The Brute Chorus
11.11.09
The Brute Chorus are a dirty yet beautiful cacophony of dark desire and darker rum. Coming together in the beating heart of London town to produce an unholy racket. Led by the sleazy priest on high a certain Mr. James Steel. hesaidshesaidreview went down to The Bathhouse to check out if they where as condemned and damned as they make out.
http://www.myspace.com/thebrutechorus
He Said
We got lost in the tube, something that we really should not have done given this is our stomping ground. But you know take the try hard a few miles east of Camden and they will... well... they will get lost.
She was confused and I quite frankly was accompanied with last nights smell, tonight's adventure and tomorrow's hangover. Forgive the pretension but this blog is our invention and when we got there the crowd were littered with the ghosts of Camden bands that have gone before. It's an exciting feeling when surveying the crowd you are confronted with the vanguard of indie rock and roll Camden town circa 2006, eerie and pretty scary.
Me - 'I'm going out for a fag'
Her - 'Why? The band are nearly on'
I would be lying if my intentions for the exit were anything other than carnal, forgive me father for I have sinned and it's been a long old road since my last confession. I turn to an unsuspecting gig goer and ask.
Me - 'Excuse me do you have a light I could borrow?'
As the words spewed forth from my tongue, Shakespeare rested easy in his slumber. I reached for wit and came up with confusion, somewhere along the way through stifled silences and overlapping gesticulations the subject turned to crumpets (the toast able variation) how had this happened?
The Brute Chorus comes on and unfortunately this being an undeniable diabolically shit venue for a gig we are stood at the back and can't see a shimmy. We sneak round the side and stand on the edge to get a better view, well truth be told I get a better view but because she is but a pint sized pit-bull and still can't see.
Fuzz and skuzzy are two words that spit forth from the battered old amps of the brute chorus. Fronted by James Steel the mercurial moustached maverick who leads the band like a Billy fury with added filth they are all things to all (drunk) men. A cheap and strong cocktail of rockabilly, punk, blues and folk calling to mind a Jack White side project... hang on I mean a Good Jack White side project. As she can't see a whisker I note the impatient huffing and puffing.
Her -'Shall we go?'
Me - 'Why it's just getting good'
Her - 'Well they are not playing the one song I like and my hand is swollen, I think I'm retaining water'
As excuses go I must admit I liked the slight surreal tinge to it so we decided to leave. The band play on and as we are leaving they strike up 'Send me a Message' with a rolling snare beat, shout and respond chorus the crowd erupts, Steel dives in and out of the crowd with increasing sweat and splendour.
As I leave a hand reaches out and pulls me in.
'Always toast your crumpets twice'
Sleaze Sex and Sweet what ever order you put it in it works for me.
She Said
The only way I can describe the evening was that it was like when you are talking to a guy and he's nodding and rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and you think he's listening really intently to every word. Then it suddenly dawns on you that he's actually staring at another girls tits.
Frustrating, time wasteful, and abhorrently regretful. Don't get me wrong the music was good. But I'll get to that later.
Firstly he was in a monumentally bad mood and had been all week because no one believed him that he'd shagged a girl in the toilets at the Mr Hudson thing. Mr Hudson even said (this is second hand information btw) "If I didn't shag anyone at my own album launch then nobody did".
Anyway, on the way to the gig in Liverpool St we ran for the bus and missed it. After a long debate we decided to get the tube, then realised his bank card was missing (presumed lying in the gutter by the 214 bus stop on Delancy Street - not ideal). This started him off on the mother of all tantrums, kicking walls, pulling hair, asking the universe "WHY?!", "Why did this have to happen to MEEEE?!". You know the normal male crap.
Because I was trying to placate a grown man we completely got lost on the tube, missed stops/got on wrong trains etc. feeling lost in your own city is very upsetting.
So the venue was the Bathhouse in the city, kind of a strange venue if you ask me. I get why they chose it as it has that whole Victorian eerie thing but its way to shiny. Not sure if all the oddities decorating the place were that odd or that old.
I'm sure they are a great band live but you'll have to ask the boy cos I haven't actually seen them. I was stuck behind a very tall woman wearing a scrunchy so I spent most of the gig stopping myself for removing it as it offended me so much. I'd spent an hour and a half on the tube to stand behind a woman in a scrunchy whilst standing next to fake taxidermy. Great.
I didn't even get to hear my favourite Brute Chorus song which is Grow Fins. And I had wanted to have a conversation with James about his moustache. I really like them, they are a foot stomping, energetic heady mix of mystery and intrigue. I'm very annoyed with myself I hadn't managed to get into the spirit of things. Anyway, we decided to get the bus home and we listened to the ipod and finger danced (well I had a go but my hand was a bit swollen).
Me - 'God it was like someone had collected up Camden and plonked it in there. I'm surprised no one got lost on their way.'
He didn't find my joke very amusing.
