In Possession of It
This album merely confirms what most of us knew anyway. Belle & Sebastian have always possessed it. In fact, they hoard it for themselves and share it around like stolen merchandise from a bicycle raid on some nearby branch of Halfords. As such, they have wormed a special place into my heart and record collection.
This LP was knocked out in 1995, just a few weeks after the band first met in some notorious Glasgow cafe and was unavailable to most folks for a long time, before their reputation as cult favourites was cemented. Subsequent masterworks such as If You’re Feeling Sinister and The Boy With The Arab Strap convinced those with ears that this bursting Caledonian sextet had been raiding bike shops for outrageous supplies of it. But the authorities never convicted them, since they too love a good solipsistic pop ditty. Which fool doesn’t?
Tigermilk, replete with mandatory obscure front cover shot, achieves the same staggering heights as the rest of their albums and carves out their gleefully anachronistic niche with skill, melancholy and panache. Except the one misfire, the over-the-top mess I Could Be Dreaming, this as perfect debut as any young band could hope for. It conveys years of experience and personal pain, despite the fact there might have been very little as of yet in their short lives, and soars to staggering heights of pop classicism worthy only of their idols Felt & The Smiths.
Expectations (3:32)
Stuart Murdoch, principal songsmith, has never really recovered from school. This much is commonplace when listening to any B&S release. With subsequent tunes such as If You’re Feeling Sinister, Dirty Dream Number Two and Lord Anthony he shows candid appreciation of the kind of psychological scars that our time at the chalkface can cause. This tune is about one of his many fictional schoolgirl protagonists, loosely modelled on himself, and once suspects he was the loner inside "making life-sized models of the Velvet Underground in clay" more than his fictitious female.
With their signature acoustic guitar sound and rapid-fire vocals, this demonstrates such effortless mastery of the twee pop tune it seems as though it was imbedded in Mr. Murdoch from birth. The highlight here includes the typically fabulous trumpet solo from Mick Cooke and that uplifting chorus in the face of despair: "Soon you will know that you are sane... you’re on top of the world again!"
She’s Losing It (2:20)
Perhaps the snappiest piece on offer here, this makes states of debilitating consciousness sound rather appealing. With its jazzy trumpets and indelible chorus, it all sways beautifully despite the fact his second fictitious girl is making coffee from "washing up" and their appears to be a touch of unsolicited bed-hopping going on somewhere as well. Or perhaps that is just wishful thinking on my part.
It is precisely this sort of snappy and neat pop sensibility, coupled with lyrical sharpness that makes Murdoch et al so appealing. If they did indeed ram-raid Halfords, then the it they made off with seems evenly distributed in this instance. Although Murdoch perhaps was dropped into a great steaming vat of it when he was a nipper. That would explain the talent seeping from his each and every orifice.
You’re Just A Baby (3:40)
This keeps the momentum going and indulges in those West Coast Beach Boys harmonies which my real-life brother finds so abhorrent about this group. Well, all I can say to that is he enjoys the solo work of Donald Fagen. End of discussion. There are also some neat techniques played with echo here, which lifts the coy vocals from Murdoch from their resigned slump.
The guitar skills of Stevie Jackson are also demonstrated from the powerful shuggle into the tune. The lyrics are more repetitive here, but this one more adequately displays quite how neat a synthesis the band achieves, and how they can build to a neat climax around that catchy chorus of: "There must be a reason for all the looks we gave, and all the things we never said before."
Electronic Renaissance (4:43)
Very unique in the B&S canon, this is one of their more experimental pieces demonstrating their eclecticism perfectly. Spoken-word interludes such as A Century of Elvis or A Space Boy Dream often proved some experiments to be a bad idea, but somehow it works for this very odd but compelling sojourn into electronica. The keyboards are thick, the drum machine thumps in over the rich wash of the music and the whole thing sounds as thought it was recorded underwater. Which reminds me, I once found a treasure trove of it while swimming in Naples, but Isobel Campbell pinged past and stole it for herself. 
We Rule The School (3:25)
A sublime forerunner to such poignant piano/violin duets as Fox In The Snow or You Made Me Forget My Dreams, this sounds painful to listen to knowing that violinist Campbell and Murdoch are no longer collaborators. Together, they demonstrated so much it, the listener was just rendered ill at the ludicrous levels. Here, a soft and beautiful little urban ballad is plonked out, and elevates itself into transcendent classic with the gorgeous and unbeatable chorus: "Do something pretty while you can, don’t be a fool, reading the gospel to yourself is fine." No man alive conjures up adolescent heartache quite like Murdoch, and he keeps his lyrics as cryptic as mentor Morrissey for this runaway album highlight.
I Don’t Love Anyone (3:54)
For me, any tune that boasts the chorus "if there’s one thing that I learned when I was still a child it’s to take a hiding" gets the triple thumbs up. This is a beautifully dispassionate tune, gleefully combining the witty, battle-scarred lyrics with lush melodies in that way only this fabulous group can. Note also the neat little flourishes from Jackson and the throbbing bass support of Stuart David.
Tigermilk may be a lesser known album from B&S but it certainly does not skimp with the magnificent tunes. Opener The State I Am In appeared as a B-side in slowed down form on the Dog On Wheels single but this is the definitive version, replete with tropical guitars in the intro and some very nifty harmonies indeed. My Wandering Days Are Over unfolds into a forlorn piece across a rather haywire bed of guitars and squidgy keyboard accompaniment, but retains its cool for its duration.
The same cannot be said for the one clunker I Could Be Dreaming which fumbles its way through awkward time signatures, irritating guitars and a misjudged spoken-word part from Campbell in the fade-out. Closer Mary Jo is the very definition of twee-pop with its classic-folk approach and throwback flute. However, it does swirl into a sublime ring of sixties nostalgia which is never off-putting. Unless one loathed the decade. No one does. It was brimming with it.
A terrific debut from this exceptional outfit. Long may they live and flourish with their back-of-the-class cool, their stellar pop credentials and stunning radio looks. I love ‘em all.
Rating: 8/10
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