I’m just back from a disappointing
workout. I pulled a groin muscle playing
Ultimate on Saturday and it is still quite tender, so I can do weights but no
running. Also, my headphones (the good
ones, not the work ones) were acting up today with both low volume and
crackle. Luckily it turns out it was just
a low battery that I replaced. If only
my body had a similar fix.
Fortunately, good music suffers no
such degradation; it just stays good over time.
Here’s some of that!
Disc 540 is…. The Boy With the Arab Strap
Artist: Belle and
Sebastian
Year of Release: 1998
What’s up with the Cover? A nineties hipster has been stabbed through the heart
by a spear. He seems to be doing
remarkably well, all things considered, or maybe it just happened and he hasn’t
started bleeding, etc. Like other album
covers it looks like a one of those random pictures on a Jones Soda bottle,
albeit a bit more violent than usual.
How I Came To Know It: This album was my first Belle and Sebastian album –
a gift from Jennifer and Cody many years ago.
Since then, the band has become a favourite, so many thanks to Jenn and
Cody for putting me on to these guys.
How It Stacks Up: My Belle and Sebastian collection is far from
complete, although since I reviewed “Write About Love” back at Disc 301 I’ve
bought another and now have five of their eight studio albums. Of those five I would put “Arab Strap” second
best, behind only “If You’re Feeling Sinister.”
Rating: 4 stars
Sometimes Belle and Sebastian remind me of those
kids dancing around in “Nightmare on Elm Street” – you know the ones, they hold
hands and happily sing disturbing children songs like:
“One, two, Freddy’s coming for
you.
Three, four, better lock your
door.”
It is all happiness and light until you listen to
what they’re saying. Belle and Sebastian
have a similar effect although the music is way better, and while depressing,
no one ends up getting slashed with a five bladed gardening glove.
Belle and Sebastian’s strength is in their melodic
song writing. Light and carefree, it
traipses along in sprightly fashion, often emphasizing the first beat, making
it feel like it really wants to get somewhere.
This is music that makes you want
to spread out a picnic blanket and share a glass of wine (sparkling, because
the music will make you want to feel the bubbles) and relax.
Songs like “Sleep
the Clock Around” and “The Boy with the
Arab Strap” exemplify the experience, combining high, vulnerable vocals, an
insistent beat, sixties pop piano and hints of trumpet. This song – like much of the album – will make
you want to dance on a jetty with that pixie girl from a
romantic comedy you just watched. I’m
thinking Isla Fisher or Anna Kendrick, but I’ve got a thing for Isla and Anna. Feel free to insert whoever best matches your
version of the vision.
But amidst all the joy, as you do a twirling airplane
dance, arms extended (and this music will drive you to such infectious fun)
there will be something nagging at your consciousness. A few minor chords here and there are hinting
at thorns among the flowers.
Then you’ll start catching snippets of the
lyrics. First, just fragments of
sentences like in the song about hanging out at the beach called “Ease Your Feet Into the Sea”:
“Maybe if I shut my eyes
The trouble will be split between
us.”
“What’s this? Trouble?” you say, “a minute ago they
were dangling their feet in the sea and making sandwiches!” Then, over repeat listens you’ll realize most
of the songs have some terribly sad quality to them. You’ll start brushing the pretty cobwebs of
the melody aside and hearing whole stanzas.
From “Sleep the Clock Around”:
“And the moment will come when
composure returns
Put a face on the world, turn
your back to the wall
And you walk twenty yards with
your head in the air
Down the Liberty Hill where the
fashion brigade
Look with curious eyes on your
raggedy way
And for once in your life you
have nothing to say
And could this be your time when
somebody will come
To say ‘Look at yourself, you’re
not much use to anyone.’”
Whoa! This is
no pixie girl dream, this is music filled with deep emotional doubt, wrapped in
melodic sugar to help it go down easier.
It is like hearing a bird singing beautifully and then realizing it is a
song looking for a lost mate that won’t return.
The album is a tasteful twelve tracks and forty-two
minutes, and for the most part avoids wallowing in its own melancholy. By the time you get to the final track, “Rollercoaster Ride,” you’ll realize you’ve
been on one yourself, lifted up by the one aspect of the music, and then brought
back to earth by sober self-examination.
It doesn’t mean you won’t still dance on the jetty with Isla and Anna,
it just means you’ll do it with both eyes open now; joy is fleeting, but that’s
part of what gives it value.
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