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peeeeeeetSo I read Mr B Anderson's new memoir, Coal Black Mornings.
It's pretty good. It's an easy read - I polished it off in less than a day when is practically unheard of by my standards - and Brett is a better prose writer than you would expect a rock singer from the nineties to be. Although it's a little overwritten in places, his intelligence and warmth shine through as he talks about his idiosyncratic childhood. The best writing is about his father, a capricious, sensitive, intelligent soul obsessed with Franz Liszt who worked a succession of menial jobs to keep his family slightly above the bread line and who never recovers from the blow to his ego when his wife leaves him. Brett's mother is also sensitive and creative, making everything from curtains to clothes herself, and the family is completed with Brett's elder sister Blandine (named after Liszt's daughter), another artist and sculptor.
Brett openly avoids what he describes as the "coke and gold discs" route of gossip and scandal. Despite praising the power of raw, simple melody, the book has more of the winding, wistful approach of Joni Mitchell than John Lydon. Thus it will probably baffle anyone expecting an expose of the band's tumultuous early years. He talks lovingly of his relationship with Justine Frischmann, but all Damon Albarn gets is "Justine had met someone else", along with the usual barbed criticisms of the empty laddishness and fake, patronising working-class appropriation of that side of Britpop.
To a Suede fan there are few surprises. He is full of respect for Bernard Butler, and one suspects even if there were to be a second volume (this one ends as they sign to Nude records) he wouldn't be in the mood for airing his dirty linen. There are a handful of choice moments - TV's Richard Osman is sketched as a bolshy teenager; "My Insatiable One" is not about gay sex, but is about his and Justine's breakup but written from her perspective; others songs about the ragged end of their coupling were performed while she was still in the band; "She's Not Dead" was inspired by a murky death in Brett's own family.
Other myths are put to rest quietly. No, the only other person to respond to their ad for a guitarist was not a man with no arms. No, Simon Gilbert didn't end his audition by saying, "Uh, I should tell you I'm gay, hope that's OK", with Brett enthusiastically responding "You're hired!" The truth is never as fun as the rumour.
As a result, the book's low-key, reflective vibe may lead to it being overlooked (despite the obligatory, silly, OTT celebrity quotation on the cover). I'm not even sure whether to recommend it or not. To a non-fan it offers little more than an impressionistic picture of a desperately poor family struggling to channel their extraordinary creativity. To a fan it offers little new insight into the formation of the group's persona or style. If you've got a spare couple of hours, though, it is fast and pleasant read.
It's pretty good. It's an easy read - I polished it off in less than a day when is practically unheard of by my standards - and Brett is a better prose writer than you would expect a rock singer from the nineties to be. Although it's a little overwritten in places, his intelligence and warmth shine through as he talks about his idiosyncratic childhood. The best writing is about his father, a capricious, sensitive, intelligent soul obsessed with Franz Liszt who worked a succession of menial jobs to keep his family slightly above the bread line and who never recovers from the blow to his ego when his wife leaves him. Brett's mother is also sensitive and creative, making everything from curtains to clothes herself, and the family is completed with Brett's elder sister Blandine (named after Liszt's daughter), another artist and sculptor.
Brett openly avoids what he describes as the "coke and gold discs" route of gossip and scandal. Despite praising the power of raw, simple melody, the book has more of the winding, wistful approach of Joni Mitchell than John Lydon. Thus it will probably baffle anyone expecting an expose of the band's tumultuous early years. He talks lovingly of his relationship with Justine Frischmann, but all Damon Albarn gets is "Justine had met someone else", along with the usual barbed criticisms of the empty laddishness and fake, patronising working-class appropriation of that side of Britpop.
To a Suede fan there are few surprises. He is full of respect for Bernard Butler, and one suspects even if there were to be a second volume (this one ends as they sign to Nude records) he wouldn't be in the mood for airing his dirty linen. There are a handful of choice moments - TV's Richard Osman is sketched as a bolshy teenager; "My Insatiable One" is not about gay sex, but is about his and Justine's breakup but written from her perspective; others songs about the ragged end of their coupling were performed while she was still in the band; "She's Not Dead" was inspired by a murky death in Brett's own family.
Other myths are put to rest quietly. No, the only other person to respond to their ad for a guitarist was not a man with no arms. No, Simon Gilbert didn't end his audition by saying, "Uh, I should tell you I'm gay, hope that's OK", with Brett enthusiastically responding "You're hired!" The truth is never as fun as the rumour.
As a result, the book's low-key, reflective vibe may lead to it being overlooked (despite the obligatory, silly, OTT celebrity quotation on the cover). I'm not even sure whether to recommend it or not. To a non-fan it offers little more than an impressionistic picture of a desperately poor family struggling to channel their extraordinary creativity. To a fan it offers little new insight into the formation of the group's persona or style. If you've got a spare couple of hours, though, it is fast and pleasant read.
