Quintessential Brits

by Michael Pelusi

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Published: Jul 18, 2007

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On their 2004 debut, Bang Bang Rock & Roll, Art Brut turned Brit-rock on its head, with their ingeniously ramshackle garage rock and Eddie Argos' wittily self-aware, declaratory vocals. As genius as it often was, the album didn't sound like something a band could endlessly revise over and over again. And so, on It's a Bit Complicated, the growing pains show. The band has evolved into a lean, hard-rocking unit (thanks to their constant touring, no doubt), making room for Beach Boys harmonies and Specials horn sections. But the inspired amateurism of the debut has vanished. Everything here is a little too polished, a little too well-thought-out. Argos has held on to his dogged, nonsinging approach, as he frets over soured romances, fumbling make-out sessions and all of the songs that remind him of them all. But he's less inclined to display his flair for nonsequiturs. There are no anthems here about modern art or bank heists, although he does apologize at one point for his bad Deutsche accent ("I learned my German from a 7-inch record"). Fortunately there are moments where Argos' wit coalesces with the band's riff-heavy attack; "Direct Hit," "I Will Survive" and "Nag Nag Nag Nag" should keep indie-rock dance floors full all summer long. But Art Brut may need to learn some new tricks (or jokes) for album No. 3.

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Long ago, Nick Lowe was a wisecracker just like Eddie Argos. In the punk era, he specialized in good-natured, high-energy joshing, whether he was proclaiming his love of the Bay City Rollers ("Rollers Show"), shrugging off the gruesome death of a long-forgotten Hollywood starlet ("Marie Provost") or embodying a severely put-upon lover in a hit song ("Cruel to be Kind"). Since 1994's The Impossible Bird, Lowe has seemingly mellowed into a sincere country balladeer. Truth is, though, he never really lost his poker-faced wit, something At My Age makes clear. Devoted love songs like "A Better Man" and "Hope for Us All" coyly hint at an only-recently-concluded streak of seriously bad luck, while "I Trained Her to Love Me" sardonically revels in caddish behavior. Pitched between countrypolitan and lounge, At My Age ultimately holds together thanks to Lowe's subtle delivery, making every song feel lived in. Unlike his erstwhile partner-in-crime, Elvis Costello, who huffs and puffs even when he's feelin' mellow, Lowe has mastered the art of effortlessness.

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If the proggy leanings of some indie-folk acts have got you down, this Nottingham five-piece may just be what you need in your life. On their first full-length album, Saint Joan devises minimalist yet intense dramatics to frame Ellen Mary McGee's achingly bruised vocals. Krisztina Hidasi's violin is so resonant, it practically functions as a second vocal. The guitar-jangle is precise but evocative, and the rhythms are discreet but rumbling. The focus, ultimately, is on the songs. Reminiscent of Joy Division as well as Fairport Convention, the music here is folk of a decidedly dark stripe. Every song seems to occur at night, and McGee's tantalizing lyrics give the songs a cinematic vividness. From the dramatic "Satellites" to the stark simplicity of "Far Away" to the country-tinged "Untitled," The Wrecker's Lantern is an entrancing listen.

(m_pelusi@citypaper.net)

This is fairly hardcore: Mike Pelusi is going to review every Pulp song at musicfromabachelorsden.blogspot.com.

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