Is it me or are Belle & Sebastian albums sounding more like a day at the office with each passing release? Don’t take that as some sort of errant snobbiness though, it really isn’t. Some of us have bloody nice jobs, in vibrant places of work. Some of us don’t, but you take the point. It’s just they have, in the space of 7 albums, morphed from a sheepish invite-only indie-pact with the curtains closed into an electrically-powered effervescent pop production-line producing anthems to order as if their annual bonus relied on it, and jetting off to record it all in the sunny land of plastic make-believe, Los Angeles. Whodathoughtit? Their last record and debut for Rough Trade, ‘Dear Catastrophe Waitress’, began the handover in earnest, stripping off the layers that had kept them too cosy for too long and painting themselves with bold colours – war paint for a band who’d have trouble making a fist. In retrospect though, it felt a little like they never quite made it over the top, ending up wounded in the throes of repeat listening.
As a record it was important for them in that it made a statement of intentions, but it’s been left to ‘The Life Pursuit’ to make the first real move. And boy, does it move – with the undimmed stamina of a practiced star of track and field, off duty, in better threads, knocking back the sauce under flashing lights. If formal courting rituals still existed like they used to there would be a queue around the block to have a couple of moments on the floor with ringleader Stuart Murdoch. He is of course the sort of boy your mum would happily mother, but he counters that these days by tossing around 4-star swear-words like a Motorhead roadie underneath spoonful-of-sugar harmonies, whilst telling those fascinated, twisted tales of life. The air around him is never filled with mere pleasantries and his adult Jackanory takes particularly successful turns on the brilliant ‘Sukie In The Graveyard’ and ‘Act Of the Apostle’. He is the best of both worlds and he’s ripened marvellously.
The band are tight and sparkly, there’s a teaspoon of glee in every step they take. ‘Another Sunny Day’ is a delectable slice of brisk British song-writing, we’re talking The Hollies, The Kinks, The Smiths, The La’s – oh, and The Supremes – influences shared through the similarly upbeat, jangley and craftily melodic ‘Funny Little Frog’ and ‘To be Myself Completely’. ‘For The Price Of A Cup Of Tea’ is so damn pure it could be an Osmonds tune performed by a naked Marc Bolan in a field of daises, there’s a dash of ‘Tiger Feet’ glam to ‘White Collar Boy’s bounding pop (perhaps a sequel to ‘Step Into My Office Baby’ from last time) and there’s some sort of white boy funk going on throughout ‘Song For Sunshine’ that reminds most immediately of the Super Furries, without the Welsh valleys’ lilt. ‘Dress Up In You’, a shy piano-led, trumpet-drizzled lament, is like a telegram from a forgotten time, the only true reminder of the early days. It’s very welcome, but not necessary. Because this time Belle & Sebastian are reborn. Pursuing life, indeed.