My original intention, to wait for Suede’s co-headline tour with Manic Street Preachers to come to Leeds, is predictably disregarded once the tour begins. The rising excitement created by the many photos, videos clips and enthusiastic reviews that flood my social media feeds, cause me to cave in at the last minute, and acquire a ticket for the sold out Manchester show at Castlefield Bowl, taking place the night before the Leeds show.
I am unable, however, to find any means of contacting the venue, to enquire about accessibility arrangements, but I try to reassure myself that all will be well, pinning my hopes on another regular Suede fan with access needs who I met in Lincoln last December, who had assured me I could always ‘just look for her’.
My impression of the Suede fan community is very favourable. Whilst every bit as passionate as Morrissey fans, they seem to manage to be a very inclusive and welcoming bunch. For every Suede show that takes place, a separate Facebook event is created within their fan group, as well as a Messenger group that can be joined on request, where information and chat is shared about anything event related, from travel, to queues, to social meet ups before and after the show. Everyone is included and welcomed, regardless of how long they’ve been a fan, how many shows they’ve attended, and whether they’re a barrier or back row regular. Local fans attending their first Suede show, to die hard travellers at their 100th show; they’re all in it together, in their own way, united by their enjoyment and love of the band.
As a further bonus, all this comes without the toxic backdrop of an online hate forum, where playground bullies are given an anonymous platform to comment uncensored on anyone unfortunate enough to catch their attention or arouse their jealousy. In the Morrissey fan community, it seems nobody is safe from malicious scrutiny, and poisonous lies and mockery are levelled at the unsuspecting whose only crime is their apparent naivety of being friendly to everyone they meet, or apparent audacity of appearing on the barrier at multiple shows. Consequently, all but your closest allies must be regarded with suspicion and mistrust, for who knows what vicious keyboard cowards walk amongst us at any time. If anything like this exists within the Suede fan community, I’ve not yet discovered it, nor do I intend to go looking for it.
The day of the show arrives, and reports of an M62 closure send me rushing to leave the house in a flurry. I have planned to drive the whole distance, but now stop in Leeds city centre car park in a panic, to check out train times, doubtful if I can still make doors at 5.30pm. But the motorway reopens, and I set off over the Pennines to battle through two hours of traffic unpleasantness. I arrive at 4.45pm at my parking spot in a West Manchester hotel car park, already wondering if all this is worth it, and swiftly set off through the rain on foot towards the venue, still with no idea what to expect on arrival.
At the main entrance, a queue has formed along the side of a wall, which security seem to be managing. I cross the road and show my Access Card to a man behind some barriers who appears to be the more senior of the guards. As expected, he mentions the accessible entrance on the other side of the venue, and my heart sinks, but he follows up with, “But we can let you in here at 5.30. Just wait here”.
I take ‘here’ to mean the general vicinity, and park myself at a nearby pub picnic table, which is sheltered by a large umbrella, and affords a view of proceedings. There are 25 minutes until doors, and whilst feeling considerably reassured, I remain on the edge of my seat, ready to spring forwards at the first sign of any action.
Immediately beyond the entrance are some wide steps descending to the level of the arena. I am eventually calm enough to walk to the edge of the raised area where I’m waiting, to take in the view of the stage and arena, and make a note of the direction of travel that will be taken upon entering.
The sound of guitars being tuned floats through the grey drizzle, soon proving to be the Suede soundcheck, and I am delighted to hear them warming up with Flytipping, an incredible song from my favourite Suede album, which I know has not yet been included on the setlist for this tour.
Back at the picnic table, a woman with crutches approaches me and asks if I’m in the accessibility queue, and I repeat to her what the guard had told me. She tells me she is going for barrier too, but before we have time for much chat, security start moving barriers and shouting at the crowd queuing against the wall, and we both jump up and move forwards. We are invited to enter the barriered area immediately at the entrance, at the top of the steps, to lean on some bollards while we wait those last few breathless moments before the signal to open the gates is given, and we are finally allowed to proceed.
I enter with surprising ease, no searches of pockets, or body scanners, and with a simple scan of my ticket, within seconds I am happily off down the steps at a leisurely pace. As I reach the bottom, a security guard shouts instructions to go steady and not run. I am confused, since I’m not running, and am going very steadily. However, glancing behind me, I realise she is addressing the hoard of fans descending rapidly towards me, and I quicken my pace in alarm, soon finding myself part of a throng, and the race for the barrier is on!
We enter the arena from the side, at the right of the stage, and having a vague idea of standing with a friend who I know always goes to the left, I keep moving, but the barrier is soon filling fast, and knowing too well how this goes, I quickly give up any idea of choices, and dart at the nearest available space, which is to the centre of the stage.
I welcome the usual flood of relief at success, as I lean on the cold metal. There remains a small gap on my right, just large enough to accommodate one more person if elbows are tucked in, and I turn around and gesture to a man who is clearly in search of a spot. He immediately calls to his partner, who soon appears, and squeezes into the spot with much gratitude.
They are a friendly couple, and it soon transpires that we’ve met before, at a Suede gig in Leeds last year. The woman soon makes herself comfortable sitting on the floor, and I wish to join her, but as the floor is wet with rain, I am reluctant. However, the two hours pass painfully slowly, and I eventually give in, but my descent attracts the attention of a security guard who tells us she can’t allow us to sit down here. “It’s not safe if the crowd start pushing” she states. I do wonder if security just invent rules on a whim sometimes. I have sat on the floor at the barrier at dozens of gigs, and have never heard this one before. I present my Access Card, and point out that obviously I will be standing up when the band come on stage, but her EDI training clearly needs an update, and she is having none of it.
With only ten minutes to go, I decide not to press the issue any further. Suede are on first tonight, a distinct advantage of this show in my eyes, and our excited anticipation is now at a peak.
Suede’s opening song finally rings out into the city twilight, and whilst we are certainly unable to feel the remotest hint of sunshine through the Manchester drizzle, we are still happy to turn off our brains and yell, as the song implores. This is, in fact, exactly what I need right now.
Older and wiser is not necessarily something to aspire to, as it can bring a clarity of insight that reveals things in a more frightening aspect than they have ever before been seen. Having travelled through life thus far, feeling I have already had many periods of revelation, of new insight into what has shaped me into the person I am today, it is a little shocking to find that even now there is still so much more to wrestle with. Still wondering, what could peace of mind be like?
Suede provide for me the perfect live show experience in which to immerse and lose myself for that short, but curative period, allowing the music and atmosphere to drown out all other noise. Frontman Brett Anderson is pumped and bursting with energy for every second of every show, an energy he seems to rely on the crowd to feed. Interaction with his audience is absolutely essential, and he must whip the crowd up into a fervour, and literally immerse himself within them, diving joyously into the arms of those on the barrier, and walking deep into the crowd to connect with those further back, microphone cord trailing through the sea of heads like a dive reel. It is a show like no other I’ve witnessed.
Tonight is no different, and I am additionally amused by the regular passing of trains high on the viaduct above us to the left of the stage, imagining the unusual view this must have afforded for the passengers. Brett seems to observe every single person on the front row, demanding their attention and engagement. Prowling the space between stage and barrier, he takes my hand and sings directly to me, and I sing back, a little shy, marring the perfection of the moment by getting the words muddled up!
75 minutes of raucous exhilaration later, and I am worming my way through the crowd to the exit, buzzing and smiling. On arrival back at the car park, I calm myself in the soft dry seating of the hotel bar, before driving back to Leeds in half the time taken to get here.
Adventures of a middle-aged Morrissey fan 