Without wanting to get personal here - this of course would defeat the object of an objective review - this gig was quite a significant event for this writer. So sorry folks, this review is going to be a bit of a testimonial.
Back in the day, Suede were one of the first Indie bands I discovered, and BRETT ANDERSON’S erratic dance moves, shrieks and hollers, coupled with Bernard Butler’s dramaticly melodic guitar playing, made a lasting imprint on my teenage brain.
Some may argue that I should have known better. But put it this way, when I saw Suede on their Dog Man Star tour back in 1995, Brett Anderson threw an empty plastic Coke bottle into the crowd and I caught it. That empty plastic bottle was pinned onto my bedroom wall *for two whole years*, much to the protestations of my poor mother. To say I had a rotten crush on Brett Anderson and his dreadful dancing was the understatement of the century.
So enough of my adolescent fancies, and let’s fast forward 12 years to 2007. After the maelstrom that was Suede, Anderson and Butler’s painful fall out, smack dabblings, “The London Suede” fiasco in the US, some more smack and a bit of crack cocaine, rehab, Anderson and Butler’s eventual reconciliations, and The Tears – we all know the stories – we finally have Brett Anderson, a little wiser, certainly older, definitely looking more chiselled, and embarking on his solo career. No smack. Oh, and not that The Tears have disbanded, they’re just on an indefinite hiatus.
The faded glory of Bush Hall seemed an entirely appropriate venue for the occasion, and the general atmosphere was pleasingly intimate. At first it was hard to figure out what to expect. Would Brett Anderson still be leaping around the stage slapping his leather-clad arse, stomping his feet, and pouting like a woman? Or will he have mellowed out, to strip down his act and commence with the “sitting-on-a-stool-while-singing-ballads-and-clicking-his-fingers” thing?
You could have sliced the anticipation with a butter-knife, on my part anyway. But his eventual entrance was vintage Anderson. There was the loud throbbing music, the stick-thin band members walking on stage silhouetted to the back drop of the ornate walls and dusty chandeliers, and then on he came. Looking like Brian Ferry.
But oh how he puckered for the camera. Brian Ferry could never pull that off without getting beaten up. In short ladies and gentlemen, Brett Anderson has still got it. There were certainly no sit-down ballads, only seriously impressive mic-stand twirling, and yes, Anderson still slaps and wiggles his arse as if there’s no tomorrow. Honestly, every time Anderson smiled the sun came out and I was a gawking 15-year-old again.
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With gigs like this there are always going to be comparisons between earlier and more recent work. But apart from the obvious more mature, contemplative stance that Anderson has taken, this performance was very much a “Suede” gig. Not surprising given that Mat Osman was there, being easily one of the most under-rated bassists in the history of mankind.
The entire performance was bitter-sweet, with Anderson flipping rapidly from the exuberant to the needy, repeatedly asking the audience if they "wanted it" (yes they did), belting out one nuclear apocalyptic musical drama after another. The highlight of the evening was when they slipped “The 2 of Us” from Dog Man Star into the middle of the set. The crowd went wild and I naerly fainted. Which was great, but it easily stood out against Anderson’s new material. However, that was probably a case of comparing the sublime with the bloody good - it was still all splendid.
It was a great performance, and it was lovely to see Anderson on such good form. His genuinely likeable personality, and the fact that he was enjoying himself so much (the way he twirled his mic stand, he should have been a majorette) spread to the audience, and I'm sure most people went home on top of the world. I certainly did.
Brett Anderson was famously quoted as saying: “People might think we’re a bunch of fainting woofters who are going to release one album and then disappear. I desperately want to prove them wrong.” Fainting woofter? Likely. One hit wonder? Absolultely not. And good on him.
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