Unless you're Vashti Bunyan or in The Blue Nile or Stereo MC's, the idea of spending 20 years over a follow-up to your first album will probably be anathema. Yet - amazingly - it's almost 21 years since Belfast's ST.VITUS DANCE released their fine debut 'Love Me, Love My Dogma' to ripples of critical, if not commercial applause in 1987.
Naturally, the story of what happened next is a little more complicated than simply a case of extreme writer's block and an unheard-of patient record company happy to write off a neither-here-nor-there couple of decades. No, in reality, St. Vitus relocated to Liverpool on the release of 'Love Me...' where Probe Plus boss Geoff Davies got them touring what was then West Germany with Jeggsy Dodd & the Sons Of Harry Cross and demoing some very promising songs for what should have been a second album before the usual round of fiscal uncertainty kicked in and St. Vitus decided to call it a day. More amicably than most, it must be said.
And, barring Noel Burke's spell as vocalist with the actually unfairly-derided McCulloch-less Bunnymen in the early 1990s, that was basically a line drawn under that. Or so it seemed, until the expanded edition of 'Love Me, Love My Dogma' was released by Probe Plus in 2004 with that brace of fine, unreleased tracks. W&H and other discerning organs responded in kind with a series of enthusiastic posthumous reviews and - seemingly out of the blue - the goodly people at Belfast's Cathedral Arts Festival asked St. Vitus to reform for the occasion. Holy smoke.
In the time-honoured tradition of one thing leading to another, the success of that show and the band's long-term friendship (which never wavered despite the end of the original group) eventually translated to a series of new songs being written and finally 'Glypotheque', the enigmatically-titled second St.Vitus Dance album, arrives blinking in the cynical, competitive 21st Century.
And, against very long odds, it's an absolute belter. Featuring 13 very classy songs is just under an hour, it showcases a band who may have shed the exuberance of youth along the way, but have gained the sort of attractive world-weariness that can only come with experience and translated it into a series of melodically-superior set-pieces which collectively prove ye olde indie guitar pop can still cut quite a dash if done with this kind of skill and panache.
Opener 'Winners All' soon gives you an idea of the new-found confidence St. Vitus are displaying here. It's lush, textured stuff, full of charismatic vocal swagger from Noel Burke, widescreen John Barry-style guitars from Kevin O'Nell and even a little mandolin colouring. It's the first of a fistful of fine, literate and catchy tunes which also include the immaculately-executed 'Not A Good Time', the well-scrubbed guitars and bracing crescendo of the title track and the roving eye cast by the devil-may-care pop of 'Gamblin' Man'.
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Elsewhere, they update the majestic, piano-led sound of songs like 'The Silence' on tremendous tunes like 'Spendlove' and happily let in the occasional Trad influence like Damien Magee's rich accordion on the great 'Stupor Mundi': a great, waltz-time portrayal of an ageing femme fatale ("did the implants implode he chance?/ has the sunbed gone to your head?") which takes its' place alongside the chiming, atmospheric 'Seriously Listing' and the wondrously dark 'The Stakeholder's Lament' as among the finest things here. Indeed, if you're unaware of Noel Burke's talent as a wordsmith, I'd seriously suggest you check this latter out, for it features some absolute gems (e.g: "I'm just a naysayer, I'm not a team player") and a chorus line ("I am what cynicism was made for") that ranks among the best you'll hear all year.
In time-honoured tradition, they save perhaps the very best for the end, too. The spectres of depression and inertia hover ominously the superb 'Longfinger' and from the solemn, distant opening, OST-style guitar figures through to the rippling of Haydn Boyle's piano and to the opening out of the song itself it's ultra-dramatic and adds up to perhaps the finest thing they've committed to tape as yet. Against some very stiff competition here, I might add.
In an age of soundbites and disposable pop thrills, of course, St. Vitus Dance are anathema. Their second coming won't appeal if you're after a quick fix or care about who the NME are putting on their cover. However, if you're after men of substance who've lived a little and know all there is to know about intelligent, literate pop with glorious tunes in abuandance you'll be very glad you dropped by. On these terms (and they're still the ones that count in my book), 'Glypotheque' is simply a revelation. Let's hope time and tide allows them to deliver a killer third before the same decade's out this time around.
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