Few bands inspire quite so much devotion and derision, in equal measure, as Belle And Sebastian. Upon learning that the support act for the Bristol show was comedian Daniel Kitson, abandoning jokes in favour of reading a bitter-sweet love story, accompanied by strummed folk songs, a sceptical pal of this reviewer exploded into hyperbolic fury. “Fucking typical!” he ranted. “Bloody fey indie bastards!” Yet for most of the audience, Kitson made a fine, fitting and gently funny starter before Belle and Seb's generous two-hour main course.
Sure, it wasn't quite the greatest hits show you might have hoped for, with nothing from 'Tigermilk', and a generous proportion of songs from middling newie 'Write About Love'. But any doubts were rapidly quashed thanks to the sheer exuberance of the band. They look absolutely delighted to be back on tour, and the new tracks especially benefited from the energy and brio of their performance. Opener 'I Didn't See It Coming' already feels like a classic, with its insistent melody and key line, “Make me dance, I want to surrender”, somehow worming its way into your brain for days after. Likewise, 'I'm Not Living In The Real World' – a daft bit of Furries-aping nonsense on record – was here transformed into a crowd-unifying anthem.
When the band do dip into their expansive back-catalogue, the results are spectacular. There's little in the way of surprise reinvention, but what does it matter when you have songs as genuinely excellent as 'Dog On Wheels', 'Century Of Fakers' and 'Piazza, New York Catcher'? Each track is greeted with roars of approval, though the constant requests for 'Roy Walker' are politely ignored.
If I have one criticism, it's that the first half of the show is a little sedate. Perhaps it was the bracing ice-winds, or the lovely, if rather tweedy, feel of the venue. Whatever. It's a criticism that's blown away when the band play 'Stars Of Track And Field' – easily the big hit of the night. Ignited, the second half of the show is more upbeat. A gorgeous 'Boy With The Arab Strap' follows, and people really do start to dance. The crazy drunk guy on the balcony, especially, looks dangerously enraptured.
Throughout, Stuart Murdoch owns the audience. Whether cracking jokes, telling stories, pulling a girl out of the audience to daub mascara on his face, refusing to take his hat off or tottering perilously on the barrier, he's makes for a genial, compelling showman. It's staggering to see just how far he, and the rest of this band, have come since those infamous early days of bickering on stage, staying silent between songs and turning their backs to the audience.
Your enjoyment of Belle and Sebastian is always going to be defined by how much painfully direct emotion you can stomach. But for believers, Murdoch and the gang create a perfect pocket universe for a couple of hours. As the singer announces their departure, the audience roar for more, reducing him to tears, as if he's only just discovered how loved his band is. Then, as they are about to step off stage, a plaintive female voice calls from the crowd, “please don't go!”. And the audience find themselves rubbing away a little something from the corner of their eye.
Words by Will Salmon