IN CASE YOU MISSED IT LAST YEAR....

ess than one song into Belle & Sebastian's latest full-length release, it's clear this is the sound of a band with a few things lifted off its chest. No, that wasn't a swipe at long-time unhappy camper Isobel, whose departure has had critics anticipating the band's return to a unified vision under lead singer Stuart Murdoch. It's just that the band is having so much damn fun on Dear Catastrophe Waitress .

Opening with the strikingly jovial ?Step Into My Office Baby,? it's clear that humor, a little soul and a tongue-in-cheek ?70s vibe have broken free in the B&S camp, infecting more aspects of the album than the notoriously demure Scottish septet would have dared allow on such previous releases as Boy with the Arab Strap or Tiger Milk .

Not only does the album kick off with Murdoch painting a disturbingly funny scenario of office romance, but it proceeds to toss up a series of blessedly happy, nostalgic and yearning numbers. All the while the band is winking at you from under the table, to the backdrop of lines such as, ?I'm sorry that he hit you with a full can of coke/It's no joke/Your face is bleeding,? which Murdoch sings while offering hope to a distressed accident-prone waitress waiting for her big break.

The extra polish on the record, courtesy of producer Trevor Horn ( ABC/Pet Shop Boys/t.A.T.u .), is convincingly deliberate. A few songs stray from pop-structures, peppering themselves with mid-song breakdowns, and ultimately offering up the quirky NewWave-flavored album closer, ?Stay Loose,? in which Murdoch's voice goes out of character to deliver: ?I was choking on a cornflake; you said have some toast instead,? in punchy, electronic form, followed by a guitar solo. On parts of ?If She Wants Me,? he comes dangerously close to a Prince impersonation if only for a split, but very amusing second.

Overall, the album was a pleasant surprise, with the exception of the inevitable disappointment that comes with being a fan who eternally seeks the gems of yesterday. Dear Catastrophe Waitress resonates of a musical Glasnost, as though a certain joie de vivre had been repressed from Day 1 of the band's formation in Glasgow in 1996. It's as though five full-length albums and several precious EP and single releases later, the band members have obligingly lifted their veils of indie mystique, revealing a new self-awareness, maturity and a readiness to have a little fun with the industry.

But fear not, as B&S indulge in a newly polished and upbeat brand of twee pop, it has managed to do what fans worried they wouldn't, and that is to keep writing its trademark tunes of placidly understated folk exhilaration. With gems like ?Asleep on a Sunbeam,? featuring hopeful female vocals, and ?Lord Anthony,? a ballad for the proverbial doleful boy who was too smart for his own good, the album proves they have yet to abandon the mirthful melancholy from B&S days of yore.

Having said all this, I should warn B&S veterans that, with added bounce and less moping, Dear Catastrophe Waitress is bound to rub some fans the wrong way. But just take a couple of days to sulk and spit. You might find this pearl of an album difficult to swallow, but I guarantee it won't be long before it has you reluctantly snapping your fingers, and hating and loving them for being able to get you every single time.