ARTIST RESEARCH - Live Performances

POSSIBLE POINTS OF INFLUENCES:

• Influence for some of the images to tease the tour on the website and social media.

REVIEWS, from Melody Maker:

STARSPOTTING. Robbie Fowler. Good. Hollyoaks cast. Bad. After the gig, back at the hotel, I get in the lift. Brett Anderson's pressing the button for the fifth floor. God, he's lush, I think. But then I remember the gig. And the thrill has gone.
It's like meeting the best f*** of your life, two years on, and wondering how you even stayed awake. There was a time, of course, when Suede were a sex fantasy and soundtrack rolled into one. An alternative lifestyle. They made me varnish my nails, buy a good suit, kiss and tell, trust romance. Tonight, I feel embarrassed by that. Wondering if I read too much into them (YOU NEVER CAN), if they were worth it. They were, but it clearly means nothing to them now.
Brett once had ideas about Pop Stardom — the responsibility, the limits, the freedom. Now he wants to be in Just Another Band. One of the lads. Liverpool gets a stage show with a script we've seen too many times (that cocked arse gives us nothing but FAMILIARITY), underscored by the most bogstandard performance you never thought them capable of. For a band whose best moments always came in the spaces between nuances, the sumptuous DETAIL of their sound, tonight's gig is a distressingly shabby barrage of blare and treble. All you can hear is Brett's voice, Simon's drums and Oakes' overstated, overwrought guitar. Neil's keyboards might as well be at the bottom of the Mersey, Mat Osman's bass doesn't reveal itself all night. And, God, they're in such a f***in' RUSH.

...