This 1996 debut from the enigmatic Glaswegian sextet was recorded as part of a college music business course and with copies of the original, vinyl-only, limited edition reputedly changing hands for sums over £200, this re-issue gives the world at large the opportunity to see what caused all the fuss in the first place. B&S are notoriously publicity-shy, occasionally sending their friends along on the rare occasions when they deign to stoop to interviews or photo-sessions. This wilful refusal to play the media game has naturally led to them garnering a fanatical cult following, tapping into this generation's well-read, bedroom-bound sadcases.

Lyrically, Stuart Murdoch certainly plays to his constituency. Throughout Tigermilk there are annoyingly recurring references to people being isolated at school and at work for being more intelligent than the herd. While I'm well aware that these kind of things happen and can provide potent source material for songwriters (Hello Mozzer!), Murdoch's response is to retreat into a self-pitying shell, rather than confront them with humour. He occasionally comes up with a Morrisseyesque gem (My brother had confessed that he was gay/It took the heat off me for a while" from 'The State I Am In' being the best of the bunch) but for the most part the lyrics take self-obsessed wallowing to an infuriating level.

What saves Tigermilk and gives it an intriguing edge is the music. There's a raw, folk-based energy here which actually benefits from the cheapo production. B&S lean towards the Postcard school of Velvets/Byrds strumalongs. While there are definite traces of early Aztec Camera and Orange Juice throughout, their varied instrumental arrangements (cellos, flutes, the occasional trumpet) elevate them above the fey doodlings of the Sarah Records/C86 school. In fact, there are times when the tunes tip more than a nod to Love's classic Forever Changes ('Expectations' is pure Arthur Lee).

Ultimately, Belle And Sebastian have some interesting ideas but there's just no getting over the mountain that Stuart Murdoch's lyrics plonk in your path. As Kenny Rogers once sang "Sometimes you gotta fight when you're a man".