Playing the melodrama sweepstakes, Britpop style

Coming Up

Coming Up (Nude/Columbia)

STRANGELOVE

Love and Other Demons (Food/Parlophone)

I have such a weakness for melodrama. Nothing appeals to me like someone howling about his problems as if the end of the world were nigh, oblivious to how ridiculous he looks. And a few million Brits agree with me, because they've pushed Suede and Strangelove to the top of the charts.

Suede may have Strangelove beat in sales, but if Suede's Brett Anderson and Strangelove's Patrick Duff matched wits at spewing angst, Duff could bleed Brett stone dry. Love and Other Demons is filled with theatrics so completely over the top that they defy comprehension. From the opening scream of "Hey Jesus, won't you come on down" in "Living With the Human Machines" to the eight-minute closer, "Sea of Black," Duff proclaims his vendetta against existence itself, occasionally picking on smaller targets like old girlfriends and the Internet. Any trace of subtlety evidenced on their skillful debut album, Time for the Rest of Your Life, is drowned in echo-blasting guitars and howling. Unless you're Duff's shrink, however, 50 minutes of his eye-popping angst isn't quite enough to grate.

Like Joy Division's Ian Curtis, Duff is lucky enough to have a thundering voice that doesn't sound silly singing lines like "All shimmering but it's empty and slow / Since I lost my feeling some time ago." Unfortunately, they included a lyric sheet, which will make you feel pretty silly if you've been taking him seriously. Still, how can I complain when most the lyrics of other bands make his look like Yeats?

What's more important is the music, which is among the best to come out of the Britpop sweepstakes. In comparison to the anemic rewrites of Oasis and Pulp, Strangelove put a new sparkle on the old post-punk horse with odd, masterful leads and shifting rhythms. The sound on Love is as dynamic and strong as a metal Slinky, and when the songs hit, they hit big. "She's Everywhere" (with Brett of Suede on b-vox) is the most gorgeous piece of pop to sail the Atlantic since the Stone Roses' "Waterfall." "Sea of Black," for all its existential excess, mines exactly the right vein for a jarring chord progression. It almost makes up for the fact that Duff's heart "has sunk into the sea of black." (But he was completely drunk during the sessions--so like William Faulkner.)

No such substance problems trouble Suede's Brett Anderson. Recovering from the loss of sociopathic superguitarist Bernard Butler, they return with the coolly efficient Coming Up. New guitarist Richard Oakes is certainly capable, but lacks Butler's imagination; for all they ripped off of Bowie, Butler's guitars were among the most singular of recent years. That said, the new Suede sound a lot like the old Suede. Brett's voice has jumped half an octave and now sounds exactly like Bowie. The music is still a glam-racket, and Brett coos and moans like Ziggy, spewing vague lyrics about drugs, drink, and sex, while Oakes throws off tasty licks reminiscent of Marc Bolan, particularly on the straight T. Rex ripoff "Filmstar."

If only his songwriting was up to snuff. Anderson had no part in the best songs here--the giddy "Lazy," the soothing "By the Sea," and the million guitar fills of "Starcrazy." Oakes' own songs are likeable but pale retreads of better songs that were retreads anyway. Coming Up is good clean fun for old fans, but almost as flimsy as a plastic Slinky.

Big labels, big guitars, big angst. What's the appeal of all this overdone nonsense? Well, showmanship and sincerity count for something, even if it's my own half-mocking, half-guilty pleasure. So until I grow up, I'll take these over that boring new Elvis Costello album any day.

--David Auerbach