After the continued, microscopic look at life and his experiences on Wilderness, extrapolating those scenes and memories was inevitable. Where does Brett Anderson, frontman of glam rock icons Suede, take his sound on Slow Attack? Somewhere Suede is now with Autofiction. Over a decade on from its release and it stands tall, as the rest of Anderson’s solo discography does. Icy sounds and cold isolation wash over Slow Attack. It makes sense to hear it so formidably in opener Hymn and the dry-mouthed mentions of Wheatfields. Anderson writes, along with unofficial Pulp member Leo Abrahams, of what we can gauge and hold out for in the colder months. Melodrama is on the tip of his tongue most times, but Anderson swallows those darker, obvious routes and comes through with a bleak but beautiful piece of work, relying on tones he never had the chance to use in Suede.
Hindsight pulls at Slow Attack rather unfairly. Anderson’s last solo album before Suede reunited, and yet so far removed from the sound they would carry forward. The Hunted has a naturalistic back-and-forth adapted to modern life, and it is here where Anderson advances as a solo artist. He sees those primal elements of life in the wild and pools them in the cold towers and communal spots of grand cities. In those softer moments is a gap Anderson fails to fill. Depending on his vocal range more than anything, Slow Attack is in safe hands when its singer-songwriter focuses on the former, rather than the latter. Where Anderson is usually a master of the written word and adapting those thoughts, those emotive outpourings of truly personable qualities into song, something within Slow Attack begins giving away around Frozen Roads. Suns rising and moons falling tries to haul some emotive tinge from the passing of time but does not quite nail it.
Yet his seasonal fixation on Summer and follow-up Pretty Widows are such thematically skilful understandings of the real world. Anderson’s greatest strength is looking at everyday grievances with the sort of interpretation from someone who has never encountered it before. To do this he, rather ironically, uses the seasoned interest and effects of his own life. It creates a nice balance on Slow Attack which, in its best moments, stands tall as an understanding of those horrors which feel a world away. Sparse sounds on Ashes of Us, while fitting, fail to move away from this relatively sparse and underwhelmed feeling. The focus for Slow Attack is frequently, rightly, on Anderson’s vocal performance. With the spotlight firmly on his writing, though, he finds himself falling short at times.
A muse-obsessed Anderson, chasing the freedom of nature and its simpler, honest experiences, is what Slow Attack can offer. There is an ever soft but definitely present crooner notion to these songs. Scarecrows & Lilacs is dependent on those charming elongations, on the soft brass which pours through and the backing interjections. It creates the flurry of spooked sounds which guide Slow Attack well enough. Whispered tones and a wonderfully complete sound which does not quite have the punch or flavour desired. It ends up as a relatively maudlin piece, even despite the best efforts of Anderson pushing against those very same tones. Strong in spots, and certainly worth a listen given how well Anderson can command these forces of sentimental, reflective moments. They are memories after all, and who better to guide us through them than the man who experienced it, who was affected by it so thoroughly?
