The High Priest and the Lion in Cardiff

Today we are in the lion’s den: Cardiff, home turf of the Manics. But Suede have never feared the animal. They release it. Anna, standing next to me, says: “I want to see why Suede seems like such a cult. My father follows them everywhere and I want to know why.” That, my dear, is an excellent question.

Veerle Van den Broeck, 3 November

A Different Man

Smoke billows across the stage. A dramatic entrance is essential for any cult leader(s), and the front rows, well drilled by now, take it as their cue to start screaming. Suede step out to the hypnotising, industrial notes of the Disintegrate intro.

And there he is: lion tamer Brett. In top form. Whipping the microphone cord with a grin. What a relief. This is a different man from the one I saw at the summer festivals, and he’s ready to take on the arena, holding his love like a weapon in his hand.

A Chuckle

“Your ghosts are my ghosts,” the crowd around me screams after a very fine Dancing With the Europeans.

Then Trash. Brett chuckles and informs us that we are not in Cardiff, but in Suedeworld. Nobody argues. We get a first “I love it” after he sings our anthem to us from on top of his monitor and we sing it right back.

To Arena or Not to Arena

We know the drill by now: Animal Nitrate. The ideal song to tame the non-believers, and always a communal highlight. Mat shouts along to the chorus. He’s in a great mood all show, and he, Neil and Simon seem to be sharing jokes mid-show.

To arena or not to arena: that was the big question before this tour. Similar setlists do affect how I experience gigs, but I have to admit this one does the trick in venues like these.

An Incantation

Time for a proper incantation: the new intro of We Are the Pigs. Brett on his knees, chanting, then Richard’s guitar kicks in. Now it’s my turn to say: “I love it, I love it, I love it.”

Same goes for Antidepressants, another one with absolutely amazing guitars. I love the The Cure vibe.

Sing It From Your Hearts

“You know the words. Sing it from your hearts. That’s what live music is about. It’s about people joining together, singing the same words and feeling the same feelings,” says Brett, folding his hands and leading us into the beautiful prayer that is the new version of Saturday Night.

On a Tuesday. The first verse is delivered parlando, and we do sing our hearts out afterwards. Brett spreads his arms on the monitor under those utterly stunning rainbow lights, and the lion tamer becomes a high priest.

Killer She

“Maybe I should listen to Coming Up more,” I catch myself thinking as Suede deliver a killer She. It’s usually not my go-to album. The crowd is told to clap along, and Neil adds a wonderful outro.

More Coming Up follows with F.I.L.M.S.T.A.R.S.T.X.Y.Z. (or something like that, a lot of random letters get shouted). Filmstar has somehow always been my favourite, and it never gets old live. A very happy Brett swirls the microphone at the end.

Can He Ever Get Enough?

Can’t Get Enough, then. I’ve had more than enough of that song by now, but I hadn’t reckoned with the cult leader. He won’t rest until the entire arena has given him enough loud “oo-oohs.” I’m tired, but I give in. Resistance is futile.

June Rain. Brett takes in the intro, sweat trickling down his face, then comes off the stage, scares away security and hugs a bunch of the faithful. Back on stage, we’re left with goosebumps as the song unfolds. One of their best songs ever.

The Cheeky Cult Leader

Brett mentions panic attacks a lot tonight. I start hoping Overload will make an appearance, but they wheel out Tribe again. “I am your saint”: even Brett considers himself a bit of a cult leader, albeit a cheeky one. There’s a lot of pointing at the crowd to lure us in.

One minor thing: how is this anarcho punk, as they recently described the new record? The good news: Brett says they start recording in February, before moving on to She Still Leads Me On.

In Fine Voice

Neil’s beautiful piano version of Wild Ones is where Brett’s voice really shines and you hear what power he has. Have I heard him in such fine voice on a regular tour since I started following Suede in 2020? That totally acoustic bit in such a big arena blows me away.

We, in far less fine voice, get to do the “Ones.” I don’t mind. Nobody can hear me anyway. (They can. I’m loud.) It’s how we become a tribe, or a cult, or whatever you want to call us. It’s one of those moments where we become we in Suedeworld.

Reciting and Tradition

So Young, then. Time for some reciting, because we’re a bit tired. I hear a few “What are we”s, but the crowd manages to shout So Young and not Trash.

Then the combo that traditionally ends the celebrations: Metal Mickey, one of my absolute favourites (another one where Mat belts out the chorus), and Beautiful Ones, which has to close an arena show like this.

A sense of safety and belonging

After the show I ask Anna whether she can see now why Suede are a cult. She can see it. She still doesn’t understand.

I’m not sure I do either. I’m not a joiner, I was never looking for a we, and I’m not someone who sings out loud. Except here. I even listen to a man telling me what to do: clap, shout, sing fucking lalalas. Very frightening indeed.

But in Suedeworld there is a sense of safety, a sense of warmth you don’t easily find in the outside world. That’s the cult. Not the leader, not the smoke, but a whole arena being loud together, and me, for once, among them.

Feeling like this is where I belong.