Suede
A New Morning

It is the turn of the century.

Urchin boys run through the streets, their lovable faces stained black with coal dust and grime from the chimneys of Victorian London. A perpetual pea-souper reduces vision to a few feet. Languishing in an opium den off the New Regent Street is a foppish waif. His addled brain is misting with fin de siecle visions. A nightmarish concrete wilderness appears, inhabited by dogs and nuclear skyscrapers. A swivel-hipped messiah flounces onto the stage, antidote to the Love and Poison of London. His floppy haired foil twists tremulous and razor sharp daggers of noise from his 6 strings…..

A New Morning dawns, and the vision fades.

That was last century. It’s a long time in Pop music and politics. What made Suede great is now a pipe dream. Maybe it was the drugs that made them great. Maybe it was Bernard.

They aren’t even a shadow of a shadow of what they were.

See “Little Kix” by Mansun