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pivic 's review for:
Suede: Love and Poison: The Authorised Biography
by David Barnett
This book is written by a Suede fan. As such, it's a bit of a hagiography, drug abuse and wasted time aside. Still, it's an often funny read about a band that exploded from abject poverty into extreme fame, mainly thanks to the intense partnership between Bernard Butler (guitarist and songsmith) and Brett Anderson (singer and songsmith).
As Barnett acts bitchy throughout the book, and occasionally got me to think "oh, when will his self-obsessed ass get edited the right way?", he actually annotated his own words from the first print of this book, when it was called "Love and Poison". An example:
There's also a lot of taking the piss out of himself in this book, for which Barnett deserves credit. From the preface:
There's always been a good way from Anderson in terms of retaliation, or just answering idiots:
It is quite lovely to follow the band's formation at times:
Speaking of seeking people for the band, a drummer was needed:
Also, when Suede was coming together, Justine Frischmann, playing rhythm guitar and being Anderson's girlfriend, decided to leave both the band and Anderson, going instead for Damon Albarn of Blur:
Simon Gilbert's journal recants some of the most notorious aspects of the band circa the time when they completely broke up with Bernard Butler—or possibly when Butler broke up with them:
Still, the band got better and worse.
All in all, this book is a ride, although Barnett's style is its forté as well as its curse; homely as well as far too fan-y, it's a give and take relationship: it gives off a lot of fun, but it's simultaneously like hanging out with a guest that refuses to leave your party. If you hang on, you'll be rewarded, especially if you like Suede and raucous recounts.
As Barnett acts bitchy throughout the book, and occasionally got me to think "oh, when will his self-obsessed ass get edited the right way?", he actually annotated his own words from the first print of this book, when it was called "Love and Poison". An example:
The then deputy editor of the NME later confided that, while he enjoyed the book, there were far too many Smiths song references in it for his liking. I counted seven in the first three chapters alone so he may well have had a point.
There's also a lot of taking the piss out of himself in this book, for which Barnett deserves credit. From the preface:
The lion's share of Love & Poison, the first edition of this book, was diligently thrashed out over the long hot summer of 2003 on a diet of Stella Artois and Camel Lights. Unleashed in September of that year, just as the band were disintegrating, it was an instant critical and commercial success and quickly became part of the Suede mythos; increasingly so in recent years when copies became impossible to get hold of, exchanging hands for silly money on eBay and Amazon. Of all the many flattering reviews, the one that meant the most came from Brett Anderson in the form of a no-nonsense email: “The book moved me. Nice one. xBrett.” Indeed, Suede’s singer was the only member of the band to request precisely zero changes to the original manuscript whatsoever, intuitively understanding that the biography’s unblinking snorts-and-all candor made up for the occasionally schizophrenic nature of its prose. (Although I did once see a copy inscribed in his unmistakable hand with the message “This book is crap!” and I’m not entirely sure he was joking).
There's always been a good way from Anderson in terms of retaliation, or just answering idiots:
“Throughout the whole of growing up there was a very vivid undercurrent of violence,” Brett agrees. “They always called me queer. I quite liked it, actually, because when you’re insulted by someone you consider a complete piece of shit, how can it be an insult?”
It is quite lovely to follow the band's formation at times:
“Young guitar player needed by London based band. Smiths, Commotions, Bowie, PSBs. No musos. Some things are more important than ability. Call Brett.” Two people responded. One was “a guy who had a guitar”. The other was a skinny 19-year-old called Bernard Butler.
Speaking of seeking people for the band, a drummer was needed:
“Well, I’m sorry but I’m afraid we’re a London-based band.” “That’s not a problem, I’ve worked with London-based bands before, I can commute. It’s only a couple of hours on the train.” “Who have you worked with then?” “A band called the Smiths. My name’s Mike Joyce.”
Also, when Suede was coming together, Justine Frischmann, playing rhythm guitar and being Anderson's girlfriend, decided to leave both the band and Anderson, going instead for Damon Albarn of Blur:
Remarkably, these circumstances, far from destroying the band as might be expected, actually brought its core elements closer together. “It was a weird period because we’d split up and because of that me and Bernard got closer as well because I didn’t have Justine any more as a friend,” says Brett. “Alan has always been a great friend and was there for me and Bernard was there for me as well, he was there for me as a friend. In the early days me and Bernard were good friends and it’s something that people might not know now. There was a weird period where she was still in the band. I was writing songs like ‘Pantomime Horse’, which wasn’t directly about her, but it was a celebration of my own tragedy. It was definitely kicked off by the fact that I was fucking depressed and stuff like ‘He’s Dead’... I couldn’t have written them if I was happy, they were the product of an unhappy mind.” “’I would die for the stars she said,’ that was a reference to Justine choosing Damon over Brett because he was famous and stuff,” adds Alan. “The lyrics are pretty self-explanatory.”
Simon Gilbert's journal recants some of the most notorious aspects of the band circa the time when they completely broke up with Bernard Butler—or possibly when Butler broke up with them:
June 6: Brett is completely pissed off at the studio. Understandably.
June 7: Meeting at studio with Brett, Saul, Ed, Charlie and myself
June 8: Charlie went to see Bernard – ‘Brett’s obviously a paedophile because he asked ‘Lisa her age, on her birthday!’
June 9: Spoke to Bernard. Seems he has snapped out of it. For now.
June 10: Butler is apparently recording all his telephone conversations.
June 11: E x 4. Coke x 1. Acid x 2.
Still, the band got better and worse.
All in all, this book is a ride, although Barnett's style is its forté as well as its curse; homely as well as far too fan-y, it's a give and take relationship: it gives off a lot of fun, but it's simultaneously like hanging out with a guest that refuses to leave your party. If you hang on, you'll be rewarded, especially if you like Suede and raucous recounts.