The last time Suede had a single in the chart, the world was preoccupied by the millennium bug and the Spice Girls were a going concern. Pop has since trundled on, leaving the band held to be the architects of Britpop in a pickle: too arty to chime with the mainstream, too mainstream to find a niche alongside confrontationalists such as Peaches - who supported them at this Meltdown festival comeback - and too established to command the fascination they did as zeitgeist-approved newcomers.
Indeed, during Peaches' set it seemed this modish Canadian rapper would run away with the show. Picture a shouting, thrusting figure who combines Joan Jett's stridency, Patti Smith's bleak sexual politics and Michael Bolton's mullet and you'll be about a tenth of the way toward grasping her bizarre allure. Finishing up with fake blood dripping from her mouth and a Gary Glitter sample drowning out her voice, she proved that exhibitionism as lifestyle choice can be a lonely road.
After Peaches, Suede sounded as conventional as Kylie. Their three-year break, however, has renewed their commitment to melodically arch pop. Suede's return - A New Morning, their fifth album, is out in September - reveals just how impoverished English pop has been without bands of their calibre. Admittedly, they were playing to a hometown crowd whose enthusiasm fired up the atmosphere. But this was an exceptional example of the fact that their music still has glamour and potency. The middle section of Suede staples, including Trash ("Anuvver fast one, yeah?" said Brett Anderson) and the clangorously seedy Metal Mickey ("Long time ago, yeah?"), was possibly the best 20 minutes of live music performed this year.
Anderson, a fit, tanned contrast to his hollow-eyed late-1990s self, walked his patented line between campness and booming machismo, sometimes during the same song. Mic-swinging rock star one instant, hissy-fit drama queen the next, he effectively ran a one-man show aimed at absinthe-drinking thrill-seekers - or those who wished they were. Guitarist Richard Oakes had his moment during Beautiful Ones, pinging out Aerosmithy riffs with a ferocity that implied he had been waiting ages for this. But it was Anderson who made fans wildly shimmy to "much more positive" (but still Suedely) new songs. Can they rebrand in a sufficiently noughties way to ensure a fourth number-one album? Hard to say, but after a great evening like this, who cares?
