It'd be asking too much of any account of this singular outfit to capture, or even really evoke, the delicate touch, distinctive worldview and all-round je ne sais quoi of Belle and Sebastian and the music they create (or, at any rate, created while at their peak) - but Whitelaw tries to do so, at least in some measure, opening and closing his chapters with brief narrative vignettes depicting the various members of the bands in a variety of characteristic and/or significant moments. Those gestures to whimsy and storytelling notwithstanding, though - and they really only half work at that - this book is, by and large, a stolidly workmanlike effort, enlivened by extensive quotations from members of the band and those close to them.
It traces the development of the band, starting (as do many of the band's records and songs) with Stuart M and then successively introducing the others, following their upwards trajectory over the course of the early records and then the more stuttering progress they've made since, including the internal dissensions and well-publicised relationship/fallout between Stuart and Isobel (neither of them coming off particularly well on that front, but then who ever does?), up to and including Dear Catastrophe Waitress. Along the way, Whitelaw devotes substantial space to considerations of the band's records - usually in a track by track way - but these never rise above standard rock-critese and don't, for mine, provide any particular insight except insofar as they're interspersed with comments from band members (often consisting of Stuart denying that particular songs are about Isobel, though he does cop to "I'm Waking Up To Us"); moreover, I reckon he's much too harsh on The Boy With The Arab Strap.
The prose and general writing style is about on a par with what you'd expect of an endeavour like this - it gets the job done, but without any particular flair or noteworthy feeling. The word copacetic appears too many times (more than once and you start to notice it, and I counted at least four appearances), as do references to the Velvet Underground (a common vice of music writers), and the journalistic habit of interspersing lyrical quotations, which can be charming when done well, here comes across as forced and too self-consciously clever for its own good (sometimes, it's more or less on point - throwaway references to a person's "shyness (which was criminally vulgar)" or to Stuart sitting "alone again (or) at a piano" at least invoke recognisable B & S influences, but to end a section with the line "Communication breakdown, it's always the same" smacks of nothing so much as being a right twit).
Maybe I've been a bit harsh about this book, but I guess that comes with the territory of writing about an outfit like Belle and Sebastian - their music and their aura is such that fans like myself tend to be protective of our ideas of the band, and really, probably the fundamental problem with this book is that it diminishes its subject almost precisely to the extent that it succeeds in illuminating it...it may not be entirely accurate to think of the two Stuarts, Isobel, Stevie and co as forever meandering, bookish, gentle, distracted, lightly tripping, out of step with the rest of the world, in a strange timeless realm of their own[*] - but even still, that's the picture of the band that I'd like to retain.
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[*] Despite many attempts, I've never come even close to expressing in words how Belle and Sebastian's music can make me feel in those times when it's hitting the spot, or the sense of sheer rightness that sometimes comes when I'm listening to it...
