-arsed whine buried deep in the mix. Verlaine has never been that good a singer but now he seems to have just given up trying. This is a minor quibble, however, as it was the duelling guitars of Verlaine and Lloyd that most people were there to hear, and, in that respect, no-one left disappointed. The main set ended with the inevitable, iconic “Marquee Moon”, ten minutes of undisputed guitar genius, and they finished off the encore with and excellent “Glory”, sadly the evening’s only offering from Adventure.