Also this issue:

Once More, With Feeling
After an 18-year break, Mission of Burma's Clint Conley returns with a brand-new band.
-Sam Adams

Local Land-Marc
One of the greatest living piano virtuosos calls Philly home.
-Lou Camp

Beat Box
Hip-Hop & You Don't Stop
-Ain Ardron-Doley

The Gig
-Nate Chinen

Kelly Slusher
-John Vettese

May 9-15, 2002

reviews

They Survived Philly

by Patrick Rapa

Aw, they remembered. Three years, 6 months and 11 days had passed since Belle and Sebastian canceled what would have been their first Philadelphia appearance, but still, the lovably soft-spoken Glaswegians made it clear they were ready to set things right. That’s why when he and his bandmates showed up at the Tower Theater Friday, Stuart Murdoch brought along a big box of free T-shirts and buttons emblazoned with “I Survived Philly, Love B&S,” which he attempted to distribute to the audience members who’d been disappointed way back when. (Which caused only polite jostling at the foot of the stage. This is not Ozzfest.)

It was quite a scene at the Trocadero that muggy October night in 1998. The capacity crowd, restless and unsated by opening act Cinerama, was anxious to see the legendarily timid band make a rare stateside appearance. Eventually keyboardist Chris Geddes took the stage to make the announcement that cellist Isobel Campbell had taken ill and the band would be unable to play without her. Campbell, a fine cellist by all accounts, is just one member of the apostolically large Belle and Sebastian, but if they said they couldn't go on, then fine. Get her away from here, she's dying. (At the time, Campbell might have appeared sicker than she was -- a Philly hospital reportedly complicated her stomach flu by administering a drug to which she was allergic.)

The Troc went mostly silent, but some dork yelled "we're gonna kill you" -- most likely a joke considering both the band and its fans' reputation for twee-style huggy-bear supportiveness. But Geddes looked like a fox in floodlights. The idea that an American crowd -- even one full of Belle and Sebastian fans -- could get rowdy apparently was quite fathomable, and "surviving" Philly might have looked like a bona fide issue. In reality, of course, everybody went home without incident.

Flashing forward to the Tower show, it was obvious both band and crowd understood each other much better. Repeated "we love you" shouts from the audience prompted Murdoch to assert that "the feeling is mutual." Belle and Sebastian hardly came off like the shy, unlikely rock stars they were supposed to be. Led by the charismatic and talkative Murdoch, the band looked positively comfortable up there. And somehow they got through the night without Campbell, who once again was unable make it.

As per their routine of planning a site-specific song for each stop on the 12-city U.S. tour, the band opened with a rousing, and smartly authentic, version of the Rocky theme. Such endeavors illustrate the benefit of hauling around a 14-member, gazillion-instrument (piano, three guitars, bass, drums, five violins, cello, French horn, trumpet, etc.) ensemble.

From their own discography, the band ran through a pleasantly lengthy set list of favorites: "The Boy With The Arab Strap," "The Wrong Girl," a clangy, sing-along version of the "The Model," a just-like-you-remember-it take on "Judy and the Dream of Horses" and the epic "Waking Up to Us," the first single off their soon-to-be-released Storytellers disc -- not that "single" means much for a band that can sell out the Tower without an ounce of major-league radio play.

Their catchy tunes and winning smiles made quick work of a crowd that didn't really need to be won over -- most everyone seemed to know all the words -- but who at first found it difficult to dance in assigned seats. The Tower Theater ended up looking like something out of The Muppet Show -- a sea of oddball heads and bodies bip-bopping around. Murdoch is an energetic little scamp, taking a seat in the crowd, grabbing some ladies to sing and dance with him, taking his guitar all the way to the back of the auditorium. Such off-the-cuff revelry made it easy to forgive the long pauses between songs, the $20 T-shirts in the lobby and the complete lack of representation for Tigermilk, their 1996 debut.

"We've been here for days," announced Murdoch with a devious smirk. "We know this city inside and out. Well, we know Little Pete's diner pretty well.... Ah, but which Little Pete's? There are three!" How did this pack of Scots wander the town undetected? Belle and Sebastian, by their own design, are somewhat mysterious. They don't do interviews, they rarely appear in their own press photos, and their records never say who is who and what they do for the band. (Yeah, we recognized Murdoch, and Geddes was the piano player in the City Sports shirt, but who the heck were the other dozen people?)

Maybe the band really is just shy. Or maybe they got sick of talking to reporters who called them derivative or couldn't bear to write a review without the phrase "'60s folk." In concert, all the supposedly obvious influences drop into the background. The music and the band seem very much alive, very now -- a stunning confluence of genuine enthusiasm and inventive songwriting, rendering anything that came before momentarily irrelevant. And naivete succeeds.

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