I went to the hand clinic today (turns
out there is a clinic dedicated just to hand injuries – three locations, no
less! Truly, we live in the future).
Turns out I have ligament damage in my thumb, which is why it is taking so long
to heal. I’m feeling the pressure of the
Ulti season coming, and also the loss (however temporary) of playing the
guitar, all because I thought I could do some stupid dance move I used to do
when I was 25.
It is annoying, but at least now I
have a treatment plan, which for “rub dirt on it” types like me is a big step. Fortunately
my ability to listen to music requires no thumbs, so here’s the latest effort
on that front.
Disc 591 is….If You’re Feeling Sinister
Artist: Belle and
Sebastian
Year of Release: 1998
What’s up with the Cover? A young woman sits
pensively, presumably overwhelmed by her most recent reading of Kafka’s “The
Trial.” Oh, the humanities.
How I Came To Know It: After being introduced to Belle
and Sebastian via “Boy and the Arab Strap” (reviewed at Disc 540, I
decided to try another one of their albums and I went with “If You’re Feeling
Sinister” because it came chronologically right before “Arab Strap” (when
drilling through a band’s discography it is usually better to err toward the
beginning, not the end).
How It Stacks Up: We have five Belle and Sebastian albums. Of the five I’ll put “If You’re Feeling
Sinister” right at the top, at number one. Primo. None better, etc.
Rating: 5 stars
When life gives you lemonade,
sometimes it is best to just dance and sing amid the lemon trees. That’s what listening to Belle and Sebastian
feels like, and “If You’re Feeling Sinister” is them at their best.
This is an album that makes me
feel like I’m 25 again. Back then everything
seems so emotionally hard but at the same time there is a confidence– or failing
that defiance – that sees you through the rough spots. If it all feels a bit unreal, that’s OK,
because dreams teach us important lessons too.
The youthfulness is present in the
album’s musical approach as well, which is upbeat and lively. The bass lines really pop (especially on “Like Dylan in the Movies”), and the
songs feel like they are jumping on the front of every beat. The approach fills
you with energy and makes you want to do a twirl around lamp-posts (I regret engaging
in no twirling around lamp-posts on this listen, but in my defence it has been
a bit too cold this week for twirling).
Twirling or not, the questions of
what the hell to do with your life remain central to the record (note to youth –
these questions don’t dissipate with age). Authority figures on “If You’re Feeling Sinister” rarely hold
the answers. An old veteran on a train (“Me and The Major”) suggests young people
should join the army and despite an emotional connection to the old man the
song begins with these limiting lines:
“Me and the Major could become close friends cause we
Get on the same train and he wants to talk
But there is too much history, too much biography between
us.”
Later on the title track wisdom is
sought in the pulpit, but again the answers provided don’t speak to the questions
youth is asking. I love this song and
how it builds backward, starting by revealing the young and frustrated ‘walking
to their death’ and only later revealing the advice given to them by “the vicar or whatever’ (great line) relating
to the afterlife, when they were actually asking questions about their current
lives, such as:
“How and why and when and where to go
How and why and when and where to follow.”
These aren’t questions someone
else can answer of course, but the angst that we feel wishing there were just a
blueprint for it all is beautifully captured in some of the most thoughtful pop
music I’ve heard.
That thoughtful music has a lot in
common melodically with sixties folk music, particularly Simon and Garfunkel. And although not really in his style, “Me and the Major” features some harmonica
solos reminiscent of early Bob Dylan.
Throughout it all there is Stuart
Murdoch’s amazing voice, airy, pale and wan as befits the material, but never
maudlin or weak as a result.
The album ends with one of my favourite
songs, “Judy and the Dream of Horses.”
It begins so quietly you can hear the sliding fingers up and down the acoustic
guitar at the beginning (I don’t always like that, but it works here). It is the
story of introspective Judy and the song she wrote about her dream of horses
and how ‘she never felt so good except
when she was sleeping.’ As someone
who got his last two book ideas from dreams, I can relate.
And for all the sadness and
loneliness and lack of answers, “Judy and
the Dream of Horses” is the perfect summation to this album; timid at
first, but building in tempo and confidence.
This record is not afraid to explore the hard questions, accept the lack
of definitive answers for most of them, and yet celebrate the real gift, which
is the process of puzzling that out. And it does it all in the form of a kick
ass ear-worm of a pop song that can get singing along out loud on a city street. The record doesn’t just dream, it invites you
to dream along with it.
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