If Saint Etienne will make a habit of getting celebrity writers to do their sleevenotes — see previous comment — can anyone complain if that's the first thing I mention? Especially as, in this case, the notes are by Douglas Coupland, who was my favourite writer at the time of this album (but you know how it goes: he hasn't done anything I've really liked since Miss Wyoming in 2000). Years ago Coupland's website had a great library of his short-form writing for magazines and suchlike, often annotated with his comments. I remember him saying of this how So Tough had been a favourite album of his, so he was pleased to be invited to write notes for this album.
He starts "The sun warms up Catherine's eyes, this bright Paris morning. Thrumming traffic and happy pedestrian sounds ring…" You get the idea. Over-egging the pudding a little, only to wind up on topic towards the end: "The sounds of the city are the sounds that bring to us news of love and adventure. And this is the sound of Saint Etienne — a sound that is both utterly metropolitan and effortlessly clean. It is the sound of love without blame, and hope without conditions."
Douglas Coupland once complimented on my dress sense, I'll have you know. "Hey, nice jacket!" he said, "It seems the further north I go, the better dressed the people get." This was in Sheffield, in 1995, at a book signing for Microserfs in the Showroom. He was wearing a silver cagoule at the time.
Currently Sarah Cracknell of Saint Etienne has a story on their website: "Pete [Wiggs] and I once had dinner at Douglas Coupland's house and Pete is convinced he shattered his vision of Saint Etienne (as appears in his sleeve notes to Good Humor) by not knowing what a sommelier was." I had to look it up, myself. Though Lucy, who went to school with Sarah C — you see, it all joins up round the back in a middle class metropolitan stew of inconsequentiality — knew straight away.
As for the music itself? Most enjoyable, actually. The words 'Saint Etienne' give me a feeling of a world in which all the women wear pearls and are able to sing in key, and one where the men drive sportscars and never stumble — a world where nostalgia is beside the point because we all of us live inside a bright glorious present.
No, of course those are not my words. Santé, Doug.
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