THREE years on, I meet two-fifths of the Trashcan Sinatras in their

sumptuous penthouse abode near the unfortunately-titled Ka Poo Chinese

takeaway in throbbing uptown Kilmarnock. What's in a name? Trashcan

Sinatras: whoo-hoo . . . pearls in an everyday setting, diamonds amid

dross, no' rubbish.

Three years ago, the band had newly released their splendid debut LP,

Cake, and were undertaking an initial round of interviews with what

appeared to be a kind of defensive reluctance. Shrugging their

shoulders, they shuffled about, metaphysical hands in metaphysical

pockets. We're just ordinary Ayrshire-tumshie guys doing our work and we

don't see what the fuss is about, they seemed to imply.

Cake's sleeve pictured the band-members as a wavy blur, with press

hand-out photos deliberately obscure, too. And singer Frank Read . . .

was his surname really Reader, and why were the band down-playing his

familial links to another famous chanting Reader, one called Edna? Why

were they trying to hide? What have the Trashcan Sinatras been doing for

the past three years?

Growing up. Maturing. ''We're more assured, more of a band now,'' says

rhythm guitarist John Douglas. Lead axe-man Paul Livingston concurs.

''With the sleeve, we had the attitude 'Let's not bother.' We were

scared, actually. The main thing we wanted to be judged on was the music

-- not that we're particularly pretty.''

Says John: ''We were worried about connections with Eddi that weren't

there. It's under control now, but we didn't want people thinking 'oh

aye, we know how they got their record contract . . . big sister.' ''

Eddi actually appears -- albeit under her son's name, Sam Francis --

as a backing vocalist on part of the Trashcans' forthcoming LP, I've

Seen Everything, produced by Ray Shulman and due for release on Go!

Discs on May 4. Proving that the Trashcans have become their own men,

it's an unspeakably gorgeous album: singular songs, organic harmonies.

Melodic, touching, powerful, beautiful. You've not heard anything till

you've fallen in love with I've Seen Everything.

Messrs Douglas and Livingston accept my weepsome praises with

self-deprecating aplomb. They recorded the LP over five months last year

in their own studio, Shabby Road, also located near the Ka Poo Oriental

eaterie. ''We'd earlier tried to put together an LP with Steve

Lillywhite in a rural English studio, but we actually only had five or

six songs, and the weather was too nice, too hot to record in . . . and

we were being pressurised, so we went in the huff.''

Pressured by Go! Discs?

''No, by ourselves. Go! Discs treat us very well. They know that

however long we take, it's not costing #1000 a day.''

One reason why the second album did take so long was the reaction the

band engendered on their first American tour in 1991: ''A month that did

our heads in because for the first time we realised people were

listening to what we write. The first gig, though, was at a weird pub in

the Arizona desert. It wasn't busy, and only two people had come

especially to see us -- and one of them didn't get in because he was too

young!

''After that, every gig was to clubs full of people who knew all the

words to all our songs. Freaky. The Roxy in LA with folk screaming and

running up on to the stage.''

Having been made aware of the depth of interest in their work, the

Trashcans have obviously worked long and hard at investing their

accessible guitar-rock-pop-thing with added detail and intricacy: the

more you listen, the more there is to hear. Is that backwards guitar on

Iceberg? Is I'm Immortal an anthem to gay pride? Most shockingly of all,

doesn't One At A Time feature the Steptoe theme tune?

Paul ponders this last question. ''Er. Oh aye. Not intentionally. My

dad reckoned it was the James Bond theme. Well spotted. But it's

actually backwards piano on Iceberg, plus Frank learned the lyrics

backwards phonetically, sang them that way, and then we reversed them on

tape.''

Oh aye?

''And I'm Immortal is about football, kind of, and looking at people

you might think are immortal, but really they live miserable lives,''

says John.

Any other messages for the nation?

''Onwards and upwards,'' says John. ''Lend us a tenner,'' says Paul.

I say: Trashcan Sinatras -- perfect power-pop sonatas. Yes, yes, yes,

yee-har and yahoo!

The Trashcan Sinatras play at Glasgow's Arches on April 18. Also at

the Arches, the Irn Bru-MOMI pop video exhibition features the set from

the Trashcans' Hayfever video. The Hayfever single is released on April

13.

THOSE fabulous Trashcans will also feature in No Stilettos, a

five-part BBC Scotland series to be filmed before live audiences in a

former church in Glasgow's West End from April 3-7. Each show will be

compered by the peerless Ms Reader, freshly signed to the blanco y negro

label incidentally, and who will also appear with her band. The show's

list of confirmed guests is mind-freakingly groovy, including Aztec

Camera, the Lemonheads, Boo Hewerdine, the Jayhawks, Pulp, American

Music Club, Ian McNabb, and the Dubliners with Shane McGowan, while

Suede kick off the first filming session on April 3.

In addition to playing their current material, guests will be expected

to do an apposite cover. The series will be transmitted on Beebus-1

Scotia in May, and nationally on BBC-2 in June and July, but if you're

quick off the mark, you can secure free tickets for the shows from the

Beeb's reception desk in Glasgow's Queen Margaret Drive.

THRUST back into the chart limelight seven years after their break-up

by the VW telly commercial employing their born-again hit Young At

Heart, oor ain Bluebells are scheduled to appear this week on Top of the

Pops clad in parodic white suits and top hats. The Bluebells will not be

reforming, ex-vocalist Ken McCluskey assures me. For one thing, Ken's

own combo, the McCluskey Brothers, are starting to earn the success

their talents and endeavours have long deserved: next month they jet to

LA to begin a short tour, returning before their Mayfest gig on the

Renfrew Ferry on May 21, while their current LP, Favourite Colours

(Kingfisher), is selling strongly.

For another, Young At Heart's composer, Bobby Bluebell, suffered

crippling injuries in a motor-cycle crash in 1988 (as the press release

accompanying the reissued single reveals). Although confined to a

wheelchair, Bobby nevertheless bravely DJs every Sunday night at his

club, Bob's Quite-Full House, at Glasgow's Volcano. Bobby, we salute you

. . . and can you spare us a new GTi?

New releases

Bryan Ferry, Taxi (Virgin) -- according to the sleeve of Bry's new

album of covers, the Bryan Ferry Information Service is run by Jim Lawn

(PO Box 829, Dumbarton, G82 1BG). I thus hope Jim passes this

information on to Bryan: ''Taxi is bloodless rubbish and you should

never darken a recording studio again.''

Marxman, 33 Revolutions Per Minute (Talkin' Loud) -- a danceable

solution to political confusion. Didactic; climactic; magic.