Send "Brett Anderson " Ringtones to your Cell 
| Bbc |
 Of all the stars that shone during the salad days of Britpop, few have faded as comprehensively as ex-Suede vocalist Brett Anderson.As Jarvis Cocker continues to release critically acclaimed albums, albeit to a far reduced audience than he was reaching a decade ago, and Damon Albarn, Anderson’s old nemesis, swings effortlessly from Chinese opera to Malian blues to cartoon pop, barely a ripple of recognition has been given to Anderson’s solo releases since the general indifference to his reunion with Suede guitarist Bernard Butler as The Tears in 2004. This is Brett’s third solo album in as many years, and proof that the glory days are long gone is apparent in this record’s seemingly wilful inability to contain anything approaching a solid tune. Minimal piano and woodwind abound on tracks such as The Swan and opener Hymn, where Anderson’s wobbly vibrato struggles to find the right key. There’s a spectral folk feel to Wheatfields, where the rolling acoustic guitar stubbornly refuses to go anywhere beyond one, quickly tiresome, riff....full text |
| Popmatters |
| Brett Anderson does not want us to talk about Suede when reviewing his solo work. He has made this abundantly clear in interviews over the years. The problem is, the only reason anyone knows who he is, cares what he does, or is talking about Slow Attack, his third solo release, is precisely because of the unabashed greatness he created with his iconic ‘90s Britpop outfit. The man often seems fairly put out by being Brett Anderson, and has responded by becoming Bizarro World Brett Anderson. In the old DC comics, Bizarro World was a planet where inhabitants did everything the opposite of their Earthling counterparts. So, where the old Brett Anderson effortlessly fashioned hooks that would invade your brain and take up permanent residence, Bizarro-Brett favors meandering tunes with only the most minimal adherence to a verse-chorus-verse structure. Old Brett wrote wickedly clever and biting lyrics; Bizarro-Brett wants to use words “impressionistically”, with the net result being that nary a phrase sticks in the mind, even after repeated listenings. Old Brett made messy, guitar-based rock ‘n’ roll; Bizarro-Brett sits at a piano with lots of woodwinds and flutes and oboes around (but hardly any percussion). It is simply too difficult to evaluate an artist who has been around for 20 years without reference to his past career, even if his new output bears little or no resemblance to the work that made him famous. Are we supposed to pretend Anderson is a new singer-songwriter on the scene, and treat Slow Attack as a debut? This is hardly plausible when the vast majority of his audience is made up of old Suede fans....full text |
| Pitchfork |
| Over in some alternate universe, Suede never fumbled, flamed out, and fizzled. Guitarist Bernard Butler never embarked on a lackluster solo career, singer Brett Anderson wasn't compelled to follow suit, and neither saw the need to reconvene as the inconsequential Tears. While we're at it, Suede never would have had that awkward and lame "London" affixed to their name in the U.S., either (thanks, anonymous coffeehouse singer!). Back in the real world, however, Suede doesn't carry nearly as much cachet as Britpop mainstays Oasis, Blur, or even Pulp, and in turn Brett Anderson's solo career hasn't been afforded nearly as much attention as, say, Albarn's post-Blur experiments. Then again, Anderson hasn't made a particularly strong case for himself as a solo act, either, debuting with 2007's prematurely autumnal self-titled debut and continuing with the next year's spare, dour Wilderness, which found him wandering the same. Sure, they were both clearly by the Suede guy, but at the same time, they were different. Or at least, Anderson was. Slow Attack, Anderson's third solo album, doesn't mark a return to Suede territory, either, but it does find Anderson increasingly confident and comfortable as a solo artist, especially in this particularly morose mode. Featuring Leo Abrahams as Anderson's primary collaborator and (reportedly) Talk Talk as an inspiration, Anderson finds in Mark Hollis' ineffable melancholia the right template for his own gloomy but oddly warm compositions. The Talk Talk influence manifests itself mainly in Anderson's embrace of woodwinds and droning strings, but also in the way Anderson feels little pressure to reach the cheap seats, taking some risk in leaving melodies intriguingly unresolved, and the arrangements more open-ended....full text |
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