Mat Osman On New Suede Album ‘Autofiction’ And Investing In The Fanbase

Upon reforming in 2010, keeping their band a forward moving entity was crucial for the members of U.K. alt rockers Suede.

Each of the four studio albums that followed have explored new territory, consistently pushing the music forward to exciting places.

On the group’s latest album Autofiction, their ninth, the goal was to capture the essence of Suede’s raucous live sets in the studio like never before, recording live in front of fans with minimal backing musicians or overdubs.

While the pandemic wound up making it difficult to include fans in the actual recording process, the finished product nevertheless accomplishes the goal, with the new track “What am I Without You?” probing the crucial dynamic that exists between band and fan, defining the live concert experience.

“Brett has this thing. It’s a rare talent I think. To write these songs that, on the surface, are quite traditional love songs. But, at their heart, there’s something quite strange going on. And that one was exactly that,” said bassist Mat Osman of Suede singer Brett Anderson’s songwriting on the new track. “It’s very easy to hear as a very traditional love song. But I think it came from not being able to play live – the very sudden realization that a band without an audience… is nothing. We’re nothing without them. You’re just five guys in a room,” he explained. “It’s just an acknowledgement that nothing we do means anything without people listening.”

During a recent tour stop in Chicago, amidst a rare co-headlining U.S. run with Manic Street Preachers, Osman’s slap bass kicked off “The Drowners,” Anderson singing arm in arm with fans taking selfies on the floor of the Auditorium Theatre, “Animal Nitrate” driving fans into a frenzy moments later.

I spoke with Mat Osman about working to capture the spirit of the group’s frenetic live set on Autofiction, Suede’s relationship with its fans and keeping a closer eye on the business side since reforming. A transcript of our phone conversation, lightly edited for length and clarity, follows below.

I know that capturing the live sound was a real goal this time around (even if it was thwarted a bit by pandemic). Especially coming out of the last two albums, what made that so important this time?

MAT OSMAN: I think it was two things. I think it was partly that the last two records were very cerebral and quite complicated. There were orchestras and spoken word pieces. And I think we just felt we’d gone as far down that road as we wanted to go. Beyond that, it’s kind of like Talk Talk or something like that. And we didn’t want to go there.

But I think, generally, as people, as a band, every couple of years we reset. We go back to the start and try to work out what it is that makes this magical and what it is that makes you want to do it.

And because we’ve got this weird history. Coming Up was like a second debut album, you know? It was like a new band basically. And Bloodsports, when we came back when we’d been away for a decade, that was starting all over again. Every few years, we have a disaster and we have to start again. And this time, we just decided to start again without the disaster.

There was something that really struck me about the idea of trying to capture the live sound. Because I know you guys didn’t record with a lot of extra musicians in order to achieve that. Ironically, it’s become a time when a lot of bands rely on backing tracks while on stage instead of actually utilizing those additional musicians. How important was it to you guys to avoid that whether it’s on the stage or in the studio?

MO: It’s always been vital to us – really important.

One of the things that we did when we came back was look at other bands that had reformed. And we went to see a couple of people whose names I won’t mention. And it became really clear that what they were providing was a souvenir – it was the record played incredibly accurately with a couple of session musicians and backing tapes. But you might as well have been in the front room.

I think, again, because we crashed and burned, we had so much to prove. And the very first time that we rehearsed, we said, “Alright… Let’s get it really small – tight. And let it be the five of us with eye contact, being able to see each other, and we’ll just play.” And that’s kind of been our mantra ever since.

And one of the things that’s always frustrated me is that we’ve never really captured that drama and that power in the studio. And it was a very deliberate attempt to capture that this time. I think we got closer than we ever have. I think there’s a kind of rawness and raggedness to it that we probably wouldn’t have had the confidence to leave in before. “She Still Leads Me On” is about five BPM faster by the end than when it starts. There’s mistakes and stuff in there. And we wanted to capture that. We wanted it to feel like you were in the room there with us.

“What am I Without You?” reads as kind of a love song to your audience. How important was it to strike that note?

MO: Brett has this thing. It’s a rare talent I think. To write these songs that, on the surface, are quite traditional love songs. But, at their heart, there’s something quite strange going on. And that one was exactly that. It’s very easy to hear as a very traditional love song. But I think it came from not being able to play live – the very sudden realization that a band without an audience… is nothing. We’re nothing without them. You’re just five guys in a room.

All of these things are interlinked. One of the reasons that we wanted a live feel is to get the feeling that we’re all in this together. A great live show is as much about the audience as it is about the band. You can’t have a great gig with a s–t audience. It just doesn’t matter how great a musician you are – it’s about that exchange of energy.

It was getting to the point of realizing that, especially the first time around, you can get very blasé about people listening – you just kind of assume that there’s an audience there and that they’ll buy your records and come to your shows. But, as you get older, I think the sense that you’ve actually affected people’s lives and you’re part of people’s lives becomes a much more important thing.

We formed a band for the same reasons that most people form a band: to show off, to be heard and to get girls. But you can’t be like that in your 50s. And, suddenly, the idea that what you’re doing is weaving itself into important moments in other people’s lives becomes a really beautiful thing.

It’s just an acknowledgement that nothing we do means anything without people listening.

“Turn Off Your Brain And Yell” sounds like a pandemic anthem. It sort of summed up my pandemic mindset at times anyway. I know it was the last song written for Autofiction. Was it sort of a response to what was going on in the world?

MO: God yeah, I mean the record was finished. But I don’t know – it was actually finished when kind of lockdown had almost finished. It’s almost a summation of the record though. It’s about that kind of primal sense of music, you know? Something like “Personality Disorder,” when we play that live… it’s a purely physical thing. But there’s something absolutely great about that.

When we first came back – when the band reformed and we played at the Royal Albert Hall – I realized that that physical thing was something I’d completely forgotten. The physical thing: the sound of a massive f–ing band through massive f–ing speakers and what it physically does to you. And that’s what that song is.

It’s brainless. It’s all about the body and the heart.

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I’m looking at your band’s timeline here. You guys go away in ‘03 just as music industry upheaval with the internet is really kicking in. You come back in 2010 and it’s very much in full swing by that point with major consequences for artists. As someone who studied at the London School of Economics, when you find yourself in such a radically different industry like that, do you find it helpful to be a little more mindful of the business side?

MO: Oh yeah, entirely. We’re in charge now. The first time around, it was almost an abject lesson in what not to do. We just assumed that someone else was paying for everything. It never occurred to us that every single f–ing thing – every luxury, every aftershow, every bottle of champagne – was coming back to you at some point down the line.

I wouldn’t have changed it for the world. It was an absolute blast – it really was. But, yeah, nowadays, we’re much more – we make the records ourselves. We pay for the records ourselves and then give them to record companies. I love doing it that way. It’s much more tense. And it does mean that we have to think about financial things – which none of us have any aptitude for. But it’s about control. We get to make the records that we make.

We’ve been insanely lucky. We sold a lot of records when selling a lot of records made you a lot of money. And we’ve played a lot of festivals when playing festivals makes you money. We hit the sweet spot both times.

It’s so much harder for young bands. I can’t imagine what a band like us would do now. We got a record deal on our first single and none of us ever worked again. We just did music. And then I see big bands nowadays… and they’re working in bars during the day. And it just seems absolutely insane to me. It really does.

How important is it this far along to continually find new ways to push the music forward and not just rely on nostalgia?

MO: We wouldn’t do it otherwise. We really wouldn’t.

One of the nice things is that I always feel like we can allow ourselves a sort of Coming Up tour or a 20th anniversary reissue of something as long as most of what we’re doing is forward looking.

It just makes us… I think we feel like we never quite got it right. And I think it was a fabulous thing that we broke up. Because I think we’ve always had that sense of kind of like having to do better. You know what I mean?

This, I think, is the best record we’ve made for a long, long time. And all that makes me feel is that perhaps the next one will be the one. Perhaps we’ll finally get it right.