On Dear Catastrophe Waitress (2003) and The Life Pursuit (2006), Stuart Murdoch was having fun, dancing for the sake of dancing rather than forcing an awkward smile or, per usual, wallowing in melancholic, expertly arranged folk. Still, as much as those records were a perhaps needed change (not to mention a precursor to where indie rock was headed), 2010’s Write About Love was a nostalgic return to form. For me, it’s become the hidden record, a tiny, tidy package reminding the world of why the band was so great to begin with way back in 1996. God Help the Girl, Murdoch’s debut feature film from last year, enhanced that nostalgia. The movie serves simultaneously as a love letter to the dark hues of Glasgow, a Belle and Sebastian origin story flanked by Douglas Sirk-isms and campy musicals, and most pleasantly, as a visual allegory of the themes of young love and existential quandary; and was symbolically a cap to a brilliant career. If anything, it prompted another dig through the band’s vast and surprisingly varied discography.

As such, with Belle and Sebastian now possessing a canonical presence, the release of Girls in Peacetime Want to Dance (Matador Records), the band’s first album in four years, has event status. The first few bars of “Nobody’s Empire,” with their melodic ziggurat of piano lines, evoke the nostalgia of the band’s past work in grand fashion. It seems the bricklayers of nü-twee are back. It builds with sparkling glocks and soul choirs, and eventually the strings and horns come in, leading triumphantly to the terser, yet distinctly B&S brambles of “Allie.” So far, so good. Everything’s been exquisitely placed, a proper tablesetting for the diehards wanting a proper return. But once “Party Line” hits, all nostalgia feels stale, dated, uncharacteristically contrived of Daft Punk and Phoenix signifiers that any Belle and Sebastian fan is wrenching to hear. Of course, a song like “Your Cover’s Blown,” from 2004’s Books EP, was a harbinger to this world, fusing those precious folk and pop elements with mirror ball elasticity, but on the remaining numbers that adopt that template—especially the nearly unbearable “Enter Sylvia Plath” and “Perfect Couples”—the band sounds strained by either wear or unchecked ambition. It’s hard to tell.

Girls in Peacetime has a jumbled character, whereas their prior spotless albums always reflected, at least metaphysically, the color of their covers. (Perhaps another essay altogether?) Given this is the “gray” album, that tone is made known with the opening track, but loses direction throughout, with motley baubles like the garish “Play for Today” obscuring any aesthetic comfort zone. The record was recorded in Atlanta and produced by Ben H. Allen III, the man responsible for Animal Collective and Cut Copy’s brightest moments, so it’s to be expected that there would be some balance of tradition and sonic pomp. The best gray songs here are beautifully atmospheric. “The Cat with the Cream” is like The Zombies in a utopian future, and the lilting finale, “Today (This Army’s for Peace),” swims in an aether that has yet to exist in Murdoch’s consciousness. Sure, The Clientele “do gray” much better, but it’s nice to see B&S expand upon that lite-psychedelic dreariness. That layer (no doubt the work of Allen) if applied consistently, would make for another classic, another chapter (or in the case of this band, series), in the B&S pantheon. Instead, we have an EP’s worth of this early year’s most satisfying pop and a large chunk of half-baked, out-of-touch filler.