My friend Melissa and I once had a conversation about Pulp and she said, "Well, some people liked Suede and others liked Pulp." Suede? I thought.
From there, I searched and found Suede. A forerunner in the Britpop movement, with some influential and critically successful albums to their credit, they're albums are listed amongst NME's 100 Greatest Albums of All-Time and Q's In Our Lifetime: Q's 100 Best Albums. They've found a sweet and lush niche with an unforgettable and incredibly ethereal lead vocalist: Brett Anderson. Although at first it seems little too niche-y, so to speak, I often found that I'm drawn to listen to songs like, "She's in Fashion" over and over and over...which is usually a strict no-no for a musical snob/turd like myself.
After a period of separation, their current incarnation will be playing at Coachella in June 2011.
Unless I'm able to amass the 3.2 million dollars for a ticket to Coachella to sit in the lawn, use porta-potties, and not be able to bathe for days, I won't imagine that I'll be seeing them any time soon.
For me, Suede is a lovely embodiment of Frou Frou. When you're able to successfully liken a woman to "the shape of a cigarette," without:
1. Making other women feel bad about their bodies.
2. Allowing people to envision things like lung cancer and emphysema.
Then you've successfully mastered Frou Frou.
To channel the wild musings of a senior citizen for a minute, what happened to bands like this? We're forced to listen to things like Ke$ha and Wiz (fucking) Khalifa on the radio, but we can't even see Suede unless we're trust-fund hipsters?
Oh yeah, and get the hell off my lawn.