In a summer where Oasis have dominated the headlines with the greatest cash grab since only Christ knows when, while the artistic relevance from the era that birthed Britpop may be considered a footnote in comparison, it undoubtedly eclipses what has been the most cynical side to nostalgia.
First it was Pulp who – as only they know how – returned out of left field with their excellent new release, More. Now it’s Suede who make yet another post a winner with Antidepressants – the follow-up to one of the 2022’s best releases in Autofiction.
In a fractious world seething in discontent, the hysteria can sometimes be misguided. Not Suede’s. After all, they’ve built a career on it, and led by the Francis Bacon-inspired cover art, this latest chapter seamlessly follows Autofiction, crystallising why Suede are arguably the United Kingdom’s most peerless rock act. Brett Anderson, Mat Osman, Simon Gilbert, Richard Oakes and Neil Codling, spending the last 12 years enthralling us over a five-album reign that has pulsated, fizzed and banged like no other.
Where Antidepressants fits into Suede’s overall story will only be judged with time, however it possesses all the dark harmony and bristling edginess of its predecessor. What begins with the “Connected / Disconnected” voice that someone experiences when connecting to their phone, it’s a directness that feeds into the high-wire drama that has always been the band’s nerve centre. With a line like, “Come down and disintegrate with me”, it feels like a sequel to The Drowners or even something that could have been wrenched into the narrative of The Blue Hour.
It’s not the only moment where one can draw a line from one Suede song to another. The hard-hitting glam stomp of the title track sees Oaks’ spidery riff weaving a web inside the mind of a protagonist who endeavours to untangle its complexities. The same world of uncertainty persists on Trance State, which could involve the very same character as they navigate through the kind mind fog born from these times.
Suede - AntidepressantsElsewhere, Dancing with the Europeans is an unadulterated Remainer’s anthem, and there probably isn’t anyone more fitting than Anderson to deliver it. As Oaks’ metallic chime and angular tremolo rings through the speakers, Anderson hasn’t sounded so forthright (“There’s something inside that craves the simulated life / There’s something inside that likes white artificial lights”). And Broken Music for Broken for People is just as candid. Thematically glib in a way that many acts have tried the same thing to weak effect, with all the verve, panache and open-hearted honesty, Suede make these moments count like no other, simple because you can feel that they mean it.
Then there’s The Sound and the Summer. With Oaks’ lead riff conjured from the upper reaches, underpinned by Osmon’s thrumming bass line, this is punk for the same high speeds referenced throughout the song. “You’ve never been loved till you’ve been loved in a crash,” sings Anderson, delivered with all the rush and roar of J.G. Ballard trading blows with Raymond Chandler.
While The Sound and the Summer is new-era Suede at their swashbuckling best, Somewhere Between an Atom and A Star is quintessential Suede. Something that could have occupied the space between The 2 of Us and Black or Blue, in all its brooding majesty, Anderson provides the theatre to match it. So too on Criminal Ways. The kind of blood lust tale more inspired by James Ellroy’s latest psychopathic depiction of Fred Otash, it’s these blazing insignias that sees the band oscillating between tenderness and vigour with ease.
As the closing Life Is Endless, Life Is A Moment possesses all the drama its name suggests, underlining the paranoia and hopelessness of these times, it’s the utterly beautiful June Rain that sees Suede emphatically slam home their message. The protagonist, the “alien on the opposite side of the road” who is eventually left “like a fingerprint on your back window” – a brutally poignant tale of loss that cuts different ways (is the protagonist dead, alive or in the same trance state of said song?).
It could also be the throughline from Autofiction to Antidepressants. A society built on misinformation and instant gratification that isn’t psychologically sustainable, ultimately leading to the great depths of delusion that form Antidepressants’ vital thread. And while June Rain is one the best songs Suede have written (not just in this decade-plus renaissance, but ever), once again, Anderson strikes the perfect balance between pomp and malevolence, galvanising an album that is, indeed, broken music for broken people.
Antidepressants is out now via BMG. Purchase here.
