Suede – Suede Review

Finger the blame at Suede, then. Their self-titled debut marked a monumental turn for the UK music scene. It is the reason where we are now. Select Magazine covers, the turn of phrase which shoehorned band after band into what became a dull excuse for pathetic flag-waving. Listen in to Brett Anderson’s sharp lyrics and Suede is anything but the Britpop banner they were aligned with. It is clear to those who have listened to their work and continue to tune in to their efforts. Autofiction marked a new high for the band, a pivot into openness and unrelenting emotional clarity. But their debut did this too, a rich collection of slick instrumental work and booming lyrical work which still lingers as a relevant and punishing look at the world.  

Now beyond the thirty-year mark, Suede is a pillar of quality from the previous century. It is a flagship entry into British music – regardless of genre. Anderson and company marked a scintillating first record, and it was only uphill from there. Opener So Young, the last song written for the album, can claim its spot close to the top of Suede’s best efforts. Chase that dragon, whatever it may be. Whatever it measures up as it feels its way through the track and those drugged-out experiences present a tenderness, but to dismiss So Young as a moment of relief in a world gone wrong is to simplify a call to arms, to not waste youth. It is a thoroughly powerful piece and well-needed, now more than ever. Suede is relentless in their perfection, following it up with setlist essential Animal Nitrate and into the stripped-back isolation of She’s Not Dead. Pace is everything to Suede, it feels out the sexuality at its core and storms through new and possibly uncomfortable experiences.  

Goading impressions are left behind on Pantomime Horse. From there, the art rock fury does enough to make early comparisons to The Smiths seem suspect. Tear-jerking pieces like The Drowners do not attempt to masquerade the heartbreak booming through. London takes Suede over. It becomes the hub for their gorgeous highs and those intense, stripped-back moments where the band circles the drain and pressures themselves and those around them. Suede holds a volatility to it, a claw at the face of dreck and poverty which they find themselves pushed over by. Sleeping Pills takes a tender, more obvious touch than a gut punch like So Young, yet the effect is still a brutalising moment of clarity in the face of a hopeful, wild future.  

After enough times the power and shock blur into the comfort of continually listening to classics. People do what they can to get by as Metal Mickey explores, the crunching and excessive guitar work a real treat for the ears. Plenty of solos given room to breathe and work their magic – it would become an essential asset of the band’s for Coming Up. Closer The Next Life feels like a hand-me-down essential, a shot of hope beneath a murky undertaking which is fuelled by its acquired burnout and the thrill of creating against the current. Suede is a bold bit of salvation, a tremendous experience which ties its themes, instrumentals and impressive vocal work into a booming album filled with agony. It would become the soundtrack for a generation, and still is, rippling off walls of converted solicitors’ offices as the troubles and strife Anderson hit against continue outside and in.