Flak Magazine: Belle and Sebastian's fold your hands child... , 06.20.00

With the release of its third album, The Boy with the Arab Strap, Belle and Sebastian seemed to be heading for the stars. Band leader Stuart Murdoch had matured as a songwriter, and his supporting cast had honed its musicianship. What's more, bassist Stuart David and cellist Isobel Campbell had proven themselves capable songwriters in their own right. Who cared if guitarist Stevie Jackson's songs were less than spectacular? We had a great new album chock full of some of Belle and Sebastian's best work. The group had finally delivered on the promise hinted at in its spectacular debut, Tigermilk, and its more readily available successor, If You're Feeling Sinister. The future was bright.

Well, it is with much sadness we report that on fold your hands child, you walk like a peasant, the group has taken a step backward. Murdoch's songwriting is muddled in spots, the band has begun to repeat itself and Jackson is taking his turn at the mic more than ever.

"I Fought in a War" is a worthy opener, if you can get past its surprising resemblance to Duran Duran's "Ordinary World" (no, really). Starting off with minimalist guitar and Murdoch's winsome whine, the song is everything a B&S song should be: Tuneful, lyrically powerful and memorable. It begins on a promising note and stands among the best songs the group has written to date. Sadly, that claim cannot be made for most of the rest of the album.

"Nice Day for a Sulk," "Family Tree" and "Women's Realm" are flat-out boring; "Women's Realm," with its handclaps and upbeat tempo too closely resembles the title tune of The Boy With the Arab Strap.

But the real crime perpetrated here is Murdoch's willingness to give up the mic. In much the same way no one bought Beatles albums to hear Ringo and George try their hands at "Octopus's Garden" and "Love You To," very few people buy Belle and Sebastian records to hear "Seymour Stein" (from The Boy with the Arab Strap) or "The Wrong Girl."

That I'm using two songs sung by guitarist Stevie Jackson to make my point is no accident. Of Belle and Sebastian's two secondary songwriters (the third and arguably most talented, Stuart David, left to pursue full-time work as Looper), Jackson's missteps are the most unforgivable. The guy can't sing. His lyrics are insipid and his melodies pedestrian.

Witness "The Wrong Girl," with its 4/4 tempo, cheesy horn line and 10-minute lyric job. It's enough to make you wish for the musical equivalent of Adobe Photoshop, so you can quickly, painlessly use the scissor tool to excise Jackson from the group's catalog.

This would be a difficult task, though, as his infiltration of the group has become more insidious. It was easy to skip over his two songs on The Boy with the Arab Strap. But on fold, Jackson has a new weapon at his disposal: Duets.

In one instance, "The Model," Jackson's vocals complement Murdoch's well. Indeed, the song is one of the album's finest moments. But in "Don't Leave the Light on Baby," the backing vocals make a mediocre song into a horrid one.

In "The Chalet Lines," the wrecking ball connects, inflicting a little damage before it glances off to the side. Too bad. "The Chalet Lines" is an evocative, stream-of-consciousness ballad sung from the point-of-view of a recently-raped woman. Jackson's two lame lines at the song's end pull the listeners out of Murdoch's powerful alternate reality and leave us scratching our heads.

Isobel Campbell, the group's other songwriter, is capable enough — think of her as the group's George Harrison, usually uninspiring but occasionally brilliant. Last year's The Green Fields of Foreverland (penned by Campbell, but released under the moniker The Gentle Waves) showcased her knack for the unremarkable and flopped mightily. Back in the fold, however, Campbell takes a backseat to newly crowned fellow female songwriter Sarah Martin, whose "Waiting for the Moon to Rise" is the album's best track.

An airy, flute-keys-and-vocals-dominated tune, "Waiting" shows off Martin's Scottish accent more than anything of Campbell's. Folks like me, who thinks the Scottish accent is just about the cutest thing he's ever heard, rejoice!

Um, right. Unlike Jackson-Murdoch numbers, Campbell-Murdoch-sung songs work well — Murdoch's understated backing vocals on this song enhance it even more than the gorgeous piano or floating keyboards.

But it's all too little to save an album mired in its own mediocrity. Fold your hands child... isn't a bad album. It's just the first average assemblage by a band that previously had delivered nothing but gold.

— Eric Wittmershaus (ericw at flakmag dot com)