reviews on suede

SCI-FI LULLABIES

by John Harris in November 1997 edition of Select
Star rating: **** out of ***** (4/5)

Several hundred years ago, when John Major was an election-winner, Noel Gallagher was an employee of the Inspiral Carpets, and the pernicious practice of releasing double-CD single packs with free badges was in its infancy, Suede released their debut single. It sounded, in a world of atomic dustbins and unstoppable sex machines, like music beamed in from another planet. Even more remarkably, its supporting features came very close to outshining the main attraction.

In addition to 'The Drowners', it contained two songs that invoked a strange urban glamour, all damp-ridden London flats, curious sex and violence. 'To The Birds' - the kind of surreal ballad that could close a classic album - seemed good enough, but 'My Insatiable One' was simply stunning. Somewhere in the combination of strident, fuzztoned guitar, a swooping melody and recherche lyrics ("On the escalator, they took it out on him/As the ridiculous world went by"), lay the fantastically welcome scent of brilliance.

Following the example of The Smiths (witness 'Half A Person' or 'Handsome Devil'), Suede B-sides have been home to some of their most beguiling moments - so much that they were able to play a fan-club show consisting of nothing else. 'Sci-Fi Lullabies' exhaustively empties their under-the-stairs cupboard, and it's like a retelling of the entire Suede movie script.

Thus, Act 1 takes in the aforementioned songs, plus the discomfiting 'He's Dead' and 'Where The Pigs Don't Fly' - Suede's blood-and-glitter phase, bulging with risque intrigue. Act 2 finds their vistas expanding, and Brett's mind flying into the ionosphere: 'The Big Time' neatly predicts the bold gravitas of 'Dog Man Star' and 'My Dark Star' is out-there enough to prophesy the coming of a female messiah (think of 'Stay Together' while you listen to these, and the image of Suede as a short-lived New Queen is complete). 'The Living Dead', however, deals in a new kind of grit: used syringes, and an embrace of jarring social realism.

So - after the staggering bit of rough that is 'Killing Of A Flash Boy' - commences Act 3. Suede have now come down from their rarified Notting Hill perch, lost Bernard Butler and commenced an empathetic trek around Britain's satellite towns. We've crash-landed in the world of the everyday: hence 'Whipsnade', 'Together', 'Bentswood Boys' and the neon loneliness oozed by 'Another No-One'.

Soon enough, the curtain drops, and we're ushered into Act 4: Suede reborn, with the aforementioned brilliance intact, as an altogether more playful proposition - as if they've decided to try on clothes they last wore as adolescents (Oakes and The Codling are doubtless behind some of this). The emotional breadth of the songs is reduced, but their newly-acquired jauntiness - as evidenced by 'Jumble Sale Mums' - is alluring indeed, as is the rediscovered fondness for the soaring charms of simple pop music exemplified by 'Sadie'.

There's a story about Liam Gallagher yelling 20 minutes of frenzied, swaggering praise at his brother in recognition of the fact that a song as good as 'The Masterplan' was a B-side. 'Sci-Fi Lullabies' proves that Suede deserve a similarly effusive salute, although they would doubtless require something more fitting. So, blow them a kiss and send them some flowers - this is truly as good as most Greatest Hits albums.

Soundbite: "Flipping brilliant."