Love is Dud: Brett Anderson's F**ked-Up Solo Flite to The Land of Self-Indulgence

I've always had a big soft spot for Suede. "Coming Up" was a minor mastepiece, pitting the Ramones against Bowie in a hook-rich death match. As a student of misbegotten solo sludge I was therefore curious to sample singer Brett Anderson's debut "Love is Dead". The eponymous single is pretty good, actually, despite itself. But then the album begins in earnest and soon becomes a morass of uninhibited self-indulgence on the grand scale, with numeorus strings and bows and allsorts of brouhaha laid on so thick its a veritable trench of torrid treacle. Brett is a poet, now, see:

Baby thought she really needed that hairstyle
Baby thought she really had to say yes
Baby really needed acres of carpets
Thought she'd be happy if she had larger breasts

Or

The killer inside stares back from the mirror
Lust in his eyes, waiting for exchange

Come on, Brett, you're doing the wife, not trying to pick up the Gorgon! Bless.

And so it goes, on an on, as one very silly lyric and song after another soon amounts to one of the great non-triumphs of our time. I mean this is a true anti-masterpiece. How did this guy, who made so many great records, end up with this?

I tidy your wayward hair
I buy clothes you never wear
I try to kiss all your tears away
I freeze you in polaroids