Review of the decade: Pop and Rock - The accent is on pop's brogue traders

Published on Sunday 13 December 2009 18:46

In part one of our review of the cultural decade, our pop critic Fiona Shepherd explains how post-devolution Scotland saw bands finding the confidence to sing in their own voices, and make their own luck

• Franz Ferdinand

FOR a wee country, Scotland has always punched above its weight musically. But at the turn of the millennium, with a new parliament in its infancy, the country's two most popular bands, Travis and Texas, were flying the flag from the other end of the UK.

Franz Ferdinand, in contrast, were birthed and based in Scotland and exerted more of an influence on the ground. The most audacious Scottish pop band of the Noughties arrived, seemingly fully formed, in 2003. Frontman Alex Kapranos and drummer Paul Thomson were actually already time-served players on Glasgow's DIY indie scene, yet Franz were far from parochial in their outlook with their man-sized pop hooks, sharp style and bold Bauhaus-influenced graphics.

They were astutely their own creation, yet also a product of their environment, choosing to rehearse, gig and even live in a rundown warehouse they called the Chateau. For a time this was the Glaswegian equivalent of Andy Warhol's Factory, an ad hoc artistic hangout for all comers.

Franz went on to global recognition but remained grounded in Glasgow, celebrating the symbiotic links between the city's grassroots music and art scenes in the lyrics of Do You Want To: "Here we are at the Transmission party, I love your friends, they're all so arty".

The success of Franz Ferdinand injected fresh impetus into an already fertile scene. Some bands chose to imitate and missed the point, but others took up the baton and ran with it, forging their own path. Sons & Daughters stood out from the pack with their blunt indie rockabilly missives and Adele Bethel's strident vocals, which made a feature of her Scottish accent.

For years, the default vocal setting for many Scottish pop acts had been the transatlantic twang. Although nothing should be more natural than letting your native cadence influence your singing style, Sons & Daughters semi-joked that the Proclaimers had ruined it for everyone.

The Proclaimers, for their part, enjoyed their most fruitful and successful decade yet, returning after a seven-year hiatus with quality album after quality album of heartfelt ballads and the irrepressible Celtic stompers for which they're best known. But for all the Reid brothers' brilliant idiosyncrasy, Sons & Daughters had a point. There was something almost cartoonish about singing pop music in a Scottish accent.

But other models had emerged in the late 1990s, not least the band for whom Bethel had sung backing vocals. Arab Strap, two malcontents from Falkirk, were not exactly the commercial dream ticket, but their uncompromising hangdog vignettes about sex, drugs and self-loathing eloquently dissected the more toxic aspects of the Scottish male psyche. Frontman Aidan Moffat was more of a mutterer than a singer – and he muttered in the vernacular.

Arab Strap may have been a cathartic stepping stone to a new strain of Scottish self-expression, but a scrappy indie band from Edinburgh were to exert a wider influence on a subsequent wave of Scottish bands. When they formed in the mid-90s, Idlewild were a chaotic punky bundle of energy. But as they matured, the songs got bigger, the sounds rootsier as they forged a Celtic indie rock blueprint which was to have a big trickle-down impact.

Frontman Roddy Woomble had always been a great lover of Scottish literature and gradually became seduced by traditional music. In 2007 he helmed a landmark project which combined these two loves.

The Ballads Of The Book album teamed a squad of Scottish musicians with the nation's most respected writers, and charged them with turning new or existing works into songs. Apart from being a damn good listen, the results were a beguiling showcase of contemporary Scottish culture, delivered with no greater agenda than the desire to come together and produce good art.

The Ballads Of The Book was typical of the no-fuss, hype-averse approach of many Scottish bands. Adopted Scots Snow Patrol, for example, began 2004 as just another decent grafting indie band and ended it as one of the year's biggest selling album acts, seemingly without breaking sweat.

Biffy Clyro took even more of a stealth approach. The trio formed at school in Ayr in the mid-90s. Away from the relative glare of the Glasgow scene, they developed their angular rock sound and a small but passionate fanbase, then spent most of the Noughties building on that following. Their old-fashioned, paying-your-dues ascent – all too rare and refreshing in these times of shallow investment and instant returns – has made Biffy the biggest cult act to emerge from Scotland in a long time. Along with Idlewild, they are also the most influential.

Any successful mould-breaking band can be a galvanising force to their peer group. Like Franz Ferdinand and Belle & Sebastian before them, Biffy Clyro have spawned many inferior imitators. Arguably, their spirit has been more successfully channelled by an emerging group of acts who would probably not cite them as an influence at all.

As the decade draws to a close, the prevailing trend in Scottish pop is for anthemic folk-flavoured indie rock, best exemplified by Glasgow's Phantom Band, an esoteric bunch whose seamless melange of influences has been dubbed "Krautfolk". Plenty of other acts are up to the job too, including current darlings Frightened Rabbit from Selkirk, My Latest Novel from Inverclyde, the Twilight Sad from Kilsyth and Broken Records from Edinburgh – all of whom, to one degree or another, let their Scottish accents shine through.

The broadest accent of all comes not from the Proclaimers – and not even from the View, who are quite often impenetrable to non-denizens of Dryburgh, Dundee – but from Glasvegas, a band who like to wear sunglasses indoors and stand a little apart and aloof from their contemporaries. Over the past couple of years they have fashioned a Frankenstein's monster from distorted guitars, council estate woes and Phil Spector's Wall of Sound. Like Arab Strap, they wrestle with the complexities of Scottish machismo, but apply lashings of angst rather than dry humour.

Whether any of these idiosyncratically Scottish developments in music can be linked with a decade of self-rule is a moot point. Although it takes a certain self-esteem to strip away pop artifice and sing in a regional brogue, the recent prevalence of the Scottish accent on diverse album releases is more probably the result of organic growth than a proud flowering of patriotism. Historically, the Scottish rock and pop scene is at its most creative when it is left to its own devices.

For proof, one need only glance over to the Kingdom of Fife, where Fence Records has grown into the country's most prolific independent label, attracting like-minded musicians (including, at one point, future Brit Award winner KT Tunstall) from all over Scotland and further afield with its unpretentious DIY aesthetic. Or cite the examples of Calvin Harris and Mylo, bedroom boffins from Dumfries and Skye respectively, whose home-recorded electronica anthems have travelled worldwide – and in Harris's case, topped the charts.

Perhaps tellingly, it is the latest generation of young stars, growing up in the age of devolution, who have turned out to be the most traditionally patriotic popsters. Scottish soul boy Paolo Nutini rarely wastes an opportunity to pay homage to his Paisley home and his Scottish-Italian roots, while Amy MacDonald has championed everything from the Barrowland ballroom to Glasgow's bid to host the Commonwealth Games in her short career to date. And both of them have gladly performed cover versions of Caledonia, the strictly old school theme song for this past Year of Homecoming, which even its writer, Dougie MacLean, has dubbed a "loveable monster". So while Scottish pop continues to revel in its fertile diversity, there is still a place for the more traditional expressions of nationhood.

REVIEW OF THE DECADE

Duncan Macmillan on Art: Silly money chasing silly art

Fiona Shepherd on Pop and Rock: The accent is on pop's brogue traders

Kenneth Walton on Classical: Years of change

Jim Gilchrist on Jazz and Folk: Young talent keeps the torch burning

Joyce McMillan on Theatre: Black Watch leads triumphant march forward

Alistair Harkness on Film: Technical hitch