or better or worse, we here at Stylus, in all of our autocratic consumer-crit greed, are slaves to timeliness. A record over six months old is often discarded, deemed too old for publication, a relic in the internet age. That's why each week at Stylus, one writer takes a look at an album with the benefit of time. Whether it has been unjustly ignored, unfairly lauded, or misunderstood in some fundamental way, we aim with On Second Thought to provide a fresh look at albums that need it.

Britain is simultaneously beautiful and maddening,” stated Brett Anderson in the lead up to the release of Suede’s second LP. Substitute “Britain” for Dog Man Star and you get the essence of what this record will make you feel.

The product of a torrid time in the band’s history, its darkness reflects the drug haze in which its lyrics were penned by Anderson, and the yearning of Bernard Butler to let his guitar fly freely among the clouds. Indeed, Butler left acrimoniously before its October 1994 release, but what he left behind was a record of such magnificence that it seems unjust and unfair that they never made another together.

The self-titled debut was an enjoyable glam-rock slab, but it was clearly trying too hard to emulate influences. Anderson, being the (albeit extremely talented) Bowie fan, and Butler, trying to replicate that intricate guitar work that made his idol Johnny Marr so celebrated, copied their influences well but ultimately failed to create something original. It touched at greatness on tracks such as “Animal Nitrate” and legendary debut single “The Drowners” but compared to DMS it appears the work of maturing group swept away too much by the hype around them, choosing style over substance, resulting in an instantly gratifying, but in the long-term, unfulfilling listen.

Beginning with one of the greatest ever gig-openers of all time, “Introducing the Band”, the psychedelic nature of DMS is set instantly. Anderson’s terrifying but hypnotic vocals lead up to the declaration “Oh let the century die to violent hands”; claustrophobic does not even begin to describe this record.

Frustration at urban violence is articulated in “We Are The Pigs” with Butler’s screaming, scratchy guitar taking the cue from Anderson’s equally abrasive vocals. Butler does break free on this record from his inspiration and creates a sound that is wholly his own, especially on the aforementioned song. The two solo LP’s he has since released contain nothing to even remotely match what DMS shows him to be capable of.

“I’m aching, to see my heroine,” squalls Anderson later on in the record. Escape from the suburbia with which he is so irritated, by any means possible, is clearly at the forefront of his mind. It does not matter what your background is, DMS has the ability, in common with all great albums, to make the listener feel what the vocalist is feeling. Vivid imagery in the lyrics is not enough alone (though it is VERY vivid)- it is the manner in which Anderson screams it through the speakers, almost accusingly. Like when the Manic Street Preachers sang, “Who’s responsible? You FUCKING are” on “Of Walking Abortion”- only less contrived and far more intelligent.

Just when you think that this anger is about to spill into indulgent whining DMS moves off in another direction. The most gorgeous of ballads unwinds in “The Wild Ones”. It is a tender ode to a relationship being slowly lost. Despite being able to make seemingly everything he says relevant to whoever hears it, it could well be argued that Anderson is even stronger when describing such (by their standards) mundane occurrences as a break-up rather than social decay.

Sensual was a word applied to much of their early work, on DMS it remains, but at a much more advanced level. Sex and drugs blurred into one on “New Generation”- it showed Suede had not only succeeded in refining their craft but also taken it to a new level of genius. Few bands could make such a sexual, illicit poem appear to bounce like a pop anthem.

In the end, however, it’s Suede’s murkiness that is unrelenting- not their bouncy songs or break up ballads; no light appears at the end of the tunnel. The final track “Still Life” could not sum up the themes of the album better: “this still life is all I ever do”, bemoans Anderson after numerous references to going “off into the night” not for the first time on the record.

Suede will never make a record this good again, whether it is because Butler left or merely it was a such a perfect time for Brett to be writing, they have failed to make anything nearly so encompassing as this. Do not let the damp squib of a new album trick you, just turn out the lights, lie on your bed, listen, and realise that Suede really did once have the power, and they really could make you believe.