- Music
- 29 Jun 06
Imagine growing up in Falkirk, a very small and very rainy village in Scotland, and living a youth of unrequited love, forbidden desires, drinking cans of cider in fields, awkward sexual encounters with female friends and dirty bed sheets. This might help you to understand Moffat’s background and lyrical content, but nothing can prepare you for the brutal honesty and frankness with which he sings.
Aidan Moffat takes a long swig from his can of Bulmers as he steps up to the microphone. He doesn't look like a singer in a rock band (more Jack Black than Jack White), but then again, Arab Strap are completely unlike any other band you're ever likely to encounter. The other half of Arab Strap, Malcolm Middleton, stands poised with his guitar and, unlike his colleague, doesn't appear in the least bit intoxicated.
They kick off with ‘Stink’ from their latest album The Last Romance. The atmosphere in the room is one of drunken debauchery and general bad behaviour. Appropriate, since Arab Strap’s lyrics capture the dark underbelly of life and often provide a disturbing insight into the mind of Mr Moffat.
Imagine growing up in Falkirk, a very small and very rainy village in Scotland, and living a youth of unrequited love, forbidden desires, drinking cans of cider in fields, awkward sexual encounters with female friends and dirty bed sheets. This might help you to understand Moffat’s background and lyrical content, but nothing can prepare you for the brutal honesty and frankness with which he sings. “Just be polite, get down and lick her,” he insists on ‘Stink’, setting the tone for the show.
They continue in the same vein with ‘Fucking Little Bastards’ and ‘Speed Date’. Despite the seedy content and often melancholy tone, some of Arab Strap’s songs sound positively sunny, thanks in the most part to Middleton’s melodic guitar hooks.
The quieter moments of the show are special in a perverse way. It’s almost impossible to avoid being hypnotised by a combination of Moffat’s husky mumbled vocals and sparse keyboard and guitar accompaniment. You feel voyeuristic, as if pressing your ear up to his bedroom door and catching snippets of his most private musings. The crowd watches in complete silence and the constant stream of dry ice adds to the feeling that you're trapped inside one of Moffat’s depraved dreams.
They end with a cover of Bonnie Tyler’s ‘It’s A Heartache’, an unusual choice sure, but heartache seems to be Aidan’s speciality, providing fodder for an amazing live experience. Here’s hoping he doesn’t cheer up any time soon.