In a brave attempt to haul sinister from "commendable" to "essential", as designated by the Jeepster BS 6511 standard, I have nicked the review of Gentle Waves from the Guardian. The Gentle Waves improv, London/touring By Phil Daoust Tuesday April 6, 1999 You'd almost think you'd strayed into a student film club. In a central London basement, a few hundred hippish twentysomethings gaze in respectful silence at a couple of French movies. First there's a subtitled print of Les Mistons, Francois Truffaut's black-and-white short about bicycling, doomed love and stirring sexuality. Then comes Le Ballon Rouge, Albert Lamorisse's all-but-silent tale of a boy and the red balloon that is his only friend. When the double-bill draws to a close, the masses burst into applause. Stop that bandwagon now. Bittersweet French movies of the fifties are not the new rock'n'roll. This is what passes for a support act when you go to see those dippy-trippy Francophiles The Gentle Waves. What comes next should be more straightforward. Isobel Campbell, better known as a singer and cellist with Glaswegian musos Belle & Sebastian, leads six colleagues on stage and prepares to unleash her breathy, haunting vocals. She and the rest of The Gentle Waves are out to promote their debut album, The Green Fields Of Foreverland, a catchy fusion of pop and folk and country, sixties in feel but with a punked-up spin reminiscent of the Rezillos. At times it makes you want to wrap your arms around yourself and waltz around the room; at others it pulls you into an amphetamine-frantic 'mashed potato'. Campbell and Co almost do the business. They run through most of their (very short) album, and throw in a handful of new numbers, including a storming trumpet-led instrumental called Grazing In The Grass and a sexed-up number with the very un-Campbell lines, 'Slip inside of me/I'll open the gates'. The playing can't be faulted, and the combination of Campbell's delicate features and steel-in-velvet voice is a moving one. Yet the 45 minutes of live performance comes out even odder, even less rock'n'roll, than what preceded it. The whole band - Campbell included - seem to be auditioning for jobs as tailor's dummies. They move whatever limbs are required to operate their instruments, but little else. Just as Belle & Sebastian have become known for their dour approach to gigging, this spin-off group act as if they will be struck by lightning if they smile, let alone shake a leg. They seem so wrapped up in their music you wonder if they've forgotten they've got an audience. And, true enough, Campbell looks first surprised, then embarrassed, when her fans applaud. Whether this abstracted musicianship is down to arrogance or life-and-death professionalism, your mind can't content itself with this blank canvas. After a while, it starts creating its own images: woman running through field in floaty dress; windswept face in a sixties convertible; sunshine making a rainbow in a torrent of tears. The band become invisible and you might almost be listening to a CD. It's certainly a novel way to run a gig - first get the visuals out of the way, then tackle the music. But I'm not sure that it'll catch on. Linda xxx +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the reborn Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail "sinister@majordomo.net". To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to "majordomo@majordomo.net". WWW: http://www.majordomo.net/sinister +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "tech-heads and students" +-+ +-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+ +-+ "nambling pambling rice pudding & crochet holiday camp +-+ +-+ gangwanking whimsy-thon" +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+