BELLE AND SEBASTIAN: GIRLS IN
PEACETIME WANT TO DANCE (2015)
1) Nobody's Empire; 2) Allie;
3) The Party Line; 4) The Power Of Three; 5) The Cat With The Cream; 6) Enter
Sylvia Plath; 7) The Everlasting Muse; 8) Perfect Couples; 9) Ever Had A Little
Faith; 10) Play For Today; 11) The Book Of You; 12) Today.
The waiting period between Write About Love and its follow-up has been the longest so far in
the history of Belle & Sebastian — not surprisingly, since slowing down
with age is a natural thing on the pop/rock scene; but you might actually wish
that those five years had been more beneficial to the evolution of the Belle
& Sebastian sound. As it is, Girls
In Peacetime is not a renouncement of the things that went wrong on Write About Love, but rather their smooth,
logical continuation, as we see Murdoch sink deeper and deeper into the world
of electronics, dance beats, and harmless, friendly blandness.
Okay, that sounds a little too harsh — after
all, harmlessness and friendliness have always been the band's primary
trademark, and few tasks are more daunting than determining which particular
Belle & Sebastian song is «bland» and which one is «surreptitiously
haunting». But let us deal with the electronics first. As I listen to formally «club-oriented»
tracks like ʽThe Party Lineʼ, ʽEnter Sylvia Plathʼ, or ʽPlay For Todayʼ (the
latter two stretched out to seven minutes each, like all well-behaving disco
numbers should), I have no idea what this approach is supposed to mean. Is it,
perhaps, some sort of tricky self-centered psychotherapy? Had somebody
recommended to Stuart that he make his music more «dance-friendly» in order to
cure himself of introvert shyness? Is it symbolic — an implicit sign to his audience
that the man cannot be pigeonholed, and that there are no specific musical
forms to which his world-weary melancholy must
be closely tied at all costs? Is it trendy — «Radiohead commanded us all to do
electronics long ago, because guitar-based music is on its way out (again)?»
Whatever it is, it don't work. It didn't work with Arcade Fire when they did Reflektor, and it don't work here.
The weird thing about it is, ʽThe Party Lineʼ
is one of the catchiest songs Murdoch has written in a long, long time. It is
so not him, from a technical
standpoint, but it is well crafted, one of those disco tunes so full of
self-irony that people will be forced into body language communication whether
or not they realize that the lyrics are making fun of them. He should have
donated it to Franz Ferdinand, though, or to Madonna if she would have it. ʽEnter
Sylvia Plathʼ, as the title suggests, is a song about suicide set to a Pet Shop
Boys-style rhythm track — seven minutes of planting nasty subliminal messages
into the head of an unsuspecting dance victim; the only saving grace is that
this one seems to lack any traces of a catchy chorus whatsoever, so not much
will hopefully be imprinted.
Best of the lot are Dum Dum Girl Dee Dee Penny's
vocals on ʽPlay For Todayʼ — for a moment out there, they made me forget about
the dull electronic backup. The lyrics are just a tad too pretentiously clichéd
for Murdoch's usually respectable level ("life is a rope, death is a myth,
love is a fraud, it's misunderstood" — come on now, there must be more
interesting words left in the English language, right?), but when it's Dee
Dee's turn, she gets to coo this out in such a «sexy angel» tone as I have yet
to hear on any of her Dum Dum Girls songs I've heard. Well, at least it is good
to know that a shy guy like Murdoch can bring out the best in some people.
Electronics aside, there's quite a few «traditional»
B&S songs here as well — in fact, the album is almost uncomfortably long,
mainly due to the endless stretching out of the disco tunes, but also, I guess,
because even if you do not put out an album in five years, you still write
songs, and a mediocre songwriter like Murdoch does not have to worry too much
about sifting the exciting from the bland. Thus, strong tunes like the opening ʽNobody's
Empireʼ, the Paul Simon-esque ʽAllieʼ, and the consolatory ʽEver Had A Little
Faithʼ are mixed with moodily pleasant waves of sentimentality (ʽThe Everlasting
Museʼ) and semi-successful attempts at some sort of New Age-y effect (ʽThe Cat
With The Creamʼ). Or, perhaps, with a little work of the mind you could turn
these judgements inside out and come out with the exactly opposite impressions
— it doesn't really matter. «Take some, leave some» will probably be the
prevailing opinion here.
On the whole, now that I am making this
decision at the last moment, it would be silly to deny the album a thumbs up
just because of its electronic
coating. I have nothing against «dark dance music» (or I'd have to hate Depeche
Mode and the like) — I just happen to think it should be left to professionals,
not amateurs for whom it had never previously worked as a point of reference. On
the other hand, this album does a better job of integrating the beats with
Murdoch's personality — the worst moments on Write About Love were accompanied with the thought of «this is not
Belle & Sebastian I'm listening to here, this is a different entity — and these guys, of all people, have no
artistic right to change into a different entity, so why am I even listening to
this?» No such situation here: even ʽParty Lineʼ, as clumsy as it is, is yer trusty
old Belle & Sebastian, forcing themselves to jump through a burning hoop
for no clear reason. So, maybe their glory days are over and out, but as long
as Murdoch has enough strength and personality left to press that «It's ME again!» button, let the music flow
for all I care.
I'm loving this album a lot (got the 4 LP vinyl extended version), it's absolutely pleasing to me. Now I can't wait for you to reach "D" (2020?) and review Depeche Mode, my favourite band! :-D
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