Ch.I: 'Coming Up', Introduction
"Here they come with their makeup on,
As lovely as the clouds come and see them."
Suede - 'Lazy'
"Obsessions in my head,
Don't connect with my intellect,
It's called obsession...
Can you handle it?
It's connected to this sound,
And it moves with the underground,
It's called obsession...
When you're around.
Obsession's just like sex,
It's simple and complex,
It's called obsession...
Can you handle it?"
Suede - 'Obsessions'
"Obsessions in my head,
Don't connect with my intellect,
It's called obsession...
Can you handle it?
It's connected to this sound,
And it moves with the underground,
It's called obsession...
When you're around.
Obsession's just like sex,
It's simple and complex,
It's called obsession...
Can you handle it?"
Suede - 'Obsessions'
Suede's 3rd album, the swashbuckling, strutting, Coming Up was released 20 years ago today and apart from making me feel rather old, it has given me the chance to wax lyrical about one of my favourite bands and reflect on some of the glorious songs that reside on it and explore why many of these songs have stirred my heart and soul as deeply as is surely possible for a heart and soul to be stirred. 'Saturday Night' was the song I heard first before the album's release, on some long lost radio show, and because the 90s wasn't my favourite era for music, any new release by Suede was anticipated with great relish and this wonderful, unusual song about two people who stroll from "peep shows to discos..." immediately struck me as Suede gold dust. With the departure of guitarist and one half of the band's songwriting team, Bernard Butler after 2nd album Dog Man Star, many people (& large sections of the music press) had already written Suede off, but this was the first confirmation for me that Suede were still going to be as good as ever, something I'm proud to say I never once doubted.
The album itself was an absolute wham bam, thank you ma'am, glam masterpiece. I recall 1996 as being a dreary old year in music overall - the Manics's glorious Everything Must Go aside; Pulp's Different Class had been released in late 1995 and James's Whiplash didn't surface until early 1997 - and Oasis and other laddish indie Britpop bands dominated, so the release of Coming Up felt like a gift from the Greek gods. To see Brett Anderson whirling around like a Dionysian dervish, both slutty and fascinating at the same time, helped to ensure that I didn't take up stamp collecting instead of being engaged with that year's music scene. But although I dearly loved all the songs on the album, I wasn't quite in the right place emotionally to hear this music, as is always the case with me if something is really going to stick, with my heart rather than with my ears. But all of this was still to come, and irrevocably, seeds had already been planted that were going to hatch like wondrous orchids almost a decade later. Suede are, if any of you don't know, simply devastatingly romantic, and as Lydia (yes folks, this blog is going to have a lot about our relationship in it as well, so if you don't like it, you may as well stop reading now) was still a distant, unknown star at this juncture of my life, I heard these wonderful tales about love with a wistful, but barely hopeful heart. It is often mentioned how difficult it is for women to see pictures of models in fashion magazines and then imagine themselves as being attractive when they compare themselves to these glossy images. Well lads 'n' lasses, I am here to reveal that it is quite difficult for some of us men (I hadn't been christened as a boy girl space creature yet) too! I was personally in a peculiar place at this stage of my life in the early to mid 90s. The male personas that were seen to be what it was all about & desirable at this point of our culture were principally David Beckham and Liam Gallagher. I was nothing like either of them and had no desire to be, as both were as thick as shit, and even if they were very wealthy and the former had okayish hair and had pulled the best looking Spice Girl, this was completely undone by the fact that he played for Man Utd and acted like a prize penis whenever he played against my beloved Everton. To be like Beckham or the Gallaghers was principally, no matter how much wealth they had accumulated, to have failed. "A true heart these days is hard to find," Feargal Sharkey had sang but in the early 90s, a true role model was well nigh impossible to find & this was something I was still struggling with as my identity was in complete disarray. In fact recalling this period is making me break out in a sweat as I was so desperately unhappy and uninspired and so lacking in confidence that I would even hesitate to wear a beautiful, rich burgundy shirt that I owned in case I was considered a bit "too weird." These were dog days without diamonds or stars, indeed. But, bear with me, as for my Suede story this is important and when I listened to songs such as 'Trash' (oh what this song was to come to mean to me!), 'The Chemistry Between Us', and 'The Beautiful Ones', all I could see was a world of romance & divine decadent glamour (darlings!) of which I would never know, even though Suede's songs that were set in London transported me back pretty much physically in my mind to the many, incredibly joyous years I had spent living and working there in the past. So in the main, apart from whenever I was in London and especially on the tube, where Suede, Soft Cell/Marc Almond and the Pet Shop Boys ('Kings Cross' and 'Rent') would be all I would ever listen to, as to me, they literally were London, I found listening to Suede a slightly upsetting and even distressing experience. This had all started when I first heard Suede on their majestic self-titled debut album and on Dog Man Star, which included Brett singing lines of Byron's on 'Heroine' which quite literally floored me, and was to continue apace with their new album, Coming Up. It made me yearn intensely for the kind of love that Brett sang about and the kind of reckless abandon of emotion and not caring what others think that can go with it, and which I feared I would never know. So listening to Suede brought up a kind of strange, melancholy anguish, I suppose. And probably my overriding memory of Coming Up is again, of that beautiful haunting song, 'Saturday Night,' and I can remember vividly seeing the promo video for the first time as it remains bound like crystal in my memory. Set on the London Underground at night, with Brett looking like the all-knowing troubadour of love, in Holborn station (and I could practically smell the underground & feel the strange breeze on my face that the departing trains create whilst watching it), there suddenly appeared, coming down the escalator, eating greasy chips and looking impossibly otherworldly and glam, Louise Brooks look-a-like Keeley Hawes...
The pierce to my heart that this provoked was as if it had been run through with a dagger and the longing which the song itself already creates in spades, became quite suddenly almost unbearable. This type of life, I thought, would always be out of my reach. Never would I have on my arm, I reasoned, a confident, beautiful, stylish sensual woman who would, with a sparkling, devilish twinkle in her eyes, take me to peep shows, freak shows & discos, and to places where people go and let go. Life had up to this point taught me that the chance of finding somebody whose madness aligned just perfectly with mine was pretty much impossible. Although fortunately, little did I know just how wrong this misdirected prediction of mine would turn out to be. But at that particular moment it was the sad-eyed goldfish in the wretched little plastic bag, looking out with envy from his tiny imprisoned world that I identified with. And so, with that, Coming Up took its place among all my other CDs, to be only really brought out when I was feeling particularly dreamy and wistful (i.e., drunk!), or perhaps when some strange mood, which I can only describe as a kind of nostalgia for an imagined and dreamt of future that would probably never come to fruition, overtook me.
"Oh, but when she is calling,
And then, not too much later in the future, I met the glamorous, mysterious and wonderful creature who would become my partner and in time, my wife. And quite soon after meeting her and particularly as our relationship drew ever closer, my haunting experiences of listening to Suede changed quite dramatically. For instead of listening to their songs wistfully and with a deep sense of sadness and regret, to my eternal joy I now felt like I lived inside them. And I very rapidly realised that Lydia actually had many of the glittering qualities of the heroines that populate Suede's songs in such dazzling abundance, to the point where she was actually not far away from being the living embodiment of a Suede song, in some extraordinary Pygmalion-like incarnation.
Curious reader, I hereby give you example No. 1:
The album itself was an absolute wham bam, thank you ma'am, glam masterpiece. I recall 1996 as being a dreary old year in music overall - the Manics's glorious Everything Must Go aside; Pulp's Different Class had been released in late 1995 and James's Whiplash didn't surface until early 1997 - and Oasis and other laddish indie Britpop bands dominated, so the release of Coming Up felt like a gift from the Greek gods. To see Brett Anderson whirling around like a Dionysian dervish, both slutty and fascinating at the same time, helped to ensure that I didn't take up stamp collecting instead of being engaged with that year's music scene. But although I dearly loved all the songs on the album, I wasn't quite in the right place emotionally to hear this music, as is always the case with me if something is really going to stick, with my heart rather than with my ears. But all of this was still to come, and irrevocably, seeds had already been planted that were going to hatch like wondrous orchids almost a decade later. Suede are, if any of you don't know, simply devastatingly romantic, and as Lydia (yes folks, this blog is going to have a lot about our relationship in it as well, so if you don't like it, you may as well stop reading now) was still a distant, unknown star at this juncture of my life, I heard these wonderful tales about love with a wistful, but barely hopeful heart. It is often mentioned how difficult it is for women to see pictures of models in fashion magazines and then imagine themselves as being attractive when they compare themselves to these glossy images. Well lads 'n' lasses, I am here to reveal that it is quite difficult for some of us men (I hadn't been christened as a boy girl space creature yet) too! I was personally in a peculiar place at this stage of my life in the early to mid 90s. The male personas that were seen to be what it was all about & desirable at this point of our culture were principally David Beckham and Liam Gallagher. I was nothing like either of them and had no desire to be, as both were as thick as shit, and even if they were very wealthy and the former had okayish hair and had pulled the best looking Spice Girl, this was completely undone by the fact that he played for Man Utd and acted like a prize penis whenever he played against my beloved Everton. To be like Beckham or the Gallaghers was principally, no matter how much wealth they had accumulated, to have failed. "A true heart these days is hard to find," Feargal Sharkey had sang but in the early 90s, a true role model was well nigh impossible to find & this was something I was still struggling with as my identity was in complete disarray. In fact recalling this period is making me break out in a sweat as I was so desperately unhappy and uninspired and so lacking in confidence that I would even hesitate to wear a beautiful, rich burgundy shirt that I owned in case I was considered a bit "too weird." These were dog days without diamonds or stars, indeed. But, bear with me, as for my Suede story this is important and when I listened to songs such as 'Trash' (oh what this song was to come to mean to me!), 'The Chemistry Between Us', and 'The Beautiful Ones', all I could see was a world of romance & divine decadent glamour (darlings!) of which I would never know, even though Suede's songs that were set in London transported me back pretty much physically in my mind to the many, incredibly joyous years I had spent living and working there in the past. So in the main, apart from whenever I was in London and especially on the tube, where Suede, Soft Cell/Marc Almond and the Pet Shop Boys ('Kings Cross' and 'Rent') would be all I would ever listen to, as to me, they literally were London, I found listening to Suede a slightly upsetting and even distressing experience. This had all started when I first heard Suede on their majestic self-titled debut album and on Dog Man Star, which included Brett singing lines of Byron's on 'Heroine' which quite literally floored me, and was to continue apace with their new album, Coming Up. It made me yearn intensely for the kind of love that Brett sang about and the kind of reckless abandon of emotion and not caring what others think that can go with it, and which I feared I would never know. So listening to Suede brought up a kind of strange, melancholy anguish, I suppose. And probably my overriding memory of Coming Up is again, of that beautiful haunting song, 'Saturday Night,' and I can remember vividly seeing the promo video for the first time as it remains bound like crystal in my memory. Set on the London Underground at night, with Brett looking like the all-knowing troubadour of love, in Holborn station (and I could practically smell the underground & feel the strange breeze on my face that the departing trains create whilst watching it), there suddenly appeared, coming down the escalator, eating greasy chips and looking impossibly otherworldly and glam, Louise Brooks look-a-like Keeley Hawes...
The pierce to my heart that this provoked was as if it had been run through with a dagger and the longing which the song itself already creates in spades, became quite suddenly almost unbearable. This type of life, I thought, would always be out of my reach. Never would I have on my arm, I reasoned, a confident, beautiful, stylish sensual woman who would, with a sparkling, devilish twinkle in her eyes, take me to peep shows, freak shows & discos, and to places where people go and let go. Life had up to this point taught me that the chance of finding somebody whose madness aligned just perfectly with mine was pretty much impossible. Although fortunately, little did I know just how wrong this misdirected prediction of mine would turn out to be. But at that particular moment it was the sad-eyed goldfish in the wretched little plastic bag, looking out with envy from his tiny imprisoned world that I identified with. And so, with that, Coming Up took its place among all my other CDs, to be only really brought out when I was feeling particularly dreamy and wistful (i.e., drunk!), or perhaps when some strange mood, which I can only describe as a kind of nostalgia for an imagined and dreamt of future that would probably never come to fruition, overtook me.
"Oh, but when she is calling,
Here in my head...
Can you hear her calling?
And what she said...?"
- Suede, 'New Generation'
Curious reader, I hereby give you example No. 1:
"A dangerous daughter in a leopard print skirt..."
Suede - 'Attitude'
And not only that, but she was also delighted to have me on her arm when we visited galleries and took a trip on a Gemini Spaceship to places like Liverpool, Port Sunlight and Manchester, and I had, to my great fortune, taken up residence in her heart as well. Because of this, instead of feeling strangely and achingly sad whilst listening to the likes of 'The Wild Ones' as I had previously, I now felt unbounded and unbridled exhilarating joy. My heart skipped many beats when it realised that it now had for a companion and soul mate someone who had a mischievous twinkle in her eye who would love nothing more than to go with me to peep shows, freak shows and discos, and to all the places where people go and let go. Someone hungry to engage with life and fascinated by human nature in all its manifestations and who loved to listen to fabulous bands, and especially see them live, and generally dive in head first and experience as many wonders in life as possible. A person who revelled in being an Astrogirl, and who loved nothing more at that period of our lives than to cruise through Liverpool and Manchester whilst we watched the likes of Ladytron, Ipso Facto, Plastic Toys, The Long Blondes and Dead Disco, like Two Creatures on the Run.
And, of course, one of our greatest delights was seeing Suede and we have seen them as many times as possible over the years, along with Brett Anderson's solo shows, (although we quite devastatingly missed his reunion with Bernard Butler as The Tears because I had to go to hospital to have a piece of grit removed that had lodged in my eye on the day of the gig; oh the irony almost finished me) but which included seeing an unforgettable concert which featured just Brett and a solitary cello player at Manchester University of Music which still ranks as one of the most sublime evenings of my life, during which I must have lost about half a stone in weight due to the amount of tears that I shed. But the crowning glory and very best was still yet to come. And this was it, folks: The London Suede, on a Saturday night in Brixton in 2011, playing Coming Up in its entirety as the third part of a trilogy in which they would play all of their first three albums...where on earth do I begin with such an extraordinary tale?
Ch. II: Whatever Makes Her Happy on a Saturday Night
Firstly, it was all about trying to get tickets. Some venues are a lot better than others regarding my requirements because of my CF, ranging from doing everything possible to help to basically informing me that I'm not welcome as it's too much trouble, and the Academy in Brixton were absolutely amazing. When Lydia called them, they informed us that they could guarantee us excellent seats (which actually turned out to be in the front row of the circle!), early entry so I wouldn't have to queue beforehand and all the help Lydia & I might need on the night...sometimes there is a generosity in humanity that still catches me unawares and this was one of those occasions. So, with all that done, the next bit was a frantic call to arrange a consultation with the specialist at the hospital the next day. "You're just about well enough to go but be aware you'll probably need to come in for IVs pretty soon after you get back." Then the realisation of what had just been said suddenly hit me..."Oh my word...that's basically the green light from the doctor which means we're off to London to see Suede!"
"Come with me, baby,
Let your hair down...
Through every town...
From Heathrow to Hounslow,
London is our town..."
- Suede, 'Europe Is Our Playground'
With a Suede concert, as with their glam sisters the Manics, it all starts long before you arrive at the venue. Deciding on what to wear is all part of the excitement and anticipation, as going to see them is an experience and not just simply "any old gig." It is a much treasured, high octane event and leopard print is, of course, practically de rigueur on some part of your person, whether that be a top or blouse, skirt, shirt, or scarf, and the perfect outfit will be glam, have more than a hint of goth, be classy and individual, but also laced with that all important and crucial element of trashiness/tackiness. A challenging conundrum even for the initiated I'm sure you will agree. But once everything's been decided on (see pics below!), it's time for the adrenaline to start kicking in because you are heading out to see one of the last genuine glam bands who can whip up a frenzy which is becoming increasingly rare in these play it safe, sanitised X Factor/The Voice ruined days.
"Oh, we are young and not tired of it,
Oh, we are young and easily led,
We are the kids and we're out of our heads."
- Suede, 'The Chemistry Between Us'
In fact, one of the things I love most dearly about Suede gigs is the looks of recognition between the glam element of their audience. It is generally a wordless phenomenon, but gazes linger for that extra second whenever sparkling, kohled eyes meet across the sizzling atmosphere. And the atmosphere really does sizzle like electricity. The Coming Up show had a fantastic suite of songs playing from the moment we entered the venue and took our seats and as showtime approached, and after we had been most certainly brought into the mood by the likes of Bowie, The Smiths, Sinatra, Scott Walker, and countless others, the house lights suddenly went out, and, as always, The Sex Pistols's 'Bodies' thundered from the speakers...
"Body... I'm not an animal!
Mummy! I'm an abortion!"
Once John Lydon and his dastardly crew had finished, the orchestral version of 'She' blasted from the speakers whilst deafening roars erupted from every corner of the hall. Cue the first of thousands of tears that would be shed by yours truly before the end of the night. Then the band took to the stage and the anticipation for that first note to begin became almost painful...and then after what seemed like an eternity had turned, Brett suddenly asked the audience, "What do they call us?!" before the band launched ferociously into the extraordinary love song, 'Trash.'
"Oh maybe, maybe, it's the clothes we wear,
The tasteless bracelets & the dye in our hair,
Maybe it's our kookiness...
Or maybe, maybe, it's our nowhere towns,
Our nothing places & our cellophane sounds...
Maybe it's our looseness?
"Cos we're Trash, you & me,
We're the litter on the breeze,
We're the lovers on the street...
Trash, me & you,
It's in everything we do,
It's in everything we do!"
- Suede, 'Trash'
It is well known amongst our friends that Bowie's 'Heroes' was the song that we had playing when Lydia and me were married, but perhaps not quite so well known is that 'Trash' also played a big part in our wedding celebration. Lydia's uncle Mark accompanied me on the guitar whilst I serenaded her with this glittering tribute to outsiders who live by their own value system, so I'm sure you can appreciate how monumental it is for us to hear it played live by Suede themselves. 'Trash' ended to a a cacophony of cheers and applause and was immediately followed by the sneering 'Filmstar,' a viperous attack on vacuous celebrity with a gargantuan 'Moonage Daydream' sized guitar intro and which, I guess, has definitely crossed Lady Gaga's path at some point as it is a subject she explores regularly in her lyrics and videos as well. Brett challenges the Hollywood elites with the acidic lines...
"Filmstar...an elegant Sir in a terylene shirt tonight,
Filmstar...propping up the bar, driving in your car, it looks so easy...
Driving in your car tonight.
What to believe in when they change your name...
Wash your brain?...
Play the game again..."
I personally adore the terylene shirt line...it is so easy to picture a rich, soulless moron who thinks he's God's gift but has absolute nothing to offer but his fake tan, vacuity and plastic fame, and which reminds me of another of the dandy Sebastian Horsley's most memorable quips: "I would prefer to be an anonymous star than a famous nonentity." 'Filmstar' was duly followed by one of the album's (and Suede's) most playful ditties, 'Lazy'. which although opens with the carefree lines, "Here they come with their make-up on, as lovely as the clouds come and see them," still has room for a knowing nod to the other side of suburban life, with the "Barking mad kids and the lonely dads, Who drug it up to give it some meaning." Reading that back I have realised that I don't think there is actually any such thing as a playful Suede ditty! Even their most charming and breezy of songs always possess some kind of sting in the tale. The next song is one of the most beautiful and achingly dramatic in the whole Suede canon, 'By the Sea', which is shiveringly eerie in its prophecy in some aspects regarding Lydia and me and the path our live's would take, and I will discuss this in length in a later chapter. Next up was the sweeping, film noir, femme fatale drenched 'She', which I actually used in a college project I had to do as part of a study of Lady Macbeth's influence over Macbeth. No prizes for guessing who starred as Lady Macbeth of Chester in this particular updating of Shakespeare's classic play, and when my college friends saw the short film that we had made, they said that our friend Jason, who had a couple of lines in it as well, looked genuinely terrified! I told you that there was a bit of Lydia in almost every female character that Suede have ever sung about and I don't think getting on the wrong side of Lady M of Chester would have been the brightest of ideas in all honesty...Brooksy herself would have approved greatly of your wonderful portrayal, my darling! You were a true star!
Next up was 'The Beautiful Ones', which became a call to arms that night, as everybody roared the chorus at the top of their voices, almost taking the roof off Brixton Academy in the process. Brett prowled the stage with unbelievable intensity and with age-defying energy swept his band and the audience into an absolute frenzy, screaming "Come on!" in all directions to the audience during the extended intro, his shirt having already been ripped to pieces by the grasping hordes at the front of the stalls, dripping in sweat and with his fringe flopping around like a human peacock's feather. Brett's performances really do have to be experienced to be believed and I recall an interview he gave where he said that off stage they were the quietest, most bookish group around (now that is-not in the 90s methinks!!), sipping their Earl Grey or herbal teas and relaxing backstage before gigs. Once on stage, however, they become incendiary and this extraordinary ferocity and energy that they have is one of the vital ingredients that make Suede gigs the wonderful, unique experiences that they are. After 'The Beautiful Ones,' I knew that the next three songs were going to floor me emotionally. First up was the eerie, almost surreal 'Picnic By The Motorway.' Some of the lyrics in this song are so unusual and unsettling, such as the lines "There's been a speeding disaster so we'll go to the motorway," which always send a shiver down my spine and which reminds me of Magazine's 'Feed The Enemy' which runs, "It's always raining over the border, there's been a plane crash out there... In the wheatfields they're picking up the pieces, we could go and look and...stare." Both these songs firmly place you in J.G. Ballard territory and although it's not necessarily a pleasant place to be, it is definitely a haunting one, filled with the anxiety that comes with living in this late 20th/early 21st century modern world. And is there anyone in pop today who would come up with the lyric, "Hey! such a lovely day... looking at the lovers in a lay by with my little one"? I seriously doubt it. 'Picnic by the Motorway' is certainly one of of the few songs on Coming Up that could have had a home on the dank, dark masterpiece Dog Man Star. The last two songs of this part of the set were perfect, quintessential Suede. Achingly haunting love songs about outsiders who find their own bliss, in a way that matters to them and them only and which excludes the outside world's opinion and judgement from all consideration. 'The Chemistry Between Us', which Brett sang with such fierce intensity, kneeling in-between the wedges on the stage, with his eyes tightly closed and draining every last ounce of emotion from within him that I thought my heart would break. Then that gorgeous outro... which rang around the auditorium like space dust...these are the kind of moments that only live concerts with a band that you are head over heels in love with and who can write songs with this beauty and power can provide. The gentle "la la las" I can still hear even now...then the gradual fade out...the applause... and then many more tears from yours truly. And then Brett asks the audience the immortal words: "What night is it?" 'Saturday Night' then finishes the Coming Up part of the set and the realisation that this is something absolutely sacred floods through my electrified being. Suddenly, the realisation that I'm in London, on a Saturday night, clutching the hand of the love of my life, listening to one of the only two great art glam rock bands that remain playing their anthem to nights like this races through my mind, and the thought of just how much my life has changed since the first time I heard 'Saturday Night' all that time ago in 1996, could not have been greater or deeper. Was I overwhelmed at this point, dear reader? Well, if you are interested I know that some of you can ask Lydia. For the rest of you, I can only offer you this thought experiment... how deep is the ocean? How high is the sky?
After the interval, Suede returned to the stage and played a magical mix of songs from each of their albums, and some wonderful Coming Up era B-Sides, which was a magnificent and unexpected delight. And with that, this incredible evening became part of mine and Lydia's folklore. Hardly a month passes where we don't recall momentous nights such as these that we've been so fortunate to share and experience together and which have become all the more treasured since it is becoming clearer that my gig going days are now numbered because of my health. But I don't think I'm quite at that place yet so this is not the time or the place to discuss such thoughts. Everything Will Flow I guess. And then, if I do find myself feeling a bit despondent, I can still Close My Eyes and Count to Ten, and remember that we saw Suede play Coming Up in its entirety in London on a Saturday night. And surely, aren't concerts like this the only reason why Saturday nights were invented in the first place?
Ch. III: By The Sea
"We sold the car, she quit the job,
And shook some hands and put the make-up, right on...
We said our goodbyes to the bank,
Left Seven Sisters for a room in a sea-side shack...
It's by the sea we'll be...
It's by the sea we'll breathe..."
- Suede, 'By The Sea'
Replace Seven Sisters with the name of the quaint but rather Philistine city in the north west that we lived in before we moved down south almost three years ago and this verse, almost word for word, tells our story. It is extraordinary how prophetic it has proved to be and although it is a song whose message about leaving somewhere to start a new life in a seaside town had always appealed to me, I never for one second imagined it would prove so literal. As I have written about many times before, there are four major influences in my life from the world of "rock" music: Bowie, the Manics, James, and Suede. And it thrills me to connect the dots sometimes and see how their deepest lyrics can have profound, positive results much later than when you first heard that particular song, sometimes a decade earlier. It was a pretty scary decision for us to make to up sticks and move hundreds of miles from the area where we had lived for most of our lives. And when you add in the reactions of some acquaintances of ours who warned us steadfastly against taking such a risk, it is even more important to have other poetical voices to remind you that the safe option is not really living. This Suede song for me, and, notably some wonderful James songs for Lydia, are absolutely crucial in offering an alternative narrative about taking hold of life and encouraging you not to give in to that feeling of fear before you take the plunge with something many others would shy away from. After all, as Boothy sings on James's epic track 'Sound', "Fear is not to be afraid of." Sometimes, being reminded of this is as important for the spirit as the air that we breathe and the food that we consume is for the body. Suede, like the other bands I've just mentioned, along with many others that are much too numerous to mention, have encouraged, nurtured and soothed my soul at various, vitally important periods of my life. It may sound corny, but I do wonder occasionally how barren my existence would seem to me if I'd never connected with them. It's a meaningless question to contemplate in reality, however, as even for an old atheist/agnostic like me, it was always going to be thus and ever thus would be!
CH. IV: Head Music
Which brings me, pretty much, to the conclusion of this blog about Suede, their Coming Up album and any other little tales that I can relate. With regard to Suede themselves, it is truly wonderful that they are still together, writing, recording and touring after a temporary split between 2003-2010. Their other albums continue to enchant, inspire and intrigue me, and if I may tell a little story here about a lovely misheard lyric, I'm sure Lydia won't mind too much. The album that followed Coming Up, Head Music finds Brett at his most lyrically mischievous & flirty, as he has always been. On the title track, the chorus has a catchy refrain which is quite difficult to make out precisely. After we bought his published book of lyrics, I wanted to create a T shirt for Lydia's birthday as she had said she had always wanted one, but had never been enamoured enough of the official ones to buy one. As I knew she loved this song, I went to Aflex Palace in Manchester, and to smiles and comments of appreciation (i.e., "what a fuckin' boss lyric to have printed on a shirt, lad!") from the printers, had this T shirt made, which I'm glad to report, she absolutely adored and wore with great flirtatious effect for many a year until it had stretched completely and utterly out of shape! The front featured the Head Music album cover...
...Whilst on the back was scrawled the legend...
But the thing that remains with me now, and I will never be able to hear the original lyric as shown above, no matter how many times I listen to this song, is what Lydia thought was actually being sung and I'm convinced Brett would change it to if he ever got to hear it:
"Give me head...
Give me head...
Give me head
You stick insect!"
- Lydia's chorus of Suede's 'Head Music'
This is the version of the chorus that I will always sing whenever I hear 'Head Music' until the day I shuffle off this mortal coil. And do you know what? I reckon Brett Anderson would love it too. He seems such an affable person who doesn't take himself too seriously and this is something I reckon he would be delighted with as it's laced with a Suedeian type of humour. But just a couple more remaining stories before I sign off!
CH. V: "Music Like Sex You Like To Have Sex To."
-Suede, 'Music Like Sex'
As some of you may already know, Brett is an extremely handsome chap and some of the lengths people will go to to try and get a piece of him borders on the hysterical. No sooner has he made one of his regular trips to the front of the audience than his shirt is practically torn off his back as people try to get their pound of flesh. And let's face it boys and girls, he is & has always been quite a looker!
With this in mind, and considering the heaving amounts of pulsating desire that Brett generates during gigs, which definitely makes most people go a bit Starcrazy and act like they've taken a bit too much animal nitrate and lost all sense of propriety, which, in truth, is all part of the plan as Suede's music is Music Like Sex You Like to have Sex to, I have a very humorous recollection of one of Brett Anderson's solo concerts that we attended. Brett's solo gigs are, although undoubtedly slightly less frenzied and not as heavily populated as Suede gigs, still sweaty, sensual affairs and at this particular show I'd been given a stool to sit on just in front of the barrier with the photographers in the pit, right in front of the rest of the audience. I couldn't help but notice a couple of very excited and over-animated young women next to Lydia and one of them was wearing a particularly low cut top, which she kept checking as she was obviously a bit concerned that she was having a bit of a wardrobe malfunction & was in danger of falling out of. When Brett came on to the stage, I turned to Lydia to mention something I'd noticed to her (probably about what he was wearing!) and saw the complete opposite of what I thought had actually been happening with the woman standing next to her. For instead of worrying about "falling out" of her top, another button was hurriedly undone and her rather ample cleavage attempted to take centre stage as she frantically tried to get Brett's undivided attention through her rather well-exposed decolletage. I could hardly stop laughing and Lydia thought it was hysterical too (as did Brett himself!) And later during the gig, Lydia herself actually had the pleasure of holding Brett's hand during one of the slower songs, which was obviously another wonderful moment us to treasure and recall, and whilst having not quite had the privilege of clutching Brett's hand, I indeed have had my own personal and, in its own magical way, unforgettable experience with him. At the concert in Brixton, we were allowed to park at the back of the venue so as to make it as easy as possible for me and we knew this was quite a big deal as we had to give them our car registration number and write down a code to give to the venue's car park security officer so we could have access. Lydia had dropped me off by the door which was at the back of the hall and went to park the car which was around a corner, when I suddenly noticed a thin, tall young man striding through the light London mist towards me. Within seconds I recognised that outlined figure and my heart leapt as I realised it was none other than Mr. Brett Anderson himself. It took every ounce of my self constraint not to talk to him, as I didn't want to spoil any chance of other people who had disabilities from being able to park at the back of the venue because the artists were being accosted as they themselves arrived, and also because I knew he would be preparing mentally for an important concert. We made eye contact, however, and as I had my Bird of Paradise-orange Bowie bag flung flamboyantly across my slender shoulder, he glanced at it and a nodding smile of approval flashed across his face as our eyes, for a brief moment, met. He talked to somebody briefly outside the door as he went in and then was gone but nothing could dampen my delight. Under a London sky, I had literally breathed the same air and trod the same ground as the one and only Brett Anderson and we had exchanged a knowing glance about David Bowie to top it off. This was more than enough for me. Indeed, anything more and I would probably have swooned, collapsed & needed resuscitating! I just wished Lydia had been there at that moment, although she said she'd had a good ogle of him herself when she saw him walking past and wondered if she'd find me unconscious when she got to me a few moments later by the door! Such are the beautiful instances that this crazy little thing called life can throw unexpectedly into your path. Ah...Suede, Suede, Suede. Or the London Suede as they are known in the U.S, and which I believe is an even more befitting name for them than their shorter British version, such glorious, soul enhancing moments have you given me. A life without you is simply unimaginable.
And for my beautiful wildflower, Lydia, these words pretty much say it all...
"You say what you want to say,
So, in the words of Suede...
Be Insatiable...
Stay Trashy...
With this in mind, and considering the heaving amounts of pulsating desire that Brett generates during gigs, which definitely makes most people go a bit Starcrazy and act like they've taken a bit too much animal nitrate and lost all sense of propriety, which, in truth, is all part of the plan as Suede's music is Music Like Sex You Like to have Sex to, I have a very humorous recollection of one of Brett Anderson's solo concerts that we attended. Brett's solo gigs are, although undoubtedly slightly less frenzied and not as heavily populated as Suede gigs, still sweaty, sensual affairs and at this particular show I'd been given a stool to sit on just in front of the barrier with the photographers in the pit, right in front of the rest of the audience. I couldn't help but notice a couple of very excited and over-animated young women next to Lydia and one of them was wearing a particularly low cut top, which she kept checking as she was obviously a bit concerned that she was having a bit of a wardrobe malfunction & was in danger of falling out of. When Brett came on to the stage, I turned to Lydia to mention something I'd noticed to her (probably about what he was wearing!) and saw the complete opposite of what I thought had actually been happening with the woman standing next to her. For instead of worrying about "falling out" of her top, another button was hurriedly undone and her rather ample cleavage attempted to take centre stage as she frantically tried to get Brett's undivided attention through her rather well-exposed decolletage. I could hardly stop laughing and Lydia thought it was hysterical too (as did Brett himself!) And later during the gig, Lydia herself actually had the pleasure of holding Brett's hand during one of the slower songs, which was obviously another wonderful moment us to treasure and recall, and whilst having not quite had the privilege of clutching Brett's hand, I indeed have had my own personal and, in its own magical way, unforgettable experience with him. At the concert in Brixton, we were allowed to park at the back of the venue so as to make it as easy as possible for me and we knew this was quite a big deal as we had to give them our car registration number and write down a code to give to the venue's car park security officer so we could have access. Lydia had dropped me off by the door which was at the back of the hall and went to park the car which was around a corner, when I suddenly noticed a thin, tall young man striding through the light London mist towards me. Within seconds I recognised that outlined figure and my heart leapt as I realised it was none other than Mr. Brett Anderson himself. It took every ounce of my self constraint not to talk to him, as I didn't want to spoil any chance of other people who had disabilities from being able to park at the back of the venue because the artists were being accosted as they themselves arrived, and also because I knew he would be preparing mentally for an important concert. We made eye contact, however, and as I had my Bird of Paradise-orange Bowie bag flung flamboyantly across my slender shoulder, he glanced at it and a nodding smile of approval flashed across his face as our eyes, for a brief moment, met. He talked to somebody briefly outside the door as he went in and then was gone but nothing could dampen my delight. Under a London sky, I had literally breathed the same air and trod the same ground as the one and only Brett Anderson and we had exchanged a knowing glance about David Bowie to top it off. This was more than enough for me. Indeed, anything more and I would probably have swooned, collapsed & needed resuscitating! I just wished Lydia had been there at that moment, although she said she'd had a good ogle of him herself when she saw him walking past and wondered if she'd find me unconscious when she got to me a few moments later by the door! Such are the beautiful instances that this crazy little thing called life can throw unexpectedly into your path. Ah...Suede, Suede, Suede. Or the London Suede as they are known in the U.S, and which I believe is an even more befitting name for them than their shorter British version, such glorious, soul enhancing moments have you given me. A life without you is simply unimaginable.
And for my beautiful wildflower, Lydia, these words pretty much say it all...
"You say what you want to say,
Your diamonds are drops of rain,
Your smile is your credit card,
Your currency is your love...
And the morning is for you,
And the air is free,
And the birds sing for you...
And your positivity."
Suede - 'Positivity'
So, in the words of Suede...
Be Insatiable...
Stay Trashy...
Love The Way You Love...
And Give a Little bit of Attitude!
Words to live by.
Until next time, I remain,
Your Nocturnal Butterfly...
