Suede: Cliffs Pavillion, Southend

Image Credit: lisa_ha_1974

“We are the anti-nostalgia band”

Suede’s Brett Anderson, an icon, a hit maker, a national treasure with nothing left to prove. Right?

Suede’s ‘Antidepressants tour’ took place at Southend’s Cliffs Pavilion amid a bleak seaside storm. The rain and wind power were no match for a band blessed with rock n roll’s desperation to be heard inside.

The standard routine for legacy bands with a new album is predictable: three fresh tracks dutifully aired while the crowd waits politely for the past to return. But this is no ordinary band, and these are no passive fans. Anderson bellows ‘Disintegrate’, and the audience hurls it back at him. The band’s anxieties and rage remain fiercely shared.

Following this were ‘Dancing With the Europeans’ and ‘Antidepressants’. The former, offering the night a moment of transcendental power.  Richard Oakes’ guitars resounding into the ether with the freedom of the band's early days, allowing Anderson to stray from his former pop majesty into an untamed, snarling poet. Wave upon wave of righteous indignation violently and allegorically pours out of their souls to cleanse, raise up, and empower ours! ‘Antidepressants’ snarled with punk's abrasiveness and glam-rock's great choruses, before Oakes, and Mat Osman’s basslines stampede their way to a triumphant close.

Such was the impact of the opening trio that their classic ‘Trash’ came as a relief. A song that, for so long, has defined Suede crowds with its urbane romanticism and tales of outsiders felt, not irrelevant, but second-tier.

It’s no wonder Anderson took great pride in declaring “we are the anti-nostalgia band” at various points throughout the set. When they turned to the past, ‘Animal Nitrate’ sounded more intense than ever before, presumably Darwinian forces driving it to compete for survival with ‘Antidepressants’ and ‘Autofiction’. ‘Obsessions’ was given a stripped-back piano makeover, giving the lyrics their moment to truly shine, and, when Anderson sings without a microphone to a silent audience, even the most obnoxious ‘only here for Britpop’ types were moved by its stillness.

On ‘The Beautiful Ones’ and ‘She Leads Me On’, Suede framed their dichotomy. The former, a monster '90s hit, is given an injection of punk’s nihilism. Anderson’s vocals adopted a sarcastic vitriol during the “la la la’s”, daring the audience to go with him as he breaks free from the past. Forging the new path was ‘She Leads Me On’, an ode to his departed mother. Just as anthemic, but contorted in pain and anguish, Anderson finds a way to inspire from a place of grief, giving this set its crowning glory.

Suede should be the blueprint to all bands in their latter career phases. They folded in everything they were, everything people have cherished them for, into their new songwriting. The crucial ingredient of it all was on display in full force in Southend; they are all in. There are no half-arsed measures about anything they do. The longing for meaning that Quadrophenia’s Jimmy struggled to find, they have in abundance. Their out-and-out belief in making art and being present in the now might have rattled a few, but most are charging through the gates to follow them for years to come.

Frank Turner: Cliffs Pavillion, Southend

It’s hard to think of Frank Turner as part of the establishment but, after 11 years as a solo artist, he is punk rock royalty. With that comes pros and cons. The angst, the rage, and the fall to the floor desperation inevitably fades. However, being a massive Freddie Mercury fan, Turner is developing into the consummate performer.

Essex, a far too deprived county of proper gigs, is pumped and raring to go as Turner strides on stage. The ease at which he glides around the stage or leaps onto speakers on set opener ‘1933’ is, well, palm of his hand should cover it.

‘Making America Great Again’ leaves a big imprint on his Southend faithful. To be progressive of political thought in this county is not the norm so, to hear the chorus “Let's make America great again / By making racists ashamed again / Let's make compassion in fashion again” belted out is staunch reminder that we’re not alone.

Of all the classics he plays, its ‘The Ballad Of Me and My Friends’ that always shines brightest. For those who find no solace in this anthem we say this, you’ll never know the collective spirit forged in a dark sweat filled room that provides goosebumps for a lifetime or, as Frank might say:

"But if your all about the destination / Then take a fucking flight / Where going nowhere slowly but seeing all the signs / And we're definitely going to hell / But we'll have all the best stories to tell"

Image Source: Martin Neal