They’re almost a relic. A leftover. The band from Britpop that Would Not Die. Almost. Because preconceptions and prejudices are bad enough. Sometimes, a brilliant past can be as damaging as being unknowns.

In other peoples eyes, Suede are yesterdays men. An album in at Number 24 (and out just as fast), singles that stiff in the lower reaches of the top 20, and a media that’s far more bothered about this summers identikit fresh young pups than the heroes of the past.

For the first time in a decade, Suede are The Outsiders. The marginalised, the dispossessed. Their faces no longer displayed on the newstands, stubborn survivors still making records. And nobody apart from those who actually buy their records really seem to care.

Fame and fate are fickle things. Suede are bigger than the press will tell you. Despite not competing on the same level of media-ubiquity of previous years, they still have the magic. And that’s what its all about.

Magic and Music.

Over the three nights at the Shepards Bush Empire, Suede play almost every hit of their glorious past, some of the best songs that have ever languished on b-sides, and thrill and excite with a brace of songs new and old that make them both timeless and of-their-time. The three-choruses-fighting-in-a-bag that is “New Generation” is the type of song that The Strokes would give their puppy fat for. And that’s not even mentioning the heart-rending broken-relationship laments of “Oceans”, the youthful, irresistable optimism of “The Wild Ones”, and the sultry romance of “Trash”.

And, so I'm told, Brett is the new Freddie Mercury - working the room like a old-fashioned music-hall trooper. Offering the crowd the mike, rubbing himself up against the audience, climbing all over the venue as if he were some hyperactive child. It’s all a bit stadium rock.

Richard does that Little Boy Lost thing and you know when he gets that Cherry Red Gibson in his hand that things are going to be ... boisterous. Because what song he’s going to play is one of their canon of stompers : “Metal Mickey”, “Electricity”, “Film Star“, “Animal Nitrate”, “So Young”, “The Beautiful Ones”, or the relentless cocaine psychosis of “Can’t Get Enough”.

It’s near the end that the big surprise comes - when they start to play a slow, cocktail set version of their next single “Obsessions“. You can almost picture them all, in tuxedos and bowties. Except... they’re going all Frank Sinatra on us NOW. And not in a R*bbi* Willi*ms fashion. In an Elvis ‘77 fashion. Cool, darkly comedic, and cutting through the bullshit to the heart of the matter. In whatever form it takes, it music about something. It’s about getting through the bullshit of life and making life beautiful.

If this were a new band, they’d be splashed all over the press as Britain’s Bright Young Hopes. But instead of that, they’ll just have to settle for Britain’s Best Old Band. Better than many of your media-darlings, these underdogs. Suede.

Only registered users can write comments.
Please login or register.

Powered by AkoComment 1.0 beta 2!