The London Suede, courtesy Dean Chalkley.
The London Suede, “Antidepressants.”
What do we do with the time we have left?
That’s the question pulsing underneath Antidepressants, the 10th album from The London Suede. Billed as the post-punk sibling to 2022’s punk-leaning Autofiction, this record is wiry, confrontational and completely uninterested in tidiness. Suede recorded it live, capturing the sweat-soaked grit of a band still chasing transcendence under stage lights—mistakes and all. Because when you’re staring mortality in the face, perfection isn’t the point. Presence is. It’s not mournful. It’s electric. It wants to shock you back to life before it’s gone.
The first defibrillator jolt comes courtesy of album opener “Disintegrate.” The pounding Motown-punk hybrid rides a scorched riff as Brett Anderson invites listeners to “Come down and disintegrate with me.” He’s not resisting decay; he’s dancing into it. It’s defiant and joyous in its surrender. And that contradiction—between anguish and euphoria, between letting go and clinging on—threads through the entire record.
“Dancing With the Europeans” is a love letter to the crowd, born from a moment Anderson had on stage in Spain when the audience pulled him out of a dark place. He closes it with the line “Your ghosts are my ghosts,” and you believe him. It may be their most unguarded embrace of the audience as co-conspirators since 1996’s “Trash.”
And speaking of “Trash,” along comes “Sweet Kid,” a brash, swaggering banger that grabs you by the collar of your too-small leather jacket and shakes you hard, reminding you these are the same beautiful bastards who gave us “Trash” nearly 30 years ago. It’s cocky, clever and slots seamlessly onto any Suede album. If there’s any justice, it’ll become a live staple.
The title track is all wiry guitars and breathless yelps, with Anderson channeling Siouxsie over a tightly coiled riff that snaps into a chaotic guitar noise bridge before detonating into the final chorus. It’s Suede at its most jagged and kinetic, and it’s easy to see why the band made it part of its live show almost a year before this album’s release.
There are a couple of dips. “Broken Music for Broken People” has a killer slogan of a title and a sharp concept but never quite lands musically. “Criminal Ways” and “Trance State” are solid—but on an album full of so much fire, they smolder instead of igniting. Still, Suede’s filler can bring more heat than most indie bands’ singles.
“Somewhere Between an Atom and a Star” changes the temperature entirely. It’s the album’s signature ballad, ethereal and aching. The verses feel plucked from Dog Man Star, all echo and emptiness, before exploding into a chorus that burns white-hot and then vanishes. It hits the same widescreen scale that “The Asphalt World” took nine minutes to build—only this time, Suede does it in under three.
“June Rain” follows as a swirling and vulnerable standout—a Chameleons-like dreamscape over a Boy-era U2 rhythm. It swells into something that feels like it could go on forever, but the band smartly caps it after one soaring chorus, leaving you hanging in the best way and clearing the deck for the closer.
“Life Is Endless, Life Is a Moment” is a culmination, a distillation of the album’s contradictions: grief and grace, anxiety and acceptance, death and defiance. Suede builds it from a stark Cure-like riff into a towering climax of feedback and fury. Anderson belts the final word—“Life”—before the whole thing collapses mid-sentence, a final gasp that leaves you abruptly staring into the void, then silence.
Antidepressants doesn’t attempt to solve the riddle of mortality. Instead, it grabs the mic and shouts back into that void with noise, passion and an unflinching awareness that the end is coming—and an even stronger urge to make this moment matter. Suede remains a band obsessed with beauty and the rot beneath it.
Three decades into their career, here they come—the beautiful ones—with a record as sweaty, singular and spectacularly alive as anything they’ve ever made.
Follow Skott Bennett at skottbennett.bsky.social.
About The Author
Skott Bennett is a creative director who got his start in graphic design designing demo tape covers and gig posters by way of, well… straight-up theft at Kinko’s. He’s been a drummer in Bay Area bands since his teens, including Blueland, Low Rise, Debased (Pixies tribute), Red Trade, Sci Flyer, Full Fathom Five (Stone Roses tribute), Matthew Edwards & the Futurists, and a 19-year and counting stint as Barely Larry in Zoo Station – The Complete U2 Experience. He has a vague memory of graduating from SF State at some point and was the art director for KFOG (back when it existed and didn’t suck) and 107.7 The Bone. He’s a Bay Area native who recently relocated to SoCal with his wife and three children where he intends to raise them to hate the Dodgers.