Sinister: mm review of manchester

[Andrew.Dean at xxx.NET]

People just don't like Belle & Sebastian, they're hopelessly
devoted to them. Among tonight's collections of hipsters,
Habitat squares, C86 revivalists and out-patients, there are
people who've trekked from America* and Japan. Why? Because
the Belle & Sebastian songbook is crammed with tales of
feckless idealists who, although hemmed in by boorish
reality, demand the earth. We've a disquieting sense that
they harbour the sane, giddy romantic part of us that age
has whittled away. And they make our compromised spirits
soar anew.

We expect tonight to merely, if deliriously, confirm what we
already know - that we love them more than life itself. And,
bless their enigmatic Scottish socks, they've tried to make
it A Special Experience. Hence the venue, a gilt-edged grand
hall, and the following day's matinee performance. It's not
quite Spike Island, but it's getting there.

As opener "Put The Book Back On The Shelf" stumbles to a
close, though, we're already beginning to wonder if we've
fallen for a band we never really knew. There should be
pandemonium, voices punching through the rafters, but the
painfully quiet PA means that no one even murmurs. Stuart
Murdoch attempts a shimmy during a jauntier "I Don't Love
Anyone" and a few people take his lead. But it's hopefully
self-conscious.

During the interminable breaks between songs, as instruments
are swapped and beers retrieved, there's utter silence. This
reverence, or crippling awkwardness, wholly dissipates any
gathering excitement. At time, as the band talk amongst
themselves, it's like we're unwelcome guests in their
rehearsal room. Gigs by bands that act as magnets for rock's
outsiders have traditionally been wildly celebratory
affairs; they're about bonding and blossoming. But nothing
encourages that here, especially not eight new songs in a
14-song set.

There are some fun moments though, such as Stevie ending his
spectacularly spastic Orange Juice-esque solo during "Dylan"
by playing the guitar with his teeth, but the cheekily
charismatic bunch we'd expected are absent. They look
baffled by our presence and often panicked at their own lack
of cohesion. Perhaps they should, hey, practise a little and
relax. There is a middle ground between The Pastels and M
People, you know.

It is possible, among the debris, to glimpse greatness.
"Photo Jenny" and newie "Dirty Dream" hint at Belle &
Sebastian's oft overlooked Northern-tinged pop potential.
"Chick Factor", even with its wildly out-of-tune Mellotron,
rolls and swells like you're falling in love - the Velvets at
their most preciously Fisher Price. "Is It Wicked?" (sung by
a terrified Isobel) is gorgeous and the closing
"Rollercoaster Ride" features Stuart's voice at its strong,
plaintive best. Marry this with some beautiful crescendos of
Marr-ish guitar and mournful trumpet flourishes and it's
something you're going to treasure for life. On vinyl.

Manchester has rarely witnessed such embittered post-gig
arguments. Indeed, the clap-happy souls, chuffed simply to
be in the same room as their heroes, are undeterred But we,
the sane, expected a gig (albeit a roughly hewn one) that
would become a byword for everything uniquely elevating
about going to watch a band. Instead, we got a rehearsal for
a sixth-form revue.

Comedy, someone once said, is the gap between expectation
and reality. Clearly, they'd never seen Belle & Sebastian
play live.

Tony Naylor

phew, so much typing. good practice for the chat room i guess...

andy

*hey, bun, they're talking about you 8)


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