On Formed a Band, the debut single by Art Brut that doubled as a cheeky mission statement, lyricist Eddie Argos informs us that his fledgling band is not aiming for irony. But actually getting the music press to believe that, especially in the London-based outfit's home country, has proven a little challenging.
"The NME seems to think we're ironic, or a comedy-pop band," Argos complains over the phone in advance of the band's sold-out show tomorrow night at Toronto's Opera House. "But my hero's Jonathan Richman, and people think he's joking when he's not. So it's almost flattering to have the same misunderstanding of our music."
It's easy to understand how Bang Bang Rock and Roll, the debut album released last year, might be interpreted as an attempt to take the piss out of the British rock scene. With Argos less singing than delivering monologues in what (falsely) appears to be an exaggerated accent as his bandmates make a fairly shambolic racket behind him, it's not two minutes in before he vows to be "the man who writes the song that makes Israel and Palestine get along." But it's surely the fourth track that convinced critics Art Brut couldn't possibly be serious.
In the testosterone-heavy Britrock world, it's inconceivable that a band would release even a tongue-in-cheek anthem about erectile dysfunction -- let alone one that's autobiographical. But that, Argos insists, is what Rusted Guns of Milan is.
"It was a bit embarrassing at first, singing it live," he concedes. "And then I kind of began to forget what it was about. Then my parents came to see us, and it was really embarrassing."
That humiliation notwithstanding, going out on such limbs would appear to have paid off. With scant musical experience among them when they formed in 2003, the members of Art Brut have turned their lack of polish into a virtue, and a North American music press that typically pillories U.K. exports has decided that Art Brut is a breath of fresh air. Meanwhile, their freewheeling live shows -- punctuated by the mustachioed Argos gleefully making up lyrics as he goes along -- have charmed the most cynical audiences, even if they're left debating just how much of the band's posturing (the tone is typically set by a brief opening cover of AC/DC's Back in Black) is self-parody.
What Art Brut may now have to overcome, as it prepares to record a sophomore record, is growing musical proficiency. At its core, after all, is a sort of anything-goes punk ethos in which none of its members are especially skilled musicians -- something that may be changing with all that time spent on the road.
Argos isn't overly concerned. "We're a tighter band now, but I'm never gonna learn to sing," he says. "I don't think we can change our sound that much. We're more capable now, but it's still going to sound rough."
That seems a reasonable assessment, since it's Argos' conversational approach to singing and songwriting that drives Art Brut's identity -- and that appears unlikely to change. "I can't really play an instrument," he explains. "So I walk around all day putting words in my phone and writing things down in books. And then when it comes time to rehearse, I try to put those words on the music they've written.
"I like conversational lyrics, like if we were in a pub having a chat. So hopefully, I'm just gonna keep doing that. It's not to disarm people -- it's just what I like, people chatting on records."
On occasion, that chatting morphs into motivational speaking. The lyrics to Formed a Band, with its promises to "write a song as universal as Happy Birthday" and "play it eight weeks in a row on Top of the Pops," were apparently written to inspire his bandmates. "That's the first song we wrote, really, and they'd not heard me singing it," he recalls. "So I was just trying to convince them of all the things I thought we could achieve -- world peace and that."
One assumes, for once, that he's being openly ironic. But from the guy who happily claims Rusted Guns of Milan as autobiographical, it's hard to be entirely sure.
