Review Summary: Easily Suede
To preface, I’m not the obvious choice to review Suede’s ninth LP, the latest in a fairly illustrious career spanning around three decades. After all, the band’s best known for their critical role in the emergence of the Britpop movement, and my knowledge of that style is rather surface level at best, relegated to familiarity with a handful of Oasis and Blur records. In fact, while I’ve long been aware of Suede’s existence and historical relevance, to my knowledge I’ve never heard one of their songs, let alone a full album, until now (as an American, this type of thing is easy enough to miss, “Wonderwall” being the radical exception).
With all that out in the open, I still feel pretty comfortable writing about
Autofiction. After all, rock music as a whole is very much in my wheelhouse, as I’m at least familiar with any of the larger offshoots which have fanned off from the genre over the decades. And the release in question here is one of those albums comfortable in its own skin, a straight up rock record leaning on old-fashioned excellence during an era in which much of the music landscape is defined by ever-increasing fragmentation into more and more niche subgenres. Suede’s singer Brett Anderson describes the album as “our punk record”, and that phrase can certainly be acknowledged in the album’s gritty and relatively uncomplicated approach. The real root of the considerable success of
Autofiction, though, is in its well-executed synthesis of competing elements into a cohesive organism: a refined pop sensibility, harder-edged rock tendencies, and post-punk/Gothic undercurrents.
With eleven songs averaging just a smidge over four minutes each,
Autofiction is ripe for repeat listening, particularly given the irresistible nature of many (actually, make that “most”) of the tracks. This statement is most obvious in tunes like the anthemic “15 Again” or the soaring “The Only Way I Can Love You”, which prove to be near-guaranteed earworms, but numbers of that ilk are expertly balanced with grittier moments like “Black Ice”, which rides a menacing set of chords and a feeling of punkish energy, and smooth ballads like the somber “Drive Myself Home” and “What Am I Without You?”, with its delicate buildup.
Taken as a whole,
Autofiction stands as a rather diverse collection of songs, united by the consistent feeling of effortless competence, alongside a well-developed sense of tone. The darkened hues of the album cover fits the music, its sleek and urbane sound leavened by a moody edge, something a little grim and nocturnal.
Autofiction manages to be both raw and cinematic, dangerous and beautiful. Put more simply, it’s an excellent rock album.
