Beyond the fringe

Icons of indie return to their roots with three new EPs. By Sophie Harris.

Belle And Sebastian How To Solve Our Human Problems MATADOR. CD/DL/LP

“I DIDN’T think that after 20 years I’d be right back in the self-same place,” marvels Stuart Murdoch on Sweet Dew Lee, the sumptuous, playful opening track on the first EP of a series of three new discs. If he’s mildly baffled, he has every right to be; here he is, nearing 50, a musical icon of sorts, and a dad. Twenty years ago – when the band’s first three EPs were released – Murdoch was the spry steward of a funny little band who formed in a Glaswegian cafe, didn’t play live, didn’t give interviews, and made for most unlikely pop stars. Confusion, of course, has characterised Belle And Sebastian’s music since day one; from the puzzled refrain in Mary Jo (“I don’t know what you want”) to the existential/domestic crisis on If You’re Feeling Sinister (“When she got back her spirituality was thrown into confusion/So she got a special deal on renting from the man at Rediffusion”). Part of their attraction, to any flailing human, was the feeling that they didn’t know what the hell they were doing either, and that was not just OK – it was rather lovely. Indeed, B&S’s slicker, later work threw many long-time fans, the comfort of common flaws and soft spots less evident. The joy of these new EPs – released separately, then as a compilation – is they bring together the best of both sides of Belle And Sebastian: the innocence and experience, if you will. While there’s befuddlement and wonder, there’s also a certain ease and confidence, evident in the title. How To Solve Our Human Problems was inspired by Murdoch’s deepening interest in Buddhism, notably its emphasis on radical acceptance of reality, frailty, tenderness. In deciding to record these songs without a producer in tiny Glasgow studios, the band opened up to seeing what could happen by just following their intuition. Accordingly, there is joi de vivre, longing and melancholy in spades, matched by swoony pop hooks and shamelessly old-fashioned sounds: bass lines leap, synths shimmer and one can’t help but imagine the band on a 1980s Top Of The Pops set, dancing in dry ice and awkwardly kicking balloons. Particular high points include EP1’s We Were Beautiful, with its Electric Renaissance-style drum loop and urgent, pacey phrasing; while disco bopper The Girl Doesn’t Get It offers euphoric chord changes galore and crisp reflections on political end of empire panic (“We will make this country great again/Just as long as it’s white and ugly”).

Belle And Sebastian always traded in nostalgia, too, from defunct shops to lost childhoods. Certainly the old-school format choice here reflects a nostalgia of sorts, for a way of listening to and treasuring music. But these sparky songs

are the freshest the band has sounded in years. What a revelation.