SUEDE

Glasgow Barrowlands

"... Pandemonium. Brett Anderson snaps into kinetic action. He jumps, jerks and points: he shakes, darts and waves. To his left and right, the skinny, black-clad gentlemen are hunched over their instruments. The guitarist, Richard Oakes, is on his knees, attacking his guitar. The keyboard player, Neil Codling, sits impassive but tense. The song, 'She' seems to be about injecting marijuana, not that it matters. It builds and it flows, and eventually it ends in a squall of piercing, unexpected feedback. Surely this is how all gigs should, indeed must, begin? And to think we thought they were finished. To think we attached so much importance to Bernard Butler. How wrong we were. Suede, for the first time in their lives, are now a proper rock band. We needed to see it with our own eyes, we needed to see how they looked, how they carried themselves. And we never believed it would be this good.

They're a gang. They've distanced themselves from the pack. They don't look like four labourers who struck lucky. They look like The Velvet Underground, Just listen to the songs they choose to play. The past is barely dealt with. This is not a band apologising for their present, because they don't even entertain the thought that their new material is inferior. Because it isn't. They follow 'She' with 'Trash'. Brett swings his microphone furiously above his head, the momentum is maintained. Richard once again stabs relentlessly at his guitar, in the process creating an almighty, feedback-driven racket. But even when Suede deign to play their former colleague's music, they amplify and invigorate it to such an extent that they obliterate any thoughts of nostalgia. The enormous sheets of metallic guitar that herald the start of 'Amyl Nitrate' and the abusive, six-string assault on 'Heroine' serve simply as a message: We don't mind playing these songs, after all, these days we play them better.

Inevitably, though, this pace can't be maintained. They need to take a few moments to compose themselves. Don't worry, they'll play a slower one - 'By The Sea' maybe. Yes, that's an idea, that'll give Neil a chance to be heard. It's the homestretch now. A ragged and wired 'Starcrazy' precedes a paranoid, edgy 'Together', before finally the band depart pursued by the glitzy strains of new single - 'Beautiful Ones'. And by rights that should be the end. The mist has dispersed, the red lights have dimmed and once again there is silence, a brief moment of amazement, before the shouting is renewed. It's louder than before, and twice as imploring. The band can't resist. They return, they blast away a howling 'Filmstar', before disappearing for good."

James Oldham

Back to the Articles Page