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It’s there in the music – especially on 1993’s debut album, with its endless coy nods and winks to the love that dare not speak its name. Given Anderson’s teenage obsession with David Bowie, it’s little wonder he wanted to emulate his hero and seize the baton of sexual ambiguity, but it wasn’t as if those bi-curious hankerings were played out only to titillate headline-writers. “I see myself as a bisexual man who has never had a homosexual experience,” Anderson boasted in 1993, outraging the prudes and opening up a career-long can of homoerotic worms. A choice few lines, though, can hound you for eternity, dogging your steps wherever you tread. Glib soundbites rarely stick around for long, and one day’s headline is the next’s fish and chip paper. “In your broken home he broke all of your bones/ And now you’re taking it time after time,” he shrieks, enthralled as he is appalled by the perverted relationships, the nasty drugs and the nastier sex. Anderson, meanwhile, with his nasal yelps and sleazy meows, sounds like a strung-out Major Tom who never made it to space and had to settle for grotty flats, grim abuse and kinky shagging instead. Darker than The Drowners and dirtier than Metal Mickey, Animal Nitrate – Suede’s third single – is a seedy nightmare, with a gaudy riff that’s sticky and scummy like filth trodden into the pavement. How else, after all, to describe the sleazy guitar lines that slimed and oozed beneath Animal Nitrate? It was Bernard Butler who replied to Anderson’s lonely hearts’ plea and their chemistry soon became apparent. But ability was still important to Suede. Some things, then, are far more important than ability. Too smart and sexy for grunge’s slacker misanthropy too tacky and trashy to fit in with London indie darlings Blur a band who stood out like a smacked arse among their po-faced peers. Look, now, at the music papers from the early 90s to see how hideously – and gloriously – out of step Suede were with their early 90s contemporaries.
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And so an early mantra was born: a desire to scandalise the dull and dreary, a conviction that kicking against the pricks was worthier than swimming with the tide, a belief that mincing and sashaying like androgynous sex-freaks were the noblest pursuits for a rock’n’roll band. “Some things are more important than ability,” cawed Brett Anderson in 1989, when he placed an advert in NME’s back pages requesting a lead guitarist to join his band Suede.