"The London Suede" in California
Oh, I should explain I helped conduct the Mat Osman interview and it was my own fault for asking if he liked his other indie Britpop bands at the time (Sleeper, Salad), so that's why he went on about f**** Salad. Those were great times, she perfectly captured the moment. Thank you, Mel.
PS, Mel and I eventually saw Suede again at the El Rey in Los Angeles (05/22/1997) and Fillmore in San Francisco (05/23/1997). It would make sense, seeing as how perfect it was for the both of us to celebrate Morrissey's birthday (5/22) by seeing Suede.
RESCUE ME FROM THIS HOLLYWOOD LIFE!
written by Melinda for Stupid Shiny Black Shoes
photos by Vu, layout by Melinda
Incidentally, in Suede news, singer Brett Anderson will be releasing his second album, Wilderness, on July 7th at his concert that costs £30. …
Then we played a game where we rapidly tossed out names of contemporary pop music artists and he would give his candid opinion. I was surprised at the kind of music Osman professed to like. Suede have got this reputation as an "alternative" band. So I incredulously threw out labelmate, "Mariah Carey?" Mat said, "Well, she's better than f***king Salad." I informed him that we couldn't broadcast this interview if he was going to go on using such language. So he amended his former pronouncement, "She's better than bothering Salad." Dear boy!
I asked Mat Osman what Brett Anderson's favorite drug was. Mat first answered that it was caffeine. Then he said that no, it has to be liquor. Osman said that Anderson was a hopeless alcoholic. Later on when Mat wasn't around, I had to ask Brett Anderson himself what his favorite drug was. He unhesitatingly responded, "Coffee." I believe it from the way he was writhing and generally spastically freakin' out on stage. At the time when I asked the question he was drinking beer. Mat also said that Brett had a fetish for pliers and medieval torture devices. So, they fancied the line in Pulp Fiction about "getting' medieval on yo' ass."
Mat also told us about his favorite scene from the Doors film and the Alex Cox film "Sid and Nancy," especially the one where Johnny Rotten derides the idiotic journalist on the bus-- "stupid c***." He had a wicked sense of humor. He also joked that Smiths fans were the saddest and worst types. He winked and said that he could spot them miles away. The newest member of the band, Little Dick, supposedly has a cat named Morrissey.
At the soundcheck I met two types of parasitic hanger-ons in rock 'n roll. The worst aspect of them had to be their obviously fake British accents. One was a nice woman who failed at modeling and so turned to a dubious career in music journalism. The other was a guy, Simon's Pimp (SP) dripping with drama. Had had a hilarious t-shirt that said something like, "Scream Monster Fag." He claimed to be really tight with the drummer, Simon. SP whooped it up, cheering loudly after a very moving rendition of "The Wild Ones" during soundcheck. Most of the time, Brett would sing the first couple of verses and then move off to the side of the stage and navel gaze. They even performed a Doors song for soundcheck, that "Love Me Time Times" song!
After the soundcheck, we picked up the complimentary pair of tickets and two aftershow party passes. Unfortunately, this left Shawn out… so far. We went to a smelly and none-too-clean KFC right down the street from the Fillmore. Shawn and Vu played magic cards. I saw two Latino transvestites ordering 27 pieces of chicken and some side dishes. I marked the student paper until 10pm. Then we went to the Fillmore, but we still couldn't avoid hearing the last songs of the opening act.
We joined up with Nicole, Natasha, and Phil. At the same time everyone was trying to avoid personal enemies and scum who were also at this concert. Then it turned out that SP, the guy I met at soundcheck, knew members of our party. He said he was in charge of procuring some good lays for Simon. SP bragged that he had 10 aftershow passes. He gave our friend Shawn the once over and asked, "How would you like to go backstage? Are you straight?" Shawn looked up and answered. My eyes must have bulged when he denied being straight. Then I smiled. After he managed to score the pass, we all gathered round and Shawn sheepishly explained that it happened so fast that he thought SP was asking if he were gay, to which he replied no. Then SP came up to Shawn and said, "Oooh, you're Simon's type." We ribbed Shawn about it, but then he became rather irritable. It was really nothing.
As Wesley Willis would have said, "The show was great. The rock and roll was perfect. The rock and roll was excellent. The concert was a jam. It was goin' on!" It was more bare and stripped down than the show last year at the Warfield, but it was also more energetic. Brett was twisting and grinding while the others, especially Richard Oakes, were rocking out and madly flipping their long hair. No more fey mystic dances learned from precious old men in the third world! No more annoying stage lighting (the light shining into the audience during "Pantomime Horse" at the Warfield was unforgivable). I thought they would be exhausted by their last U.S. show, but they were in tight and top form.
Simon, the drummer, showed up at the aftershow party and graciously chatted with Shawn. He was not the gross, drooling sex maniac Shawn feared that he might be. Simon seemed to be like a really nice and jolly version of Johnny Rotten. He had reddish hair poking out in all directions and was maniacally good-natured. SP simpered up to join the nice tête-à-tête they were having and leeringly said of Shawn, "He's one of my boys." All of Suede were there except for Mat, because he was feeling ill. They were bombarded by people wanting to have them sign things and pose for photographs.
Brett Anderson was sitting in the corner talking to one of the members of Metallica, Kirk Hammett. Only one person out of the roomful of about 60 Suede fans asked for Kirk's autograph. I was surprised that anyone there knew who he was. Brett was really sunken and barely seemed to be able to raise his wrist to scrawl his sig over an album cover. He seemed like a bored and tired old git. I could have just caught him at the low moment; he looked really out of it. Too many downers probably.