suede
here they come, the beautiful ones . . .
ladies
and gentlemen. welcome to the circus. come see the freaks and
jugglers, the drag acts, drug acts and suicides, shaved heads and
rave heads. and let’s not forget uncle ted and his legendary
vests. welcome to the world of suede.
not
just the best band in the world, it’s probably not too
controversial to point out that you don’t know anything about
suede until you have seen them live.
coming
up, replete with chunky guitars, satisfying rhythms and tight
trousered choruses, is undoubtedly a brilliant pop record, a
gleaming jewel in a desert of mediocrity.
from
the carefree springtime sound of "trash", through the summery
lackadasia of "lazy", putting its slippers on for the autumnal
"picnic
by the motorway" and snuggling up round the fire for the frosty,
almost christmassy "saturday night", its an album for all seasons,
bursting with infectious bits and shiny bobs.
it
might well be suede’s best album. it might just be the best until
the next one. for tonight at least, none of this matters.

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