Trashcan Sinatras

In the summer of ’87, the Smiths broke up. Millions of miserablists felt even more miserable. A band of Morrissey and Marr devotees slumming in the pubs of Irvine, on the wet west coast of Scotland, assumed the mantle of romantic indie poets. The quintet quickly found chart success with the bittersweet jangle and jaunty ennui of “Obscurity Knocks.” Paul Livingston’s melodic leads uncannily aped Johnny Marr, but the title of that big hit became all too prophetic.

By 1996, the Trashcans were dropped by their label; forced to declare bankruptcy, they sold off their Shabby Road studio. Most would have called it quits and gotten an office job. Besides, just then two fresh crops of fellow Scots—Belle & Sebastian and Camera Obscura—were picking up the sappy Morrissey torch.

But the Trashcans kept going. A fourth album, written during their low point, was scrapped by the band for being too depressing. Singer Francis Reader and crew hunkered down and strove for something lovely. In 2004, Billboard surprisingly named the aging group one of the ten best at South By Southwest, and the subsequent Weightlifting established the Trashcan Sinatras as the model group for graying adults who spent much of their teen years curled up on the carpet with a copy of The Queen Is Dead clutched to their chests. There is, indeed, a light that never goes out.

They write the kind of suave, eloquently crafted tunes that led MySpace to create the genre tag “melodramatic popular song,” and they’re a perfect fit for the cozy club where we spotted someone drinking a martini by the stage last week. Expect piano-laced ballads and lilting heartbreak from the new album, In the Music.

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