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Brut front man Eddie Argos sings about jumping into paintings with the same giddy
enthusiasm he brings to songs about jumping into bed. He's equally sincere on
international politics (he wants to "write the song that makes Israel and Palestine
get along") and impotence ("Rusted Guns of Milan"). Argos claims, wryly, "This
isn't rock n' roll, I'm just talking to the kids" and screams in hysterical glee, "We
formed a band!"
More specifically, they've formed an amazingly great, terrifically
funny rock band with a rabid American fanbase thanks to the U.S. release of their
debut Bang Bang Rock & Rolland non-stop touring.
When they stopped in New York to play the Siren Music Festival,
Nerve cut into Argos's museum time to talk about the cancellation of the BBC's Top
of the Pops, erectile dysfunction, and his fateful keg stand at a Quaker
liberal arts college. — Hastings Cameron
Have you had a chance to go to any art museums during your U.S. tour?
It's annoying, every time we come to New York, there's all this press stuff.
It's the maddest, busiest place in the world. I tried to go last time to the
MoMo [ sic] or something, but it was shut.
Do you think anything will fill the void left by the cancellation of beloved
music show Top of the Pops? [A petition has
been circulated to get Art Brut on one of the final shows.]
I don't want to think about it. I'm dreading it. I'm thinking it's some sort
of cruel trick, perhaps. Or they'll cancel it and then realize they made a horrible
mistake and bring it back. They're saying, "Oh, it's cause there's Playstations,
and kids don't like music anymore." But there's still loads of other pop shows
in England on the telly: Pop World's not canceled, CD:UK's still
going. What's wrong with Top of the Pops? Idiots! They've run it into
the ground.
Can you describe the show?
It was on the BBC at about half past seven in the evening, a little before East
Enders was on. It was like a weird window. David Bowie was on it and was amazing.
Belle and Sebastian were on it and were amazing. Beyoncé was on
it and was amazing. It's irreplaceable.
You've said Jonathan Richman has been a big influence. If you were to write
a song like "Pablo Picasso", which artist would you pick?
I love that track. Ah, fuck. I'm a massive fan of Van Gogh — [switches
to more guttural, pronunciation] Van Gogh — so I'd probably pick
him. But he's mad, so I'd feel pretty bad recommending him to people, like, as
a lover.
You've said the erectile dysfunction song "Rusted Guns of Milan" was about
a Valentine's Day experience of yours, but you've also suggested it was about
[Art Brut guitarist] Jasper. What's the actual back story?
It's about me. It's happened on more than one occasion. [laughs] I was thinking
about places in the country where it happened to me, and it seemed to have taken
place every day on the tour. When I said it was about Jasper, that's just because
I was embarrassed, and I wanted to burst his bubble.
Did you ever consider taking Viagra?
Honestly, the best cure I've found is to write a song about it and go around
the world singing it. Your problem disappears. That's the solution, I think.
Stop worrying about it.
Do you end up writing more from experience and relationships that are safely
in the past, like "Emily Kane?"
Well Emily Kane wasn't in the past — she was still on my mind. When I wrote
the words, I really, honestly, thought I was in love with her. Everything was
mucking about. I spent so much time staring at the backs of girls' heads, thinking, "Oh,
whatever happened to Emily Kane?" Ten years of my life thinking about that stuff.
When I wrote it, the plan was to win her back. But then she heard it and phoned
me. That's when I realized I wasn't in love with her; I just loved being in love
when I was fifteen. It's kind of funny it took me all that to realize it. A normal
person could've just thought that through in their head.
Were you actually going to do a follow-up called "Emily Rang"?
It wasn't immediately clear that I realized I didn't love her anymore. [Laughs.]
It took a few weeks. It was kind of weird, the phone call I had with her. So
I was gonna write about that. I think I'm still gonna do it. I've got verses
for it and stuff. It was nice, really, hearing that voice from when I was younger,
speaking about credit card debt and university stuff. And we're friends now.
Now that I've realized I'm not in love with her, the song's going to be more
like an apology — maybe to her boyfriend.
Is your fiancée Paula Cullen [singer-songwriter for Dublin quintet
The Chalets] wary of ending up in songs?
[Laughs.] Yeah, probably.
Was "Good Weekend" about her?
"Good Weekend" was just about meeting girls, long before Paula came into my life.
Her family thought "Good Weekend" was about her, and that was a bit embarrassing,
because I mention sex in it. "Blame it on the Trains" is about Paula.
Going back to "Good Weekend," is seeing someone naked twice a benchmark?
[Laughs.] If you've seen someone naked once, you're like "Ahhhh, yeah,
that's a one-night stand." Twice, that's nearly a relationship. [Laughs.]
Regarding another Dubliner — could you ever see yourself becoming a
Bono-like figure who goes to speak to the U.N. and the I.M.F.?
I don't think that's a good idea. I think I'd make a fool of myself. I think
Bono makes a fool of himself, too. I read something where Bono was thanking Kofi
Annan and the U.N. for getting him the facts and figures he needs when he goes
around the world. I didn't realize the U.N. was some sort of resource department
for U2.
If you're sticking to music, what do you think would be more significant:
a song that cured erectile dysfunction worldwide, or that made two small, hostile
countries get along?
[Laughs.] I'd say probably making two hostile countries get along, because
that's been going on for quite a long time, hasn't it? It's probably more likely
that I can fix erectile dysfunction. If I fixed them both, it would be one amazing power
ballad.
On "Really Bad Weekend" you grapple with cheating. What do you think constitutes
cheating these days?
I'm old school, so even kissing, I'd say.
Clothes don't have to come off?
No, because I'm a very jealous man. Clothes don't have to come off for it to
be cheating. That song's the truth: that was me rationalizing about cheating,
trying to work out the end of my last relationship.
What's your next record about?
It's a puberty record. People kept telling me about the last album that I was
only writing about the kind of things that adolescents get upset about. I disagree.
I think you don't talk about those things when you're older, but you still have
the same worries and problems.
You don't think you're in a state of arrested adolescence?
I think everyone is. All my friends have the same worries they had when they
were younger. [Whispering.] I'm still a bit scared of girls. I'm sure
you're the same. Maybe you're not, but I very much am. I can't be the only person.
If you're still sort of scared of girls, how much temptation is there on tour?
There's a bit, I suppose. I'm mad busy, and I'm pretty much married. Someone
threw a bra at me at the Siren Music Festival. But if that's really a temptation,
that'd be pretty stupid.
I typed "Art Brut" into YouTube this morning, and saw a clip of you at a keg
party in Philadelphia. Do you remember that?
Haverford. Yeah. It's amazing I do. I banged my head pretty hard. My keg stand
was terrible: to me a keg stand is like being thrown down a flight of stairs.
We'd just played, I think, my favorite-ever show. I think the law might be different
at Haverford because people seemed to be very young and very drunk. The whole
room — everyone — fell over at some point while we were playing.
It was like a lightning bolt hit. Mike too. I had to play the drums myself. It
was weird, like being in Weird Science or Teen Wolf. It
was like an American teen film. We ended up in what used to be Chevy Chase's
dorm room. It was very strange, very American. And everyone's going "Oh, this
never normally happens."
So your music makes people less inhibited.
I hope so. I'd love that. It makes me less inhibited.
n°
© 2006
Hastings Cameron and Nerve.com. |
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