B
Benton
Guest
This was in The Independent today. It’s a while since I’ve seen such an ignorant view of The Smiths in a proper newspaper (Steven Wells excepted), it makes me feel quite nostalgic. I know the answer to his lyric query.
Belle And Sebastian, Astoria, London
By Gulliver Cragg 08 December 2003
Of all the bands to have been compared to The Smiths since the demise of those moaning Mancunians, few deserve it less than Belle and Sebastian. True, their albums look like Smiths albums, they produce fey, literate indie-pop and have an obsessive following among the shy, clever kids at the back of the class. But where is the turgid self-pity, the tuneless whine, the pseudo-ironic misanthropy?
Nowhere! Belle and Sebastian are cheerier than Christmas. Previously famous for their rare and low-key performances, they've now given up trying to recreate the whispery quality of their early records. "You can listen to the quiet bits at home," says the frontman Stuart Murdoch. This is a proper tour and they mean business.
The band sets up on two levels in front of a display of lights that flash and slither up and down the backdrop. The stage is bathed in light between songs, so you can watch them tune instruments and change band members in a seemingly endless line-up. It's like a behind-the-scenes peek into just how much virtuosity goes into that airy sound. In this, they're more Beach Boys than Smiths - especially on "Roy Walker", a standout track from their latest, pure pop album, Dear Catastrophe Waitress.
Some of the record is too poppy, though, with songs that could have been written for a musical. This may be arch, may reflect some ironic or even genuine love for the old-fashioned craft of popular song, but it is cloying. "Stay Loose", which closes the new album, would be far groovier without its sing-along chorus. Afondness for the catchy hook also marred the band's 1996 debut, Tigermilk; as a fantastic organ part beefs up "You're Just a Baby", you wish its vocal wasn't so damn jaunty.
The songs from the band's other albums benefit most from the robust new sound. "Sleep the Clock Around" shimmers past beautifully, its keyboard part somehow newly electrified. "The Stars of Track and Field" explodes into a glittering coda, helped by a kazoo. Did Morrissey ever write as subtly joyful a lyric as "You only did it so that you could wear/ your terry underwear/ and feel the city air/ run past your body"?
Murdoch certainly seems happy. Sprightly and spangly in silver trousers, he jokes with bandmates and audience alike. Insistent requests for the epic early single "Lazy Line Painter Jane" are rewarded, thanks to a plucky audience-member belting out the female part. She forgets half the words but it doesn't matter. It's still the band's biggest number, building from their trademark sluggish, yearning drum pattern to an almost gospel-like refrain. A little more class like that and a little less of the twee stuff, and Belle and Sebastian could turn out to be true live heroes.
Touring to Brighton (tonight), Norwich (9 Dec), Newcastle (11 Dec) Liverpool (12 Dec) and Edinburgh (14 Dec)
Belle And Sebastian, Astoria, London
By Gulliver Cragg 08 December 2003
Of all the bands to have been compared to The Smiths since the demise of those moaning Mancunians, few deserve it less than Belle and Sebastian. True, their albums look like Smiths albums, they produce fey, literate indie-pop and have an obsessive following among the shy, clever kids at the back of the class. But where is the turgid self-pity, the tuneless whine, the pseudo-ironic misanthropy?
Nowhere! Belle and Sebastian are cheerier than Christmas. Previously famous for their rare and low-key performances, they've now given up trying to recreate the whispery quality of their early records. "You can listen to the quiet bits at home," says the frontman Stuart Murdoch. This is a proper tour and they mean business.
The band sets up on two levels in front of a display of lights that flash and slither up and down the backdrop. The stage is bathed in light between songs, so you can watch them tune instruments and change band members in a seemingly endless line-up. It's like a behind-the-scenes peek into just how much virtuosity goes into that airy sound. In this, they're more Beach Boys than Smiths - especially on "Roy Walker", a standout track from their latest, pure pop album, Dear Catastrophe Waitress.
Some of the record is too poppy, though, with songs that could have been written for a musical. This may be arch, may reflect some ironic or even genuine love for the old-fashioned craft of popular song, but it is cloying. "Stay Loose", which closes the new album, would be far groovier without its sing-along chorus. Afondness for the catchy hook also marred the band's 1996 debut, Tigermilk; as a fantastic organ part beefs up "You're Just a Baby", you wish its vocal wasn't so damn jaunty.
The songs from the band's other albums benefit most from the robust new sound. "Sleep the Clock Around" shimmers past beautifully, its keyboard part somehow newly electrified. "The Stars of Track and Field" explodes into a glittering coda, helped by a kazoo. Did Morrissey ever write as subtly joyful a lyric as "You only did it so that you could wear/ your terry underwear/ and feel the city air/ run past your body"?
Murdoch certainly seems happy. Sprightly and spangly in silver trousers, he jokes with bandmates and audience alike. Insistent requests for the epic early single "Lazy Line Painter Jane" are rewarded, thanks to a plucky audience-member belting out the female part. She forgets half the words but it doesn't matter. It's still the band's biggest number, building from their trademark sluggish, yearning drum pattern to an almost gospel-like refrain. A little more class like that and a little less of the twee stuff, and Belle and Sebastian could turn out to be true live heroes.
Touring to Brighton (tonight), Norwich (9 Dec), Newcastle (11 Dec) Liverpool (12 Dec) and Edinburgh (14 Dec)
