Belle & Sebastian's uncommon appeal is encapsulated on "It Could Have Been a Brilliant Career," from 1998's The Boy with the Arab Strap. Minus the vocals, the song could be the backdrop for a Carly Simon or Crystal Gayle tune. The lyrics are less campy than the music, though: "He had a stroke at the age of 24/It could have been a brilliant career/Selling lies to the boys with the old Dansettes/Pulling the wool, playing the fool/It's no wonder that he's dribbling spit tonight." As the song comes to a close, its protagonist "wets himself for the final time." The listener is sublimated wryly, darkly, as the song discomforts and nauseates. Meantime, the narrative is smoothed over and tucked up inside Stuart Murdoch's fey, simpering delivery. If one wasn't paying much attention, the song would seem unbearably precious.

Indeed, everything is twisted and wrong and magical with Belle & Sebastian. The origins of this Scottish eight-piece trace back to January of 1996, when Murdoch and the band's former bassist, Stuart David (who went on to form Looper), met in a government-sponsored recording class for people on the dole at Glasgow, Scotland's Stow College. It was here that the band recorded its first LP, Tigermilk (initially released on Electric Honey Records, Stow's own imprint). The record was recorded in three days, on vinyl only, and 1,000 copies were printed. (Copies of this initial pressing currently sell for £400). The band was signed to Jeepster Records that August, and released If You're Feeling Sinister in November. EMI subsidiary The Enclave began distributing the record in the U.S., but the band now has a stateside residence at Matador.

Belle & Sebastian is inarguably Murdoch's--he's the band's principal singer/songwriter, and his voice is the very definition of Belle & Sebastian's sound. Murdoch alone wrote the first two albums and three subsequent singles, which make up the finest chunk of Belle & Sebastian's material. (Tigermilk was rereleased in 1999 for mass distribution.) Murdoch's feminine voice, while not astounding, is full and round, and drips with sardonic affectation.

The singer's finest creative assets are his bitterness and mastery of smug artifice. Like his contemporaries in Suede, the Black Heart Procession, and Blonde Redhead, Murdoch makes pop music as art, as something that is just as playful and literate as it is pleasing to hear. And although Murdoch's mockishly precious delivery can be tedious after four songs, he teems with wry lyricism.

The band's 2000 release, Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like a Peasant, is expansive--it further elaborates on Belle & Sebastian's retro sound, culling from influences as palatable as Serge Gainsbourg, Donovan, and Brill-Building pop. As always, the cover art is gorgeous and the liner notes are pretentious--going as far as to explain in both English and French that Belle & Sebastian (Belle et Sébastien) is the title of a novel and film series by Mme. Cécile Aubry--and none of the band members' names are included. All the lyrics are printed so that we can read the resplendent poetry within each composition.

The downside to Belle & Sebastian's artifice is that it alienates listeners further with every release. When the storytelling is strong, as on "I Fought in a War" (penned in the narrative voice of a boy at war who misses his ex-girlfriend) from Fold Your Hands..., the songs are consistently excellent. But as the band grows into more of an orchestral ensemble (with three vocalists and embellished string parts), the listener gets less of Murdoch's sexy, sinister edge.

Belle & Sebastian's songs are at their best when they are dark and understated, as with 1998's chilling "Slow Graffiti" (from the single "This is Just a Modern Rock Song"), or on "The Chalet Lines" from Fold Your Hands..., a defeated response to a rape: "Although it's last month it's like yesterday," Murdoch sings, over a woeful piano melody. His voice is restrained, perfect. The melody unfolds slowly, for ultimate gratification. "Fuck this, I've felt like this for a week," he continues. "I'd put a knife right into his eyes/My friend can't see/She asks me why I don't tell the law/Oh, what's the fucking point at all?" That's the spirit.