This is a story of my semi-disasterous encounter with the Scottish pop band, Belle & Sebastian, a meeting that happened during a trip to Glasgow Scotland, in the summer of 1998.

My girlfriend Jennifer and I went to Scotland as guests of the Glasgow's most popular drummer, Francis Macdonald, who I knew through his work with the amazing hard-country honkytonk band, The Radio Sweethearts, and who also happened to be friends with Stuart Murdoch of B&S fame. Poor Francis! He was a wonderfully generous host, but I'm sure that when he invited us to visit, he had absolutely no idea that anybody from America could possibly be as incredibly boring as I am... And after a few days showing us the town, I'm afraid tha lad was at his wit's end. He knew that I was a fan of Belle & Sebastian, and that, as the Music Director at Berkeley, California's public radio station, KALX 90.7FM, I had helped get their record to the top of our station's charts, several months before the rest of the world knew much about the band. Sadly, though, there is not necessarily a strong correlation between taste in music and other valuable social skills, so when it came down to it, the visit was something of a fiasco.

It was sunny day in Glasgow (and there aren't many of those) and we were in the hip University neighborhood killing time until our coffee date with singer Stuart Murdoch of Belle and Sebastian. A couple of days before Francis had hooked me up with the soft-voiced, elusive singer. He called Stuart on a payphone and explained in tumbling, thick Glaswegian, that his friend from America would like to meet him. Then he put me on the phone, and I was confronted with the softest, smallest voice I have ever heard....

"......" said the voice. "....., .....; ........!!"

Straining at the reciever, I realized this was the first time I had ever heard near-silence with an accent.

"Ah, hello," I boomed softly, trying not to overpower the sound of his whisper of a voice in my own, oafish American ears. In the course of the quick call, I suggested we might meet, and... I didn't know... | could I interview him sort of informally? Ah, no, Stuart replied pensively... He didn't want to be interviewed, since there were nine people in the band, and he didn't feel comfortable speaking for them all. No problem -- maybe we could meet for coffee, and just chat a bit? Why, yes, he replied, let's meet at King's Circle on Thursday. He had some errands to run earlier in the day, but would leave a message on his outgoing message to let us know where and when to meet him... So Jen and I went about our way,

Later, on Wednesday, Jennifer and I called to confirm the date, and we got Stuart's answering machine... 20 pence in and... "hellooo," a teeny Glaswegian voice said. "...stuart... if this is... then.... kings.... at....". And then the machine stopped and I got cut off.

"What'd he say?" asked Jennifer, sensibly.

"Uh, I'm not sure," I answered, bewildered, from under furrowed brow. "I got his machine."

Three calls and sixty shillings later, with much intense and active listening, we were relatively sure that the message said something about meeting him on Byres Road around 4:00 near the King's Circle subway station, though we still weren't sure if it said to meet him at the (now defunct) John Smith Bookstore, near the station, or at the station, near the bookstore. And so it was that we found ourselves strolling about the neighborhood, killing time until our (apparent) date with Scotland's quietest pop star.

As I mentioned, it was a lovely day in Glasgow. The sun was bright, but not warm, and the streets were packed. The day before, when were in Edinburgh, it had been miserable and relentlessly drizzly, and we had, quite frankly, felt a bit gypped. But now it was lovely, and we had time to spare. We wandered up the road away from the station, and a series of tables and booths caught our eye, and as we crossed over to them, we came on what looked like a crafts fair outside the park wall. None of the tchotkes were that inspiring, but the park (which was quite large!) looked enticing. So, we strolled about, and killed some time... A brass band was playing techno tunes and rock covers in the park (Nutley Brass, anyone?) and hundreds of Scots were working on desperate tans... The park was quite lovely and exhuberant cheerfulness filled the city...

Eventually we made our way back to Byres Road, and we waited out on the sidewalk in front of the bookshop, looking for Stuart and wondering if we would recognize him when he arrived. Glasgow had no shortage of hipsters or musicians and other creative types, so would we be able to pick Murdoch out from the crowd? Well, I figured he would be able to spot us pretty easily, if nothing else. After a while, though, we realized he was late, and a little while after that, we decided to call his phone machine and see if maybe he had left another message for us... I went into the underground station to find a phone, and Jennifer stayed behind to keep an eye out for Stuart. I found a phone, but the outgoing message hadn't changed since the day before, and I figured, "Oh, well. He wouldn't be a real rock star if he weren't running a little bit late..."

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