While not as grimly godawful as The Clash’s Cut The Crap or Led Zep’s Coda, Suede’s New Morning definitely belongs in that pantheon of final albums it really would have been better not to release.

Brett Anderson’s crack cocaine addiction, the messy break-up with Bernard Butler, Neil Codling being diagnosed as suffering from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and the failure to gain any sort of commercial traction in the States had gradually stripped the band of the swagger and bravado that had been their trademarks in the Britpop-exploding ‘90s.
Sad to say that when the Londoners decided to go their separate ways in 2003 there were few mourners.
Not ready to throw the rock ‘n’ roll towel in yet, Anderson promptly reunited with Butler as The Tears; Richard Oakes formed Artmagic and Mat Osman and Simon Gilbert flitted off to Thailand where they fell in with a Bangkok outfit by the name of Futon.
All of these projects proved to be as fruitless as Brett’s subsequent solo career, which reached its nadir in 2009 when his Slow Attack peaked at no. 174 on the UK album chart.
No one was unduly surprised then when 12 months later it was announced that Suede, albeit still minus Butler, were getting back together for shows, which included a three night Dublin Olympia residency at which their self-titled debut, Dog Man Star and Coming Up were performed sequentially.
“Those were great gigs,” Anderson enthuses. “They were in May 2011 when we still weren’t 100% sure whether it was ‘do a tour and then go our separate ways again’ or something more substantial. The reaction we got in places like Dublin helped us decide by the end of the year that it was going to be the latter.”
Paragraph 42 of The Reformed Bands Act dictates that the next line should be, “We knew straight away when we started writing that the old magic was back” but that wasn’t the case.
“We went to Russia to try out seven or eight new songs we’d written and it didn’t feel right,” Brett admits. “So after flying back from St. Petersburg we literally threw them away and started again. I wasn’t unduly freaked out because with every album I’ve made there’s been a point when I’ve thought, ‘Oh fuck, this isn’t going to work!’ The only way to shake that feeling is to come up with what you know is a killer song. Anyway, we realised we’d been going in the wrong direction and got back to a more natural Suede way of doing things.”
The killer song needed to allay his fears duly arrived in the glam stomping shape of ‘Barriers’, which was tossed onto the internet in January without prior warning. Was Anderson glued to social media to see what the reaction was?
“Ha! No, I don’t do Twitter or Facebook. There’s something I just don’t like about them. The mystique they strip away perhaps… I was kind of monitoring the situation in my own way; looking out for the smoke signals! Anyone who says they don’t care about what other people think are just liars. It’s important to gauge the reaction to your work. There’s no sort of absolute art that you create in a vacuum. It’s about the response as well.”
I loved it a while back when Morrissey said to our man Peter Murphy, “I don’t read the press, but that thing in Spin about my voice narrowing with age is laughable.” He obviously pours over every single column inch.
“I went through a phase where I went, ‘I’m not going to read it anymore’ but you just can’t. It’s like a scab that itches – you have to scratch it.”
Is it just social media he avoids, or is Brett opposed to the internet in general?
“I do appreciate the immediacy of it,” he concedes. “Back in the day, you’d finish something and have to wait a minimum of six months for people to hear it by which time you were already on to your next record! Deciding just a few days beforehand that we were going to stick ‘Barriers’ up was exciting. And, because we knew it’d be used to judge the validity of us getting back together, bloody scary!”
What were the criteria for choosing ‘Barriers’ as the official comeback song?
“It felt like Suede but with a more modern twist. That and the fact it was the song we were most eager to get out there and play live. The reaction as it turned out was great, but if it hadn’t been I think our confidence would’ve taken a bit of a knock.”
Anything else in the internet’s favour?
“You can complain about the piracy side of things, but the fact is most kids discover new bands through YouTube. We went to South America last year and sold-out everywhere because people had been listening to us online.
“David Bowie is somebody who’s mastered the medium – keeping the recording of ‘Where Are We Now?’ secret and then giving it an online release on his birthday was brilliant.”
The NME famously arranged it for Brett to hang out with Bowie in 1993. What was he like?
“Very sociable. Very friendly. Very supportive. All the very-s!”
Like Mr. B, Anderson is in spectacularly good nick for someone who spent a large chunk of the ‘90s off his androgynous rock star gicker.
“I’m lucky,” he chuckles, “I’ve still got my hair and most of my teeth. I’m not sure how well it’d work if I had a comb-over!”
I’ve always found his reputation for being a prickly interviewee to be undeserved. However, the Anderson hackles do go up when I ask him how his young family is.
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” is the polite but firm response. “It’s personal and I’d like to keep it that way. I suppose I’ve given too much of myself away in the past. And you don’t really need to do that.”
Alex Turner maintains that the most important thing for a musician to learn is how to say “no”.
“Exactly,” Brett nods. “We’ve turned so many things down in our careers – and probably should’ve turned down even more! Second time around, you definitely feel a bit wiser and better able to enjoy the situations you find yourself in. Playing a gig these days is so amazing. Shows in 1992 were hysterical and crazy and mad but I didn’t invest them with the kind of energy that I should’ve done. Being on the road was a big party and the gig just a part of that. Now it’s the sole focus and we’re a much better live band because of it.
“‘Keep it special’ – that’s been our mantra since we reformed. If that means playing unusual places or doing things you’ve never done before then so be it.”
Along with the old faithful, Anderson has noticed a lot of younger gig-goers who would have been in Junior Infants when the Mk. 1 Suede were doing their floppy-fringed thing.
“I never wanted the reformation to be an exercise in nostalgia. There has to be a contemporary relevance, part of which was making this new record. I never saw the point of carrying on as a band if all you’re doing is playing your greatest hits year after year after year. There’s something quite sad about that.”
Suede had some pretty spectacular Britpop-era run-ins with Blur, Oasis and Manic Street Preachers. Who do they regard as the competition now?
“Ourselves,” Brett proffers. “The ‘90s were very competitive. There was lots of infighting but I don’t really get that sense anymore. If you’re going to come back with dignity you’ve got to try and compete with the best work from your past, which is what we’ve done with Bloodsports.”
Having seen a semi-fictionalised version of his life played out in the press, does Anderson have any desire to set the record straight with his own account of those sex ‘n’ drugs ‘n’ rock ‘n’ roll days of yore?
“I had this kind of bloody-minded idea that I’d write my autobiography but only up until the moment we got signed. Basically just miss out all the bits that everyone wants to hear. Write about my childhood. That rather appeals to me!”
Given the salutary lessons he’s learned himself, is Anderson tempted to become the dispenser of “Here’s how you avoid fucking up” advice to the likes of Pete Doherty?
“I’d never be that condescending to look at young bands and criticise them for making mistakes. The beauty of the arrogance of youth is that you can barrel your way through life. I feel a lot of warmth towards new bands; there are lots of them making great music and I’m kind of excited for them.”
Who at the moment is floating the Brett-ian boat?”
“I just got the new Savages album, which I really like. Foals, These New Puritans, The Horrors… there are some really good records being made. We were on … Jools Holland with The Strypes who are young enough to be our grandkids, but have that early Stones/Small Faces thing down to a tee.”
What was he up to aged 15?
“Oh, you don’t want to know…”
No, I do.
“Sitting around with my acoustic guitar pretending to be Nick Drake. I don’t think there’s any type of teenager other than a moody one! There have always been people predicting the death of music. The media are looking for something revolutionary but that’s not going to happen because at this stage rock has pretty much defined itself. I think we’ve reached the point now where it’s about perfecting the art and the bands I just mentioned are all playing their part.”