The Domestic Terrorist - How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Suede

“How I Learned To Love Suede”
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“In Britain where it rains all the time,
you understand why Duran Duran exist.
You look outside and it’s cold and raining and gale force winds,
so you put on a big shiny coat and look all glamourous,
as if to put a big finger to the world.”
Henry Rollins 28 Nov 98.
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It started simply really. I first heard of Suede some seven years ago, when back in the summer of ‘92, I saw them on the cover of Melody Maker with the headline “The Best New Band in Britain?” Of course, I, like many others, took one look at it and surmised them for what they were. Chancers with big mouths and no talent. And there I remained thinking that the hype was simply that and they would soon disappear into obscurity. Just like every band that proclaimed that they were the best band in the world, they were only the band they happened to be in.

I’d also never heard a Suede record - and I didn’t particularly want to. Until I first heard Suede . It was a wash of colour in the grey musical palette. For the first time, glamour, adrongyny, a sense of humour, and a sense of escape were back. No more jeans and t-shirts apologising for their existence, or whinging millionaire rock stars. Suede took the chances life offered them by the horns.

“The Drowners” came first. Then came my first concert in Leicester. Where had these people been hiding so long? I only knew four songs at the time, so each time Bernard pulled yet another classic from his cherry red guitar it felt like a long lost friend. 50 minutes later I was one of the converted.

What other options were there? Kingmaker? The Senseless Things? Alice In Chains? Suede showed all these for what they truly were.

Naturally something that burns twice as bright only burns half as long, and after a tornado of singles, an album, and some of the best music ever heard - after all, the piano demo of “The Living Dead” is the best song in the world - Bernard jumped ship. Suede were over, and personally I was saddened.

By now, we all knew Suede , we knew the music that slayed the devoted and sceptical alike. We know how good they were before then. But we needed to know how good a future they had.

My next conversion was at Brighton in October 1994. I was sceptical. I knew “Dog Man Star“ was a great album, but playing it live was something else. Especially with an unknown guitarist. Despite Richard’s rabbit-in-headlights poise (after all it was only his seventh show), he played a blinder. I knew Suede had a future far brighter than their past. And a life long love affair was back on the cards.

I saw them again in Leicester - the day before Richey of the Manics disappeared - and they were even better. By now I knew Suede were probably the best live band in the world. And a few months later I caught them again at the Blackpool Empress Ballroom.

Even now this show gives me the tingles.

Within 30 seconds, it felt like I was as watching the best band in the world play the show of their lives. It was beyond words. Brett was like a man with hours left to live. Richard was playing as if it was the last chance he would ever had. Astonishing and breathless, I left on a high.

When I got home I watched my mother have a heart attack.

Six months later, and the Hanover Grand was the place to be. Nobody knew exactly what was happening. Suede again showed that thy were a band prepared to take risks, exploring new avenues without even bothering to apologising for the fact. And in it all, debuted Boy Sex Codling. Neil - man, lizard, woman, we didn’t have a bloody clue what it was, stock still in the headlights.

Coming Up gained a lot of fans. Lost a few. But it showed that whatever anybody said, Suede were still Suede and Suede were better than almost anybody else in the world. The fact that for this album alone we got 18 new songs as b-sides were almost irrelevant. We were being spoilt again.

The resulting live shows from the Coming Up tour, of which I saw 7, bring back great memories for me. The Birmingham Que Club saw an astonishing amount of pretty boys eyeing up Boy Sex Codling and Brett. Wolverhampton, where a grown man like I felt faint and nearly passed out. Newport where “By The Sea” was longer than that breathless moment just before a first kiss. Watford, where “ Film Star knocked my socks off. The fan club b-sides show at the London Forum, where every song I’d ever wanted to hear live was unwrapped before my eyes magically.

And finally, The Ilford Island video shoot, where the band gave a show of surprises and thrills (The welcome resurrections of “Another No-One”, and “Metal Mickey”’), to just a few hundred of us, in their smallest show in years.

Nobody Does It Better.

Dec 98.

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