Brett Anderson – Wilderness Review

For Brett Anderson, the open field seen on the cover of Wilderness must hold some wilder promise. His book, Coal Black Mornings, noted the intensity and often gifted experiences of venturing out into the unknown. Those trees and bushes hid all sorts of promise for a mind being moulded by musical experience, by occasions involving good friends and greater drugs. Wilderness toys with these moments in the outdoors with an earnestness which served Anderson well when writing songs with Suede. It benefits him in a solo capacity, too. He did not take a turn for the worse after the initial end of the band which goes from strength to strength today. His time on the solo circuit was a fascinating experience, and albums like Wilderness are proof of his continuing wisdom and microscopic beauty. Those charms of the every day are met only by the blunt force of truthful horror.  

Autobiographical attentiveness marks Wilderness as a cut above the rest of Anderson’s solo works so far. It is far greater than some of the latter-stage Suede albums, too, because it champions the individual while also adapting those pigeonholed views of specific streets or homes across London. This is the big difference maker for Anderson, who has become a bit of an extraordinary open book with later efforts on The Blue Hour and Autofiction. Wilderness is a different beast entirely. Sentimental, borderline over-emotional efforts work because Anderson remains one of the finest songwriters around. He toes the line, edging ever closer to melodramatic encounters with his past, but he keeps it afloat with some staggering instrumental restraint, as found on A Different Place. These are not the rose-tinted glasses of a man looking back fondly, Anderson does not have that in him. The Empress finds these reflections are brutal summaries of a past wrought with deception and unfulfilled desire. 

Anderson manages to make some extremely satisfying, stripped-back moments with this one vocalist, one violin, and one piano presentation. There is beauty in this simplicity, captured so well by Chinese Whispers, an exceptional piece of work charting not just a roaringly great story, but a vocal range which sticks with him even now. Very soft folk tones can be felt on Funeral Mantra, the latter word doing some heavy lifting for a mighty song filled with brass and string works which feel like such a delightful pairing with Anderson’s voice. Those days of being on the verge of trouble, as are showcased on Knife’s Edge, provide that subtle difference between risk and reward. Wilderness is filled with those moments, exceptional and articulate understandings of life’s shortcomings.  

But before it hits on a constant stream of macabre thoughts, Anderson does well to hold out for some hope of a brighter, sweeter future. Wilderness may sound thoroughly moved and shifted by its desolate nature but in those instrumental pieces, particularly P. Marius, is a sense of hope. Intimacy claws its way to the forefront, despite itself, and remains there as an example to be followed. Anderson writes his way through some truly touching, moving pieces of work and they are held together not just by the instrumental scope each song holds, but by the conviction they are delivered with. This is all down to Anderson, whose second solo album is a vast improvement on his solid debut.