[Through the arch window ]
Never before have a group been so hermetically sealed from the outside world as suede. Their true origins, relationships and drug habits have always been hidden under a shield of wry cool - until now.
Welcome to the private life of the band under glass. . .


*She's shaking obscene to a fucking machine. . .* Amid the racks of flickering LED's at West London's Townhouse recording studios, Brett Anderson's effects laquered vocla leaps suggestivly from the speakers. The tracks called *savoir faire* and its bumping along in twitchingly lavish style. The five members of suede sit around, listening intently as their new album is tweaked and EQ'd at this final pre-manufacturing cut. The song of the moment sluttishly wends its way, oblivious to the dustless, pristine environment that its currently contaminating.

*She cooking crack, giving us 'eart attack. * it goes, in a winner combination of gurning drug fun, questionable grammar and pro-am West-Indiam patois. As suede listen for th desired mix of bottom-end woof, and upper-mid bite, the speakers keep up a steady flow of narcotic allusion: *She make love and swalloed a dove. . .* Then, in a moment of euphoria, *I believe in ecstasy, yeah, yeah, yeah!* coos Brett in a tone that suggests he's considering this notion for the first time ever.

Drugs, cities, *shaking obscene* - as in *shaking obscene like a killing machine* on 1994 B-side, killing of a flashboy* - anyone familiar with the suede lexicon with be unsuprised by this frame of reference. Brett has, of course, long since secured this particular niche - an enticingly blighted land of cocaine, council estates and chic carnality.

And now suede return, different but the same. *Head music*, their fourth album, brings a new machine drilled sound, but the heart of the band is fixed eternally. *Head music* is suede, but more so. Swamped in cold futuristic processed noise, the album moves still further into the tensed, claustrophobic heart of the millenial citadel.

This time the bands self declared reference points are *A Clockwork Orange*, Cocaine, Prince, the Sex Pistols and The London Underground. Beyond this, compared with the usual serial reinvention of British poo culture, Suede stand as unchanging as grannit. Not for them the recently vogue-ish ways of avant-guard introspection or the inventing quick fix of remic culture. Round here, wardrobes remain untouchabled by balooning combat pants, and strange new space-age footwear.

In a medium normally riven by cultural cross-polination, suede cannibalise only themselves. So, *Head music* is stocked with gasoline, teenage toughs, violent homes and brutish androgyne, *walking like a woman, and talking like a stone age man*. As ever, suede want to blow their own trumpet because everybody else has got their spit on it.

"I think this album is both alien and familiar", says suede bassman Mat Osman after the cut has been successfully negotiated. "you'll certainly recognise things, but it *sounds* new. This time we took the songs into the studio, and they just seemed *taller.*"





Coming the autumn of 1998 it was time for Simon Gilbert, urbane rhythmatist, to begin thinking abuot taking Geaorge away for a spell in the counrt. George is Simons Labrador, and whenever suede activity gets intense, this valued canine, is driven out to the berkshire kennels he shares with the celebrity hounds of Shane Richie and Terry Wogan.

"I know its ridiculous" Simon smiles, "but George does get looked after in some style. I think all the dogs have their own TV set."

Georges evactuation was pressing because suede were about to enter the studio for a weks trial production with Steve Osborne, A man best known for his work on Happy Monday's *Pills, Thrills and Bellyaches*, and along Paul Oakenfold in the perfceto team. The week went well, and by th end of August, Band and Producer had moved into Notting Hill's Sarm West Studio to begin work in earnest.





Suede came to the studio with around a dozen songs, the oldest of which was *He's Gone*, a piece originally destined for the B-side of the lazy single but pit aside when its quality became apparent. With a chord progression similar to *My Way*, it had been stockpiled alongside the new songs Suede had begun demo-ing after their 1997 headline performance at Reading.

As work progressed, the first song had began to realise the blue print the band had in their head was *Savoir Faire*. Recorded at Fulham's Mayfair studio and riding on an immortal opening couplet *She live in a haouse, She stupis as a mouse*, It developed into a piece of clipped, FX-laden machine funk, like Prince somehow being persueded to produce Placebo.

"It was a new version of Suede," Brett now recalls, sitting in a secluded bolthole in Master Rock Studios off Kilburn High Road

"It was an evolution, but not a wholesale reinvention There's always been a lot of emotion, a lot of heart in our songs, and I like that 'Savoir Faire' pushes Suede forward, but it still keeps what Suede were about"

The new model Suede placed a novel emphasis on groove and tight two chord structures, looking for inspiration to the late '80s Prince of 'Alphabet Street' and 'Girls And Boys' as well as the David Bowie of 'TVC 15' (from 1976's 'Station To Station') The lyrics were designed as naturalistic snapshots, often dictated more by their sounds than their meaning It was intended to be, in Brett's words, "taut and pretty funky" Sitting on the sofa, alongside a blank TV screen, todays Brett is lucid, attentive, courteous, sips coffee and smokes the occasional B&H Clad in silver army-issue parka, slinky Carhartt top, nondescript jeans and Reef trainers, he glows with health (he's just back from a fortnight in Barbados - he goes there every year) He also litters his conversation with a library of deeply Suede esque words and phrases "loonies", "proper drug fiends", "heavy metal" In a '70s Grange Hill style, he refers to deodorant as "BO basher"

In conversation, Brett's sentences habitually end with a strange, warbling, Mick lagger esque modulation and a quick "D'y'know what I mean?" And, as with Jagger, he can also discuss his art with a wilful glibness, talking about new songs like a man off-handedly hailing a cab "Funny one, that A bit of a singalong, that one "

Gone, however, are the series of theatrical sniffs that punctuated his last major interview with Select, in November 1997 Such furious sniffing might have indicated a troublesome head cold or troublesome drug habit, depending on your disposition. The inference, of course, was the latter But there's no sniffing today Brett has discovered other interests.

"I'm really into food at the moment. Food's great," he declares with the delinously bewildered tone of Paul Whitehouse's *'Brilliant* character "I've been very healthy recently and I've been reading loads, which I never used to do I've just realised that books are excellent I'm not doing any drugs at the moment, and I'm doing a lot of exercise - sit ups, press ups, any thing to keep me in shape "

Right now, Brett might be a shining advert for better living through biology, but Suede's new album does bring with it some signs of opiated tomfoolery The album's title was, initially, announced one letter at a time With the first two letters being 'H' and 'E', there is a theory that this was Suede playing on their previous heroin infamy Was Brett, a man who told Select in 1997 that he had "tried some smack-o-gram teaser?

"Oh, no," he frowns resignedly, brow creasing in concern. "1 really wish it hadn't gone like that. What actually happened was that I was playing pool, right here in this studio with Saul Galpern (Nude Records boss) and he was nagging me for the album title, Just to piss about with him I said, 'Saul, I'm going to tell you the name a letter at a time. On Monday morning, I'll fax you the first letter.' From there it went to the fan club and then into the press. It really wasn't meant to be this big highly questionable scam, with us maybe spelling out the word 'heroin'. It was a joke that got out of hand. That is the God's honest truth."

Brett may be drug-free at the moment, but 'Head Music' strikes a different tone. Pharmacological reportage is, of course, a long-standing tradition with Suede. The first album includes gurning nods to amyl nitrate alongside invocations to "chase the dragon". Second album 'Dog Man Star' featured the impenetrable double entendre of 'Heroine' and a girl whom the narrator would "supply with ecstasy". Then 1996's 'Coming Up' escalated into a cavalcade of Class A's, injectable mari-joo-arna and doved-up, sex-and-Bostik aficionados.

Predictably enough, it's a tradition now revisited on 'Head Music'. Alongside 'Savoir Faire' and its E, crack and speed, the album also sings heartily of blown minds and "Love from the white, white line". What exactly is going on here?

"Well," Brett volunteers, quite convincingly, "I'm not doing anything at the moment, but that doesn't mean drugs don't exist. When I was writing the album I was doing loads of crap. We've been writing the album for a year and a half now, and for the first half of that I was flying on the ceiling. Lots of the people I know are proper fiends, you know what I mean? Serious fiends. This album was a combination of either no drugs or a lot of drugs."





It sounds like a variety-packed regime. But, as Brett tucks his legs up on the chair and flicks his lighter, he puts his current lifestyle in perspective."Gnnnnn," he says by way of introduction.

"The thing is, the first two albums were constant, full-on drugs. All of the albums were framed in a lot of narcotics really, but 'Dog Man Star' really stands out. With that one, I was just out of it pretty much all the time. I did lose perspective there, and if anyone is put off that album, that's probably why. Too many drugs. Cocaine psychosis. I became really put off by the way cocaine is such a horrible extension of the music industry. 1 don't go to industry events, it's not my scene. If I'm going to snort Cocaine, I'd rather not do it in toilets, which is aways the abiding memory of those events. I'd rather do it at home."

Swivelling animatedly in his seat, he continues. "I've now found that being completely abstinent can be just as much of a high as taking shitloads of drugs. Lots of the songs on the new album were written when I was suddenly clean and getting a real high off that - 'Savoir Faire', 'Crack In The Union Jack', 'Can't Get Enough' were like that. 'Can't Get Enough' was about having given it up and seeing the monster I'd been - this snarling, greedy, grabbing character. In fact, it's almost a celebration of that, but I was able to write it because I was removed from that scenario."

Sitting back, he scrunches his face into a contented grin.

"Real life can be great. It really can, which is something you can't really see when you're scurrying from house to house worrying where you're going to get your next hit. Being here today and not needing anything more than a cup of coffee really is wonderful."

"Hmm, yes, *goodie goodie yum yum, funky Gibbon', and not forgetting 'Black Pudding Bertha'. All the greats."

In an Islington pub, senatorial Suede bassist Mat Osman reflects on The Goodies, the '70s comedic TV trio responsible for the suggestion that we "Do, do, do, the funky gibbon" - as well as a host of other equally irremovable novelty hit singles. Mat's brother Richard, as well as producing recent boy-band TV spoof Boyz Unlimited, is the man behind BBC2 quiz show If I Ruled The World. Consequently, Mat has been able to consort with Graeme Garden, one of the team captains on the quiz and formerly one third of The Goodies.

"It was good to meet Graeme Garden," says Mat over his lager and fags. "All my mates were much more impressed by that than by my meeting any musician. You say, 'Oh, I met David Bowie at the weekend', and they're like, 'Oh, yeah...' Tell them that you've met Graeme Garden and they all go, 'No! Blimey, go on, what's he really like?'"

Truth be told, Suede don't meet a lot of musicians. Of all the big league bands in Britain today, they're probably the most self-sealed. With all five band members living amid the quietly bohemian streets of West London's boroughs of Westbourne Park, Netting Hill and

White City, their social circle is restricted to the group and the three or four close friends that they each maintain.

"We don't really go out," says Mat. "It's not a pose, but I don't go to many showbiz parties. I went to Eddie Izzard's thing at the London Planetarium, that's the only one I can remember. I don't want to be part of today's music industry and compare what we're doing with contemporary bands. I want to compare what we do with Prince and David Bowie and Kate Bush.
Plus, I don't do drugs. I take less drugs than virtually any human being I know. If taking drugs was an Olympic event, I wouldn't get in the team. I've got to an age where I realise my favourite drug is booze. I like Irish whiskey and I like gin, but I'll drink any fucking thing. I do love a drink, but the thing that people might not realise about us is that there is a puritan streak to us sometimes. I would never have a drink before playing a gig, or in the studio."





The band's two newer members have now also taken up residence in the West London environs of Suedeworld - a place where the attentive observer will be able to spot Brett sitting eating a curry with the hood of his parka pulled fully up. Such onlookers will also be able to observe keyboardist Neil Codling shopping for records 'incognito' in four-inch-diameter shades.

Striding precisely across the bare boards of an East London photo studio, flares flapping, ectomorph rib-cage thrust out, Neil now seems an intrinsic part of the Suede landscape. Without any apparent hint of self-consciousness, he removes Underworld's 'Beaucoup Fish' from the studio CD machine and keys up one of his instrumental happy-house demos.

His current listening includes Mercury Rev, the Super Furries, Serge Gainsbourg's imperious 'Histoire De Melody Nelson' album, Belle & Sebastian's 'Seymour Stein' and "various bang ing techno". To complement this, the current Suede fanclub maga/.ine includes an ebullient handwritten greeting from Codling.

"Sell your television," it goes. "Secure all removable objects and lock up Fluffy.
uede are back. Love, Neil X."

Neil's initial interviews included reports of nervousness. It's difficult to imagine this today. Almost comically self-assured, he talks very earnestly of his distrust of television, treats silly questions with quiet disdain and outlines his chemical regime during the recording of 'Head Music': "No drugs at all, just salt and pepper."

The album not only features such Anderson/Codling credits as 'Elephant Man', but also an image of Neil (alongside Brett's girlfriend, Sam) on the album's front cover. Comeback single 'Electricity' features a further example of Codling expansionism - his hesitant lead vocals feature on the self-written B-side 'Waterloo'.

"'Waterloo' is part of our covert Abba theme," he explains.
"The other B-side on the CD is called 'See That Girl',

which is a line from 'Dancing Queen'. For the album, all my demos were named after the London Underground. *Waterloo' was one that stuck. It's a good song, because people say to me, 'Is that Abba's 'Waterloo'?' and I say, 'No. it's my Waterloo' - as in my Waterloo, my final battle."



Taking his seat at the table, Richard Oakes returns his round John Lennon glasses to his nose. "Can't be wearing those in photos now," he explains with mild self-deprecation.





Currently in his 23rd year, Richard is now some way from the novelty teen role he was assigned when he joined Suede - he was nicknamed 'Little Dick' and 'Mad Dog' by media and bandmates respectively. Radiating an understated, sober solidity, he still looks slightly like he's been dressed by Suede Central Casting, but these days he's taking no shit.

"Yeah, right," he snarls when it's suggested that a proposed domestic move to North London will take him deep into the homeland of his predecessor in Suede, Bernard Butler. "I'm sure a few other people might live there as well."

Denying interest in any exotic gunk ("I don't take any drugs. I do like a drink, but I once played a show in Canada drunk and never again"), he's recently been listening to Audioweb, Sneaker Pimps and a Prince tape that Brett made for him. According to Mat, of all the Suede contrast between Brett's origins and the metropolitan blade of today. Lindfield - as opposed to the adjoining town of Haywards Heath that Suede are identified with - is a world of duck ponds and Tudor beams. It's a place pretty enough to have made itself "The best kept village in all of Sussex, 1993-95".

Not that we should seek to infer eternal shame with this contrast - after all, it took London-born Rod Stewart to become the ultimate professional Scotsman. Whatever, in keeping with such rock manifestations of Eddie Murphy's Trading Places, Suede are about to release an album that takes Brett even further from the scenic delights of his past. There seems little danger that he'll soon be returning to the tree-lined expanses of Hast Sussex - whether those trees are being attended to by great teenagers or not.

"I can't see myself ever going back to live in Lindfield," Brett affirms back at Master Rock. "It is a bit greener than Haywards Heath, but all I can remember from living there is wanting to leave. I go back once a year at Christmas and stay with my Dad and we have an argument about what's best, pop or classical music."

Taking acid in the park, vainly attempting to get high by smoking banana skins... Brett's pre-pubescent eco-warrior bent would soon be replaced by more nefarious activities. Then there was the move up to London to study first Town And Country Planning and then Architecture at UCL. It was here that he first met Justine Frischmann.

There is one particular bridge between this period and the Suede of today. 'Implement Yeah!' was written with Justine when she was a member of the nascent Suede. It's both a Fall pastiche and a tribute to Mark F Smith, and goes "That boy Smith's got lard for a tongue,He looks like a gun or a bun or a bung,He's a basket-case,He's siren fodder,His face is odd and his voice is odder." It's now being released as a B-side to 'Electricity' - its only previous public airing was at the Reading 1997 appearance which led to rumours of a rekindled romance between Brett and Justine. These rumours have persisted ever since, refusing to die down in spite of Brett's long-term relationship with Sam Cunningham.

"It does feel strange to have a record coming out recorded with Justine after all these years," smiles Bretl. "It was originally recorded as a B-side for 'Filmstar' and then we were thinking about putting it on the new album. I mean, I'm good friends with Justine, so it's good fun. We a lot of time together, she's a good laugh.
Heard most of the Elastica album - including a track she's done with Mark E Smith, which is great. It has Mark spelling out Elastica's name into barking Smith impression]: 'E-L... breaks down class barriers down the class barriers...'
I do listen to Justine's opinion when I play her my music, but I listen to everyone's opinion, so I probably don't listen to her any more than I do my my friend Alan who works in a chip shop.

Justine likes the more electronic stuff on the on the album - 'Hi-fi' is her favourite, that and Elephant Man'. 'Hi-fi' is this long thing based around a drum loop and a filtered keyboard. It's a good one."

Justine's departure from Brett and her taking up with Damon Albarn was documented on Suede's debut album - particularly 'Animal Lover'. Now of course, Blur's new album deals with Justine's split with Damon. Has Brett heard it?

"Hmm, " he pauses, for the first time becoming guarded. "I've heard the single on the radio. I do keep my ears open to what people are doing. Apart from that, I don't have a huge opinion about it. It sounds alright, nice enough record."

What about the themes of the album?
"I don't really know what the themes of the album are. Oh, it's about Justine, is it? Yeah, I read a bit about that. That's a personal thing, isn't it? Nothing to do with me, really. It's something between two people, so it's irrelevant to me."

He's clearly happier talking about his own single. 'Electricity' began to take its fully formed shape around Christmas last year, in the process shaking off its working title 'Stompy'. A clinical yet exultant burst of future-glam, it sounds like T-Rex thrown naked onto the set of Bladerunner.
Brett sees it in more prosaic terms.
"Yeah, just a simple singalong," he demurs, slipping into hilariously blase jagger/barrow-boy mode. "Funny one, really," he then decides, like a man finding a pound coin down the back of the sofa. "Nothing clever. Simple metaphor. Equates love and electricity."

Then he relents, entering into more considered analysis. "There is a bit of a karmic theme to the album," he says. "It deals with the connection between the flow of things between people, so electricity is a metaphor for that. The original idea for the album sleeve, which got a bit distorted, was to have two people sitting cross-legged looking at each other with head-phones on. The headphones are connected to each other, so they're listening to each other's brains.
'Electricity', yeah, it's alright. You can shake a hip to it."

Do you ever shake a hip yourself? When was the last time you went out dancing?
"I go to clubs a hell of a lot, actually. I go to Heaven quite a bit. Yeah, I do dance. I like old-school hip hop, Run DMC, that sort of stuff. I do dance, but I don't jump up and down like a dick-head. I can't really move to hardcore rave, cos you've either got to go insane or not bother at all.
I go clubbing and E it, but I've never found it makes me want to jump around in a cage some where. I can't remember how many E's I've done in my life, but I've never combined them with painting my face purple and waving my arms about on the podium."

Head Music was completed on 26February this year, the concluding mix being completed at the Mayfair studio. The final cut was made a week later, leaving Suede to then divide their time between promotional engagements and their beloved West London. Sipping his pint, Mat considers the view.

"I just love London," he exhales. "The Westway has to be the most beautiful road in Britain. I do think that is the best thing, just driving over the Westway at three in the morning. You have all those blocks of houses that border onto it where you can see into all the rooms as you zoom by. A very Suede-esque vista. Fulfils all the cliches."

And from there it's out for a series of fan-club shows, from London to Oslo. A long way from Lindfield. Or maybe not.

"Adulation of stage stars is nothing new," ventured Brett's dad in the Brighton Argus all those years ago. "It goes back to Franz Liszt. He had people taking his used cigar butts. That's no different from girls ripping the shirt off Brett's back."
Well put, Mr Anderson. History is plainly on Suede's side.