THE British music press gathered recently to set the record straight once and for all. According to them, grunge music has lost the sartorial plot. Far too arrogant to accept a future of tanned, healthy looking rock stars wearing plaid, they decided the true way forward was backward. The future, they said, was raucous retroglam.
Front runner by far is a band called Suede.
The line-up comprises four newcomers hailed as the rock gods of the '90s before they even released their first single. To understand why four raffish waifs from Haywards Heath have been so divinely chosen is not easy.
In part, this could be seen as a marketing ploy of a proud and historic industry usurped by its US adversaries. The British record companies are said to have been looking for a face and a leader in style since House music's summers of bliss ('87, '88 and'89) came to an end and the Soul II Soul sound turned sour.
The timing of the Suede discovery is a key. The Indie mo vement that followed House started in the late '80s in Manchester. But groups like the Stone Roses and Happy Mondays failed to deliver the excitement needed to boost Britain from recession-induced doldrums.
The lyrics emphasised togetherness, but the understated style became a byword for second rate. Eventually indifference got the better of them and they hanged themselves with their own hooded T-shirt drawstring.
What was lacking, so say the music pundits, has been redeemed. The new gaunt and pasty face of rock 'n' roll has been reborn in the mould of Brett Anderson, lead singer of Suede, and his cohorts in bands like Denim, St Etienne, the Auteurs and Pulp. ANDERSON models himself on a cross between Morrissey and David Bowie (his ex-girlfriend came up with the band's name, which is based on a Morrissey song, Suedehead ).