ORIGINAL RELEASE DATE: OCTOBER 11TH 2010


Belle And Sebastian have never been big on giant leaps forward and yet somehow Dear Catastrophe Waitress was the biggest advancement that the Glaswegian septet have made in the space of the past decade. That record reigned in Trevor Horn on production and triggered a move towards a more polished, poppy sound that has served as their direction ever since. The Life Pursuit was the pinnacle of their achievements for a band so deft at knocking out catchy melodies and winding vocal harmonies, and Write About Love is more or less the same in that respect. Unfortunately, there lies the problem. You’d be a fool to think they’ll ever top the towering heights of earlier works Tigermilk and If You’re Feeling Sinister, but it’d also be a bit foolish to completely dismiss their latest offerings outright. It’s that age old problem of continuing to commit to a band when you know that their latest guise is nowhere near as compelling as the one that made you fall for them in the first place.


Let’s make no qualms about it: Belle And Sebastian are one of the most talented and fully-realised bands of the past twenty years. A lot of their appeal lies in their cheery disposition, where the word “twee” has become synonymous with the introspection of their overarching narrative. It’s also proven an occasional disservice to them. While it’s true that Stuart Murdoch’s despondent ramblings can occasionally wear thin, their instrumentation cannot be faulted. Theirs is the sound of a band who intuitively grasp how to provide support to one another so that what we hear is always cohesive and dynamic. Their melodies make sense and progress in that most logical of ways. Okay, so it’s playing it safe, but that’s precisely what they’re getting at - and what it’s always been about, from as far back as those closing bars of The State I Am In.


Write About Love isn’t a bad record by any means. If anything it’s a very pleasant experience, the kind of record that sounds best on a cold Sunday morning with a cup of tea and a slice of toast. There’s the usual sun-tinged ditties that hark back to earlier days, with the colossal opener I Didn’t See It Coming showcasing shimmering synths and a meandering bassline. It builds from placid beginnings into something much loftier and surging, a dynamic that should’ve been used more over the course of the album in place of the breezy approach that has so become their touchstone. Come On Sister and Calculating Bimbo replicate that same breezy whimsy, the former with it’s peppy bass and jangly guitars, the latter a weary ballad that strengthens upon repeated listens. I Want The World To Stop hand-claps and boogies through four minutes of percussive bliss and on reflection represents the most enduring aspect of an album that sounds great at the time but leaves little in the way of resonance. It marks a decidedly uneventful side to the album which culminates with Little Lou, Ugly Jack, Prophet John. It’s an unusual piece that falls somewhere between the two sides of Murdoch’s indie stylings and the faux-jazz polish of its guest vocalist, Norah Jones. It doesn’t quite fit and even after one year it feels undecided as to whether it should come or go.


As has become token on Belle And Sebastian records, Write About Love is loosely formed around Side A and B. The titular title track gives much needed juice to an album already showing signs of fatigue. It features another guest vocalist from the surprisingly enigmatic Carey Mulligan, to and fro-ing between Murdoch’s lament to the monotony of Mulligan’s office job. Through writing about love she escapes the mundane and enters fantasy land. I’m Not Living In The Real World follows, a fitting example of Belle And Sebastian playing on pathos (here, social alienation) fronted by the most buoyant of melodies. As far as sides go, the second half of Write About Love fares much better. From the surging bass of The Ghost Of Rockschool to the sorrow of Murdoch’s former love in Read The Blessed Pages (with its questionable pan flute solo), he’s still showcasing the fragmentation of his faith. Rockschool iterates “God” over and over, while …Blessed Pages is the real case in point of the album’s subject matter. It’s telling, then, that his autobiographical account of lost love is hidden in this rather oblique summary instead of on the album’s centrepiece and title track.


What’s interesting with a band such as Belle And Sebastian is that they don’t need to keep making truly spectacular records to remain relevant or interesting. Their style has become such a signature and, coupled with a cult fanbase that relishes any new material, leaves us with a band that is growing older with a grace and respect which has befallen so many. Write About Love could be perceived as more of the same from a band who have quite clearly fallen below the radar in recent years, yet these songs are expertly crafted and rarely grow old too fast. Taken on their own merit, they’re total winners. Murdoch knows how to make an album in the true sense of the word, so there isn’t much room for criticism in that respect. What can be acknowledged is the sound of a band being so polished that it positively gleams with greatness, so much so that it provides very strong indicators to the way their future albums will be even further refined.