Belle flowers
Looper and the Gentle Waves
by Patrick Bryant
Looper
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One of 1998's distinctive pleasures was The Boy with the Arab Strap
(Matador), the third release by the crafty Scottish chamber-folk outfit Belle
and Sebastian. The album packaged book-smart, slightly ornate gentle pop songs
that artfully reflected the finest vibrant British folk pop, wedding knowing
lyrics to insouciant melodies. The frail orchestrations and quixotic
instrumentation distinguished it from a mere recombinant of its influences,
which range from Nick Drake to the Smiths. The music's innocence and
peppermints captured the poignancy of childhood playground gaiety -- as Arab
Strap's liner notes helpfully point out, B&S nicked their name from a
popular UK TV show for tykes. And thanks to overwhelming support from critics,
who voted Arab Strap #13 in the Village Voice Pazz and Jop
Poll, the disc helped the band parlay Belle's humble origins as a college
marketing-class project into a modest indie-rock career.
A transient collective of seven (more or less, depending on who you ask)
Glasgow artisans, Belle and Sebastian have a more-the-merrier quiet
little-big-band sound akin to that of Nashville's Lambchop or Chicago's late
lamented Shrimpboat. Arab Strap gets its strongest imprint from the
band's de facto frontperson and singer, Stuart Murdoch, whose sensitive mien
recalls Nick Drake, the patron saint of tortured souls. Still, two
indispensable ingredients on Arab Strap were Isobel Campbell's vocal on
"Is It Wicked Not To Care?" and Stuart David's electronica-spoken-word scat "A
Spaceboy Dream," if only because they diversified the band's appeal beyond
Murdoch's sly and shy wordplay. And it seems Campbell and David have decided to
strike while Murdoch's irony is still hot, each with a side-project solo album:
Campbell's homonymous debut from her ensemble the Gentle Waves, and David's
Up a Tree (Sub Pop), by his Looper, who perform this Tuesday at the
Middle East. (This summer has also seen the re-release of Belle and Sebastian's
hard-to-find vinyl-only debut, Tigermilk, in the US on Matador.)
Given B&S's modest popularity outside of critical circles, it's doubtful
the two side shows are trying to lo-fi their way to the bank -- Campbell and
David are just taking the opportunity to expand on the ideas present in their
Arab Strap contributions. Besides, both albums are mixed efforts. Fans
will cherish the opportunity to explore further the creative and psychological
dynamics of the famously reclusive outfit, but neither Campbell nor David is
likely to win over new converts.
Looper's Up a Tree is a longer follow-up to David's Arab Strap
cameo, which inventively placed his unvarnished chatter against samples of
funky drums, horny horns, and stray guitar before shifting into retro-nuevo
Expresso Bongo jive. "A Spaceboy Dream" served as a healthy, if
necessary, diversion from Murdoch's narcoleptic demeanor. In contrast to
B&S's polished ensemble, Up a Tree is a stripped-down, self-produced
mix of quirky beats and bricolage. The eccentric bouillon includes harmonica,
turntable scratches, murky Beatlesy keyboards, samples, and guitar sounds
alternating between imitation wakka-wakka funk and Tom Verlaine lyricism. The
indecipherable spoken-word bits on "Festival '95" and "Impossible Things #2"
recall the impenetrable scat of Thee Headcoats' Billy Childish and the Fall's
paranoid android Mark E. Smith. (In this family affair, David's wife, Karn, and
brother, Ronnie Black, are collaborators.) But Looper disprove the
cliché that electronic music is the new punk. Up a Tree's
melodica, painfully self-taught musicianship, homemade production, and
syncopated rhythms make it the new post-punk. In other words, Looper
party like it's 1979 on what amounts to the best Britpop side project since
Blur's Graham Coxon unleashed his basement tapes.
Even without Murdoch's vocals, The Gentle Waves is like a secret,
albeit anemic, Belle and Sebastian album, especially since most of the parent
band guest-star. Campbell represents Belle's confectionery side with a style,
at times wincing, that's reminiscent of the femme bop of Marianne Faithfull,
Lulu, and other mid-'60s English marionettes. She's as posey as she wants to
be. "Evensong," with its peppy flute solos and horns, sounds like a campy,
shagadelic outtake from HR Pufnstuff. "Renew and Restore" is virtually
indistinguishable from Belle -- Campbell even mirrors Murdoch's curious vocal
intonations. Like a Ringo Starr solo album, Gentle Waves is full of zest
and poise, but it's largely bereft of the soul or memorable tunes that set
Arab Strap apart.