March 14, 1999

Lonson W1 Improv Theatre

Appropriately black of jumper and timid of demeanour, [B]Campbell[/B] leads her unmerry band through the delicately orchestrated lullabies that make her [a]Gentle Waves[/a] record such an understat

Easter Sunday, and we're in the church of the poison mind. Presiding over services is Isobel Campbell, Belle & Sebastian's blondely angelic cellist. Pretty much everyone in the Gentle Waves congregation is also in B&S, which makes for a cosy atmosphere. They trade brass and strings, while Isobel trills softly-sung tales of woodland creatures, starry nights and existential misery.

To illustrate the point, we are also treated to two grainy, trhs French short films by Francois Truffaut which meditate on the way youth's innocence is lost in the face of cruel, unimaginative reality. This is Campbell's muse, and though it reeks of coffee-house pretension, these fey affectations are twisted into such incredibly winning, meltingly lush melodies that you can't help but succumb. Rather like Belle & Sebastian, actually.

Appropriately black of jumper and timid of demeanour, Campbell leads her unmerry band through the delicately orchestrated lullabies that make her Gentle Waves record such an understated treasure. There's the slender metronomic chant of 'Hangman In The Shadow', the folky pastoralism of 'Evensong', the Carpenters sweep of 'Dirty Snow For The Broken Ground'. The sombre tone is lifted only briefly by 'Weathershow', when a bearded man gives the vibraphone a vigorous frisking.

Sadly, Campbell's thorny nursery rhymes are too fragile to make much impact beyond the B&S fraternity; they seem meant to be listened to once and then sealed in rose-scented boxes. But deep in the hearts of the quietly glum, no doubt they will be worshipped forever.