These Are The Suede Songs

When one mentions Suede, one of the first things that will inevitably come up, is the sheer strength of their B-sides, which stand shoulder to shoulder with some of the greatest A-Sides of their contemporaries, even surpassing them. Perhaps it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to argue they even eclipse the quality of their own A-Sides at times.

Not to wear out the comparison, but this is another factor Suede have in common with The Smiths; more on that later. As a business decision, it’s certainly clever. It’s obvious, but a factor many artists fail to consider, and that’s keeping sales of singles consistently high alongside album sales. Whilst in the 1970s it may have been commonplace for artists to discard just another album track as a B-side, keeping the spheres of album and single purchases entirely separate, towards the eighties and into the early nineties, it became the norm to include specifically recorded tracks as the flip side, as the gap between the single and album markets closed. This was of course due to wider societal shifts; the singles charts were typically seen as the realm of younger consumers with less disposable income and more freely roaming eyes, and albums of proper, “grown-up” music aficionados. There was always a subtly gendered dichotomy at play here, too, which fortunately as time went on, reduced significantly though never quite went away. Women who are music enthusiasts, like myself, often have our love for the artform reduced to a mere frivolity, whilst our male counterparts are taken more seriously, even if they have much less to say on the subject. We’re “singles” people. Men are “albums” people. Quality B-sides, though, legitimised the single in the eyes of many, and whilst they should be considered an essential part of pop music and pop culture no matter the contents of the other side, proved that a single can be a worthy purchase if only to hear the bonus tracks you won’t hear anywhere else. To this day, it’s still something of a joke among musicians and music fans alike. I remember watching an episode of the cartoon Steven Universe as a teenager, where the titular character’s father Greg, a musician, dismisses a song he wrote and views as inferior as “just a B-side”, and I think this is representative of the general attitude towards them, which bands like Suede and The Smiths, and even dare I say Oasis, were essential in dispelling.

The first of our songs today isn’t technically a B-side at all, rather the double A side of The Drowners, included on the 12 inch release: To The Birds.

This track started life in the dying throes of Suede Mk.1, shortly before Frischmann’s departure and after Gilbert’s recruitment, as The Bike Tragedy, owing its title presumably to the opening line, “Don’t take your life ‘cos your bicycle won’t fly”. It’s an ode to those small glimmers of optimism in otherwise bleak times, whilst touching on the bread and butter of Suede lyrics - infatuation and sacrifice and submission to love. Brett Anderson writes from the point of view of our protagonist, in a state of despair, watching and singing to, as the title suggests, the birds at his side, or, perhaps the woman he sees “by the window”. This takes on a double meaning, of singing to literal birds (the animal) or to a woman, or women (“birds” being a colloquial, usually Estuary-ism referring to women, often considered to be demeaning, though commonly used in English slang, indicating the shift towards shying away from flowery music-isms and more towards the gritty, often vulgar, language Anderson heard from those around him throughout his childhood and early adulthood). As To The Birds became a pivotal part of Suede’s live set around 1992, in fact, yet another layer of meaning is added. There’s a pretty equal gender split in terms of Suede’s fanbase, though there was always the vague air of them being viewed as a “girls’” band. Mat Osman recalls seeing advertisements for club nights in London in the 1990s, listing music from the blokey Britpop lot of the day, and it reading plainly “Sorry girls, no Suede”, and taking a great deal of pride in this, in being seen as a “girls’” band, separate to the rampant misogyny, leeriness and toxic masculinity so omnipresent in so much British music of the time. With this in mind, despite the obvious old-fashioned connotations of the word, Anderson himself is singing “to the birds” at his side, and that would perhaps save him from a life of office drudgery. God forbid, of course.

Seeing “her” by the window has this effect, also. We can take this as mere innocent love for a neighbour or friend, or perhaps a partner, with whom our protagonist is infatuated with, whether platonically or romantically, and will later in the song cross the bustling traffic, and submit themselves entirely to their feelings. However there’s another, more seedy and perhaps Suede-esque meaning, which would probably be more obvious coming from the mouth of somebody like Pulp’s Jarvis Cocker (love him though I do), and that’s one of sexual voyeurism. Anderson is a master at creating these multiple, layered meanings that explore the contradictions of our lives and of the human condition. His lyrics are almost a kind of poetic rorschach test. In this sense, To The Birds contains such powerful, vivid imagery, but each and every person who listens to it will come away with a different interpretation.

Onto My Insatiable One, which is the first many think of when Suede B-Sides are mentioned. It’s a melancholic breakup song, and it’s been said, by the man himself even, that Anderson wrote the lyrics from the perspective of Justine Frischmann, writing from the point of view of an ex in the same way as he would on Head Music’s He’s Gone years later, but that hasn’t stopped interpretations of the song hovering around homoeroticism for some fans, the ambiguity and use of a male pronoun being viewed in the same way as it was on The Drowners. Anderson has explicitly refuted this and has positioned Frischmann as the POV character, and has stated that the song is about himself as viewed through her eyes. Personally I’ve always sided with Anderson’s description, but I find his attitude somewhat dismissive. Artistic intent is one thing and cannot be ignored, but to tell people, straight-up, that their interpretation is wrong is rather harsh. When a work gets put out into the world, it becomes the audiences’, there for them to enjoy and interpret however they see fit. That doesn’t devalue an artist’s original intention, however, both can co-exist.

My Insatiable One was written, apparently, unusually quickly and with surprising ease. Bernard Butler and Anderson apparently wrote it in around an hour, and it was a rare occurrence of a song just appearing fully formed. Like the previous songs discussed, the instrumental swaggers and moans, which makes a sexual interpretation all the more likely, and I find it hard to believe that Anderson and Butler were not aware of this. Lyrically, it’s simple and short, but there’s still evidence of the Suede tropes we would later come to know and love (or loathe, if you hate fun, I suppose). We have mentions of “the high life”, possibly a reference to Frischmann’s wealth, abd mentions of escalators - a fixture of the London Underground, cementing the use of imagery based around, not Britain, but around London specifically. This is another aspect that sets Suede apart, and why I refute the Britpop label when it’s haphazardly slapped onto them. There’s nothing celebratory about this portrayal of London life. It’s rather sad, in fact. It’s merely observational. Anderson said that he wanted to write about the life that he knew, which entailed “standing in dole queues, staring at the dandruff on the neck of the man in front of you, and feeling the throb of last night’s hangover.” You can really feel this with My Insatiable One. If you’ve ever been on the Underground with a bastard of a hangover, you’ll get it. The song conjures up imagery of standing there as you descend (or ascend), rubbing your temples, swaying slightly, focusing on not being sick, whilst the throngs of commuters and clueless tourists continue on the Merry-Go-Round that is Britain’s capital. I’ve definitely been there. It’s not a romantic or glamorous image. It’s not even cool in a gritty, grotty kind of way. It’s just a bit sad, and that’s what Suede sing about. It’s not romantic or cool, they’re not even trying to find beauty in it, they’re just talking about it. A world we know and live in.

Mat Osman puts it perfectly when discussing this song in the 2018 documentary The Insatiable Ones by Mike Christie, when he mentions Brett Anderson using words that you’d never normally come across in pop music, such as “leotard”. It’s really just a shame that he chose to rhyme it with a slur. I don’t hold this against Anderson whatsoever, it’s an unfortunate fact that a certain slur that rhymes with the word above was in common usage at the time, and if, as we’ve established, the lyrics are from Justine Frischmann’s point of view, whilst I can’t say for certain, when you consider that Elastica’s original name and the title of one of their songs is derived from another similarly derogatory term, one that rhymes with elastic, it’s likely this word was in her vernacular. It’s a relatively minor transgression in the grand scheme of things that musicians have done, and I’m not about to make a “Your Fave Is Problematic”-esque post or call for Suede and Elastica to be “canceled”, far from it. However, if I didn’t point this out, I would have somebody point it out for me, and it’s important to have an open dialogue about aspects of art you find to be troubling or have aged poorly. Whilst immediately writing something off as “problematic” is harmful, so is consuming everything you watch, read or listen to entirely uncritically, and defend absolutely every decision the artists have made. This is what this project is all about. I adore Suede, but I’m not exactly here to fawn over them. At least not all the time.

Around this time, Suede were not only making waves amongst the public and the music press, but were being championed by their own inspirations, notably David Bowie, and Morrissey. That’s right, Morrissey was an early champion of Suede, and even covered My Insatiable One as part of his live set. Legend has it that he was spotted at the back of a gig, scribbling down the lyrics in a notebook, though it’s more likely Moz was introduced to the song by his guitarist, Boz Boorer, who recalls buying the 12 inch of The Drowners and rehearsing it. Boorer even mentioned having to detune his guitar by a semi-tone in order to play it.

1991. The University of London Union Ticket Office. Enter one Simon Gilbert, stage right. Gilbert, a twenty-five year old punk from Stratford-Upon-Avon, has just heard a demo tape from a band, supposedly one managed by, among a couple of other characters, his colleague Ricky Gervais. Gervais was, at this point, working at ULU and moonlighting in a band, as Brett Anderson recalls, called Son Of Bleeper. This was long before he would become better known for his “comedy” - and troubling views on transgender rights.

Gilbert asked Gervais if he could join, to which he was told he couldn’t “because he didn’t have flares and he didn’t have a fringe”.

Thank goodness, he would go on to ask another of Suede’s managers and secured a rehearsal. It would take six months of Gilbert believing he was on a trial period to realise he was officially in the band.

This was monumental in Suede’s musical journey. Gone was the faulty drum machine which would constantly break down, and here was a proper full-time drummer, and the final push to shake off the unpleasant spectre of Baggy forever, and to comfortably slide into something tighter, more violent, sexier. Gilbert’s drumming is melodic and calculated, whilst at the same time booming and tribal. It’s the kind of drumming that fills stadiums, and what a better way to introduce Suede to the world at large than with his iconic drum fill on ‘The Drowners’.

It was around this time, too, that Justine Frischmann would depart the band. Anderson recalls to Dave Thompson that, as Butler was increasingly developing his playing to incorporate both lead and rhythm at the same time, this, sadly, made her feel her place in the band was becoming somewhat redundant. Frischmann herself remarks that it was “better to be Pete Best than Linda McCartney.”

Another reason for her exit was the shift in the band’s musical direction. Frischmann increasingly felt that songs were becoming too long and overwrought. Though she would, fantastically, go on to create short, spiky post-punk with Elastica later in the decade.

On January 2nd 1992, Suede attracted the attention of Saul Galpern, the operator of Nude Records, whilst playing at The Venue in New Cross in a show under the name “On For ‘92”. He offered them £3,132 for a two single deal.

In April of that year, Melody Maker made the bold choice to place Suede on their front cover, proclaiming them the “Best New Band in Britain”. This cover has gone on to gain an almost infamy amongst Suede and their fans. Anderson, in the 2022 BBC Documentary Rock Family Trees: The Birth of Cool Britannia, refers to it in disparaging terms, likening it to winning a competition in school as a child.

However less discussed is the contents of the article itself. Not only were Suede described as ‘The Best New Band in Britain’, but as “the most audacious, mysterious, sexy, absurd, perverse, glamorous, hilarious, honest, cocky, melodramatic, mesmerising band you’re ever likely to fall in love with.”

And this leads us back, finally, to The Drowners.

Released on May 11th 1992 as a double A Side with To The Birds, The Drowners peaked at a not insignificant number 49 on the UK charts at the time of release, however it would later go on to hit an impressive Number 17 in July 2023 for one week as a thirtieth anniversary reissue, albeit in a time when chart positions don’t mean all that much.

Suede would often be touted as some kind of antithesis to the Grunge which dominated the airwaves in the early 1990s, however, The Drowners’ opening chords could, in some sense, be described as “grungy”. They’re hard and powerful and dirty. Not dirty in the greasy-haired grunge sense, but in a way that oozes sex. This is what truly sets Suede apart.

In the Channel 4 Documentary Opening Shot, Everett True, at the time assistant editor at Melody Maker, explains: “the critics loved them [Suede] (...) because they are exactly the same as everything they grew up with. They hark back to an era of rock and roll that critics understand, 1993 down the front at the Hammersmith Odeon watching David Bowie.” I feel that this perspective, whilst it may have some truth to it, is rather an oversimplification and focuses primarily on Suede’s image (cobbled together from charity shops and largely consisting of whatever they could find). Suede only have as much in common with Bowie as any of their contemporaries, it feels like a rather lazy comparison.

Anderson’s vocals have once again assumed new inflections and has a great deal more character, not to mention confidence. Listening to the Rocking Horse Demo, which is a much rawer, grittier take, the first thing that sticks out are, indeed, the vocals. They’re sung in near falsetto, they’re a little girlish and coquettish. Inviting, sexy. If there’s one way that The Drowners can be described, it’s certainly sexy. The rhythm of the guitar line, the pounding drums, the pleading of Anderson’s vocals.

There’s the ambiguity of it all, too, as Anderson describes how “we kiss in his room”. Is this the room of a third party? A male partner? Or is he singing from a woman’s perspective? It’s kept completely open, and this ambiguity is something that will become a theme throughout Suede’s catalogue.

Interestingly, two music videos were shot. One for the UK market by Lindy Heymann, which depicts the band flouncing around a white soundstage intercut with footage of Anderson and an unnamed girl walking around a manky railway bridge in Camden (now a pilgrimage spot for avid Suede fans, complete with an unofficial blue plaque), and another for the US market, depicting a kind of frantic gig scene with fans, real fans, clamoring for a piece of the boys on the stage, before it devolves into a foam party. I feel the latter captures the song considerably better. It's so thrilling, sexy, dirty and primal. It's everything Suede are, and everything that drew me to them.

At the time of writing, this is the song that Anderson uses as his excuse to do his crowd walk, wading through a sea of adoring fans. It's fitting, with the use of the “we” pronoun (another characteristic of Suede lyrics), creating a convivial experience. Whilst the power dynamic between band and crowd will always place the band upon a higher footing, oftentimes literally, at this moment he becomes one with his audience. It's also a chance for Mat Osman and Richard Oakes to really shine.

Although, the production on The Drowners, and Suede’s back catalogue as a whole, I feel does Osman rather poorly. He's a truly accomplished bass player who creates some truly incredible baselines which compliment and tie together the songs so perfectly, and combined with Gilbert’s ferocious drumming, it's truly a match made in rhythm section heaven. The bass, though is so often disappointingly low in the mix, and so can only be heard with the highest quality headphones.

Anderson admits part of this would likely be due to how he listened to music throughout his adolescence, on a cheap sound system which cut out the low tones. The recent remasters rectify this somewhat, but it still rather feels a shame.

All in all, The Drowners is a delightful, sleazy, beautiful introduction to the world of a band who still aren't given the credit they're due.