Suede – The Blue Hour Review

The Blue Hour only gets better after the context of frontman Brett Anderson’s book, Coal Black Mornings, is applied. From the corrugated iron and landfill of aged kitchen appliances to the empty skies which feel hopeful yet morose, The Blue Hour becomes a fixated approach to all those minor stop-offs which, in hindsight, come to define us. Immediately those atmospheric choices come through, the nightmare fuel of As One provides a cultish tone, and the shady figures and shadow dwellers which have become a grand fascination for Anderson is right there. The Blue Hour fixates on those darker tones not just as a way of separating Suede from their image as sex-writing glam rock powerhouses but as a way to develop a new sense, a shocking depth, to the consistencies which have carried them since the 1990s.  

What remains a constant joy is the reinvention Suede undertakes. The allure of consistency backed by a strong track record of well-remembered albums is there, but the artistic push heard on The Blue Hour and, later, Autofiction, is maddening. An insane push for bold new movements is not just successful but surprising. Opener As One is a complete and refreshing break from the tones of preceding album Night Thoughts. Here is a release which gives Suede some of their very best songs, the lyrical context and instrumental quality enough to rival their cemented classics. Those first four tracks of The Blue Hour are an exploration of the early years, all blurred into one, lengthy song. Its seamless transition from song to song is a masterclass in instrumental effectiveness, particularly the combo Richard Oakes and bassist Mat Osman provide. A moody masterclass in the making is what they provide, with the darker riffs of Chalk Circles, its sea-shanty-like percussion from Simon Gilbert adds that extra layer.  

The Blue Hour remains an album which must be heard live, whichever snippets you can get your hands on is well worth it. Roadkill is one of those songs which lends itself to the darkness of a stage. Anderson captures the elusive appeal and energy unique to concert halls across the globe and, at another time, this would be a song the band walks out to. Defiant and proud but with a microscopic view of those formative years. Those narrative moments sprinkled throughout are the real treat. Where it may just be panting or cries for help, they provide a steady suggestion to the likes of Don’t Be Afraid if Nobody Loves You. Childhood experience informs the best parts of The Blue Hour, those fairytale-like moments on All the Wild Places tap into those free and spirited early years, the imagination necessary to comfort in a time of great pain.  

All of it makes for a staggering experience. Pick off the bits you like and add them to the ever-growing playlist, sure, but what a remarkable achievement The Blue Hour is. Anderson pushes himself to the vocal limit here, and lyrically he finds the promise of innocence and imagination are unscathed by the harsher moments of life. Coal Black Mornings becomes a necessary companion piece to this album, a route through those worries and spry estimations. Deeply personable material comes to the forefront of The Blue Hour, guided well by a skilful series of instrumental joys and a demanding sense of giving yourself over to it. Hand over those spots of your youth and see where it gets you.