The Tears, Here Come the Tears

suede: a retro-flection, THIRD INTERMISSION

Kinetic. Volatile. Unstable. Noble.

There’s no denying the chemistry between Brett Anderson and Bernard Butler, for better or worse. At the height of their creative powers, the pair were untouchable, as evidenced by Suede’s self-titled debut. At their most frayed and fractured, their animosity fueled Dog Man Star, an album that, in 2005, The Guardian described as initially “camply dramatic,” but which matured into a record of legendary status: “the last of those grand, intriguing, destructive follies.” Their falling out was so final, so absolute, that an amicable reconciliation—let alone a second creative partnership—seemed unthinkable.

And yet, a decade later, Here Come the Tears arrived, not with the swagger of a reunion, but with the quiet confidence of unfinished business. Released in 2005 (just a month shy of the tenth anniversary of Butler’s departure from Suede), the first (and so far only) album by the Tears rightly played down any kind of triumphant return angle. Instead, Anderson and Butler’s new band, which included bassist/guitarist Nathan Fisher, drummer Makoto Sakamoto, and keyboardist Will Foster (who is rarely credited in print even though he’s listed on the album’s credits), felt more like a reflective recalibration.

The Tears may not have been trying to recapture the past, but it’s hard to outrun it when the principal songwriters had so much history between them. Perhaps more so now in 2025, knowing that there’s unlikely to be a second Tears album, Here Come the Tears feels like a glimpse of what might have been had the Anderson/Butler implosion not occurred so early in their collaboration. The result is an album that’s both haunted and hopeful, steeped in the grandeur of their earlier work but tempered by age, experience, and a surprising tenderness.

By the early 2000s, with Britpop a relic of the previous millennium, there wasn’t a musical ecosystem open to or interested in an Anderson/Butler beyond devoted Suede fans who may or may not have been mourning the band’s dissolution (depending on their reaction to 2003’s A New Morning), instigated by Anderson. Butler, meanwhile, had carved out a respected career as a producer and collaborator but had largely faded away from the spotlight. In North America, Arcade Fire’s Funeral and Sufjan Stevens’ Illinois were topping Pitchfork year-end lists, while back home in the UK, the likes of Franz Ferdinand and Bloc Party were all the rage in the music papers. To paraphrase Butler, people had most definitely moved on from any interest in a Suede revival. Still, in 2004, there were trace rumours of a reconciliation and time together in the studio, confirmed in October 2004 with an announcement and live debut that December.

I recall hearing about Here Come the Tears and trying to process a rush of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the idea of a Suede revival was highly enticing, but the prospects of anything coming close to the flash and brilliance of Suede and Dog Man Star were dim. The chances were high that the Tears would only tarnish Suede’s legacy or somehow cheapen their memory for me. It didn’t help that I could still taste the bitterness of A New Morning and hadn’t been interested in anything Butler-related since his debut solo album in 1998. Wolf Parade, the Dears, and Stars were on heavy rotation on my iPod at the time, and I likely hadn’t touched a Suede CD since the turn of the century. Here Come the Tears was a curious proposition, though: a reunion album that wasn’t quite a reunion, arriving in a musical landscape dominated by garage rock revivalism and post-punk pastiche that would come to be known as indie sleaze. In that context, the Tears felt both utterly out of step with the times and defiantly themselves, a place familiar to Anderson and Butler.

While pleasantly impressed by the first single, “Refugees,” the rest of Here Come the Tears didn’t spark my interest in 2005. Once I ripped it to MP3 and filed it in my iTunes library, the CD sat on my shelf until 2013, when all my collections underwent a massive (and regretful) purge ahead of moving house. It wasn’t until I started working on my deep dive into Suede’s catalogue in January of this year that I came back to this curiosity of an album. As with A New Morning, I approached Here Come the Tears with open ears and an open mind. To my surprise, I found cohesion and clarity in the songs that I wasn’t expecting.

The key, I think, is that Here Come the Tears doesn’t try to recapture or reclaim any kind of former glories. It can’t. Instead, the Tears let their history dictate their present (circa 2005), so that the songs shimmer with melancholy melodies, resilient riffs, and a gritty grace that winks confidence and chutzpah that Anderson and Butler exuded in their younger days. The album, produced by Butler, features his trademark lushness, and although it sometimes teeters on the edge of melodrama, it never becomes overblown or exaggerated. Butler’s guitar work is expressive and impressive. Anderson’s vocals are all weathered elegance that feel connected to his lyrics in a way that was missing from the last two Suede albums. There is a maturity in their dynamics that makes me think Anderson and Butler were truly working in service to the songs, all of which thematically speak of connections, conciliation, and concession. In that 2005 Guardian interview, Anderson is reticent to suggest the pair had healed old wounds. “We've still got a lot to sort out between ourselves,” he said about his and Butler’s relationship, while Butler stressed that they were focused more on the work than working on themselves: “It’s about making a record. It's not about keeping our golfing holiday on hold for 2007.”

The record in question is rife with hallmarks of classic pop: big riffs, sweeping strings, and swoony singing. “Refugees” is still a strong opening track, but after digging deeper into Here Come the Tears, it turns out the real treasures were buried deeper in the track list. I’ve taken quite a shine to “Co-Star” and “The Ghost of You,” both of which feature some of the album’s stronger lyrics and textured layers that remind me of 1960s pop grandeur. “Two Creatures” smacks of the same blue-eyed soul Butler deployed on McAlmont and Butler’s “Yes.” “Imperfection” checks all the musical boxes as a stadium-rocking anthem, even with the unfortunate couplet, “You taste like orange chocolate / you always put your hands in my pocket.” Anderson’s lyrics stay close to the heart and close to the surface for the most part. I can’t help but imagine the two songwriters standing over the lyric sheet for “Autograph” and laughing at how fans will parse its words for coded messages about the state of their friendship:
“And it’s all just complication / And too complex to ever last… And if this kiss dissolves into the past / And if we don’t have a future just leave your autograph.”

A sect of music writers and fans was over the moon with Here Come the Tears. The album entered the UK charts at 15 (dropping out two weeks later), and “Refugees” debuted at nine, its highest position in its four-week stay in the singles charts. Every review I have found of the album has been more than favourable and flush with praise for its casual elegance and the ease with which its songwriters clicked back together after so much piss and vinegar. Whatever it was that the Tears had set out to prove—to themselves, to critics, or fans—they proved it. And then, just as quietly as they had returned, they let it go. Anderson released his first of four solo albums in 2007, and Butler returned to production work before forming a new band, Trans, in 2013 with Jackie McKeown of the Scottish indie rockers 1990s. Neither has ever mentioned a follow-up to Here Come the Tears.

In hindsight, Here Come the Tears feels like a necessary bridge, an emotional and creative clearing of the air that laid the groundwork for Suede’s eventual 2010 reunion. The Tears may be a brief blip for both Anderson and Butler, but it feels like an important one. Here Come the Tears is proof that even fractured partnerships can yield something unexpectedly graceful when given the space to heal.

That it exists at all is remarkable; that it still holds up as a solid and enjoyable listen after 20 years is truly impressive. Here Come the Tears will never command the same kind of reverence as Dog Man Star, but it does deserve a place in the greater Suede conversation. It’s a document of reconciliation and craftsmanship, as well as the enduring power of creative chemistry.

Measured. Bonded. Elemental. Resolved.

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a little more [t]here [t]here 🪩

Not quite the main act, but still on the stage.

After the Tears disbanded in 2006, Brett Anderson announced his self-titled solo album, the first of four albums he would release under his own name, culminating in Black Rainbows in 2011.

Brett Anderson (2006) is a mixed bag of melodramatics. The NME dismissed it as “11 tracks of the same old maudlin balladry,” while Pitchfork was even more cutting: “Unfortunately, the Anderson of old appears to have been definitively replaced by the Anderson of Old,” wrote reviewer Mark Pytlik, adding “this eponymous record marks the singer’s first solo release, and demonstrates handily why its taken him this long to do something on his own.”

Wilderness (2008) is a hastily assembled, stripped-down collection of voice, piano, and cello. It was never going to be a commercial success, but, according to Anderson, that was the point. “I have no record company, no publisher and a smaller audience, but I have never been more confident and focused about what I am doing as an artist,” he said of the album, calling it “a beautiful suite of songs untethered by second-guessing markets and playlists and music biz bullshit.” There’s a sense of liberation and freedom here that makes it a far more engaging listen than its predecessor. For those willing to separate the artist’s past from his present, Wilderness offered a side of Anderson that hadn’t yet been seen or heard.

Slow Attack (2009), a collaboration with producer/arranger Leo Abrahams, picks up where Wilderness left off. Heavily influenced by Spirit of Eden-era Talk Talk, Anderson leans into texture and atmosphere, keeping the instrumentation sparse and gauzy. He sounds at home in these songs, inhabiting their quiet worlds with the same intensity he once brought to the melodrama of Dog Man Star.

Black Rainbows (2011) arrived a year after Suede’s one-off reunion show at the Royal Albert Hall for the Teenage Cancer Trust. Perhaps encouraged by the warm reception, Anderson returned with a fuller, more robust band sound. Q Magazine called it “unashamedly Suede-esque,” while Mojo dubbed it “a pretty good dress rehearsal,” a nod to what many fans were already anticipating: that new Suede music was on the horizon.

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