Suede's self-titled debut found the band riding a crest of success; their first three singles were steady chart-climbers, their faces adorned the covers of countless magazines, and their live appearances were flashy, glamorous, and packed. Behind all the glitter and gold, the band constructed a sound that took in the stomping splendor of glam rock, the feathery excess of art rock, and the street-level grime of punk, and gave it a joyous post-everything update. Listening to the group swagger and sway through the uptempo songs on the record is like having helium blown up your skirt -- the effect is one of weightless enchantment. Making it through the waggish "Metal Mickey" without sashaying around gleefully is a test few would pass; certainly it sounds like
Brett Anderson was giving his best effort while recording the vocals. The band, especially guitarist
Bernard Butler, imbue the songs with a sense of drama and excitement that matches
Anderson's gymnastically rakish vocals and louche lyrics to a tee. When they aren't strutting through songs like the eternally cheeky "The Drowners" or the romping "Animal Lover" as if they were winding up to give the dour music landscape a swift arse-kicking, the band delved into much more dour, somewhat gloomy territory where
Anderson's bitterly sad swooning is perfectly mirrored by the glimmering tones
Butler exudes like shiny tears. Check "She's Not Dead" for a good example. In between these two extremes are songs that split the difference and come across like glitter-prog gems. "So Young," for example, takes the moody melodrama of
the Smiths, the slithering guitar lines of
the Stone Roses, and the kitchen-sink epic nature of
Pulp, then melts it all together into something bold and shiny. Credit to
Anderson for a daring performance here, and throughout the album, that feels like he's not only walking a tightrope but doing it backwards with eyes closed. Even more love for
Butler's guitar playing. Not only can he dole out chunky power chords like
Marc Bolan, uncork whopping riffs like
Mick Ronson, and drift mystically like
John Squire, but he constantly explores his array of pedals and comes up with a wide range of sounds that never fail to surprise and amaze. It's a huge part of the album's magic that every song exhibits a different tone or new effect, from the paint-peeling fuzz on "Animal Nitrate," the swirling phase on "The Drowners" and the
Byrds-y jangle of "Animal Lover" to the echoing sweep heard throughout "Moving." It seems like there are about 12 guitarists and they are all geniuses, but even so,
Butler fits in just right with the rest of the group and never overshadows the singer. Perhaps his playing even propels
Anderson to greater heights. Taken altogether, the record is a shimmering snapshot of a perfect moment in time where the band, the songs, the sound, the production, and even the surrounding culture all teamed up to produce an album that's about as flawless as one could imagine. ~ Tim Sendra
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