Belle And Sebastian
Dear Catastrophe Waitress

THE REVIEW

One should not judge a book by its cover. An adage as old as time. Yet often, clichés are one of the few things you can hold on to. Because in the end, to be honest, they're always right (not to be reactionary, eh...). And the "cover" that fills you with prejudice, in this case, is the mass of news that has surrounded B&S for a while now, all those hints that make you think: "This won’t be a good album". The negative premises, therefore, are many. The treacherous "cover" has many faces.

It has the face of Storytelling, the previous B&S album, which certainly didn't shine much, perhaps because of the Soundtrack form, a new experience for the guys; and while we're at it, even the face of Fold Your Hands Child You Walk Like A Peasant the album before that, which was already showing some weaknesses in the group's perfect and well-oiled musical machine. It has the face of Isobel Campbell's departure, a historical member and the voice of many of the little pearls of the past, from It Is Wicked Not To Care? A Family Tree. It has the definitely unsettling face of Trevor Horn, the one who produced Frankie Goes To Hollywood and Yes, okay, but also the Mephistopheles puppet master behind that Pop juggernaut that are the two plastic-lesbian T.A.T.U. It has, finally, actually, the cover's face. Nothing atrocious, mind you, on the contrary. The usual beautiful monochrome à la B&S cover, with a cute and melancholic girl [the catastrophe waitress of the title] who gives a wistful look to the camera, and therefore to us. But it is the fact that it is the "usual" that gives a bad omen.
Are the Glasgow boys continuing their downhill slide, accompanied even by Horn's horrendous '80s keyboards?

One should not judge an album by its cover, as we were saying.
And indeed.
Put the CD in the player and the miracle happens.

You recognize them, it's still them, after all. But there's something different. They've changed, and quite a lot.
Or maybe it's just the arrangements, lively and vibrant. Step Into My Office, Baby has the vibrancy of '60s Pop.
How strange, they sound so much like the Beatles of Sgt. Peppers. The comparison is weighty, of course, but I can't help it if they remind me of them. And Dear Catastrophe Caitress and If She Wants Me with that crazy organ rush by quickly. And it is halfway through the latter that you stop for a moment, and all those things from before come back to mind but above all you find yourself in front of the devilish face of Trevor Horn. The T.A.T.U. one. And yet nothing, go ahead and retrieve the booklet and read: the orchestral arrangements are his [and B&S's]. Credit where credit's due, and hats off. Despite the T.A.T.U. And you also realize that Isobel is missing, true, but Sarah Martin still does her part more than decently. And after this, you realize that Dear Catastrophe Waitress is really a good CD.
And in the meantime, you're only at track 6.

The rest of the CD slides away without a hitch, with the old-style ballad Lord Anthony, minimal arrangements like they did in the past, the mystical-noisy Pop complete with keyboard slide of If You Find Yourself Caught In Love. And then the Beach Boys choruses of Roy Walker and the suite of Stay Loose with a bit of retro psychedelia.
A good CD, we were saying. Polished, clean. Perhaps even too much. One might say that at times it almost cloys, but it's a fleeting sensation. If you want them rougher (more pure?) retrieve the old CDs. This CD gracefully balances between the past and present of the group, with enticing hints about what the future will hold. Seen from here, it looks really bright.

And to think I almost got fooled by the cover...