1991: someone called it "the year that punk broke", but maybe the pun was intentional. "Pivotal", probably, but in a way that had as much to do with Cold as Ice as with Nevermind. And in London, Saint Etienne released their first self-penned single with Sarah Cracknell on it; it was called "Nothing Can Stop Us", and that was true. Bob Stanley has described what they were doing as "ridiculously easy"-- here, just a paste-up collage of sprightly groove, pop vocal, fluttering reeds, and God's own harmonica-- and that ease was exactly the point: their grace was effortless, the equivalent of a thrift-store frock charming enough to make everyone else look idiotic.
But who can keep that going? Forget knighthood: the fact that Saint Etienne's career had an upward trajectory from "Nothing Can Stop Us" is the sort of miracle the Vatican should be looking into. The sacred relic is 1994's Tiger Bay-- after which the game was up, temporarily, and Cracknell/Stanley/Wiggs retreated behind a pile of rarities, remixes, and singles collections, working out where to go. When they reemerged it was from Sweden, where they'd assembled a band and whipped together a swinging miniskirt pop collection equal parts Dusty Springfield and the Cardigans: this was Good Humour, about which one could mostly say, "Good to have you back." Next came collaboration with Sean O'Hagan and To Rococo Rot on The Sound of Water, the sort of record one's glad a band does but a bit worried they might keep doing.
And now Finisterre, "the end of the earth"-- a philosophical bid back toward the ridiculously easy. L'Etienne seem relaxed, carefree, unconcerned with direction, and Finisterre's singles are like watching a much-loved old dog chasing rabbits again. "Action", the first, layers a smoothed-out house throb with rushing acoustic guitar and Cracknell's most convincingly soaring vocal since "He's on the Phone". The other, "Soft like Me", is going to find trouble with American ears, given epidemic irrational fears about British people rapping (not to mention talk of "touching the universe" with "feminine energy"), but I'm all for it-- guest rapper Wildflower has a subtle, MC Lyte sort of strength in her voice that sits well next to Cracknell's sunny choruses.
Finisterre also finds a band known for their cut-and-paste raiding of pop's past pillaging their own career. "Stop and Think It Over" has Good Humour written all over it-- it's just the sort of soulful, piano-led crooner Burt Bacharach would have put together for Dionne Warwick. The instrumental "Language Lab" runs from English pastoral to Sean O'Hagan's sunnily orchestral territory, and "Shower Scene"-- another side of "Action"-- shows off the processing tracks picked up from the other end of The Sound of Water. The group's new kick is electro, a sound they're well suited to grapple with. "New Thing" is the big success on this front, pairing a grainy Italo-disco synth throb with a song that's still all Etienne; "Amateur", on the other hand, is a bit too reminiscent of the "sure, but didn't you used to be brilliant?" band of the past few years.
The trick is that Saint Etienne records are in fact not all about style and sonics: like all great pop records, they're about the emotions we don't get to share, about perfectly articulating the passion of someone's everyday life. The big comeback on Finisterre's part is that they're tugging those strings again, confidently. The highlight is "B92", where a sly synthetic strut and determined hook load the "music is our weapon" trope into a triple-reference refrain: "The boys are back in town/ And nothing can stop us now/ This is our wall of sound." These moments are all over the record: in the plaintive chorus of "Action", in the clear-eyed momentum of "Shower Scene". If there's any criticism to be made it's only that the group doesn't let some tracks run free enough to back that up: "Action" and "New Thing" are just begging for the bigger kick drums that would turn them into flat-out stompers. We'll be waiting for the remixes.
Finisterre closes with its title track, whose lilting chorus is a better summation than I can manage: "Finisterre-- to tear it down, and start again." Around it comes exactly what Saint Etienne are best at-- the soft-touch pop groove, the plush arrangement, and Cracknell talking, as ever, about details so local and personal they seem almost embarrassing to address on a record: "There are too many bands that look lame, sound tame: I believe in Electrelane... I'm so bored with the myth of common sense. I believe in Donovan over Dylan, love over cynicism." Saint Etienne have been "back" before, but this time-- this time it sounds like they're really back.
