Specs & Pricing

TAS Journal
Basic Repertoire: Britpop
Wanna Be Adored,” which sported an instantly
recognizable, danceable bassline—a surprising
“Madchester” twist to the hazy accompaniment,
the album’s trippy pastiche often making it
sound as if the group is engulfed in billowing
clouds of pot smoke. When the quartet played
an open-air show at Spike Island in 1990, it
turned into a landmark event in England,
drawing an audience (including the omnipresent
Noel Gallagher) that would later form Britpop’s
backbone.
Less than a year later, amidst much innerturmoil,
the La’s finally released their selftitled
debut on Go! Discs. The band, led by
volatile frontman Lee Mavers, discarded several
producers before settling with U2 knob-twiddler
Steve Lillywhite for the difficult sessions. Mavers
has spoken in numerous interviews about his
desire to sabotage the recording, intentionally
playing poorly out of spite for
the War producer. Fortunately, the
record doesn’t reflect this tension,
tracks like “There She Goes”
building a sunny jangle that owes a
significant debt to the Byrds’ Roger
McGuinn and British rockers like
the Small Faces. The recording is
slightly tinny, but Mavers’ ear for
melody reveals itself in a barrage
of pop hooks nearly as relentless as
a 24-year-old Mike Tyson backing
his opponent into a corner.
When the La’s and the Stone
Roses struggled to follow-up their
respective debuts (the latter, in
particular, were crushed by the
expectations of the fawning U.K.
music press), the cultural vacuum
was filled by the rising Seattle
sound known as grunge, and in
November 1991, scene godfathers
Nirvana played a drawling version
Oasis
of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” on the U.K. music
program Top of the Pops. But even as grunge
dominated media coverage, a British scene was
developing as a counterpoint to the unkempt,
flannel-clad yetis of the Pacific Northwest.
Drawing on British pop music of the 60s and
70s, especially the Kinks, the Small Faces, the
Who, and the Beatles, acts like Blur, Oasis, and
Pulp began to construct a musical repertoire
that, while not always original (here’s looking at
you, Oasis), is well worth examining.
In many ways, Britpop functioned as grunge
music’s scrubbed-up older brother, leering at
its underachieving sibling as if to say, “Clean
up and get a job.” Velvet smoking jackets and
three-piece suits replaced flannel shirts; freshly
pressed melodies took over for rumpled guitar
riffs. During this time, English culture embraced
42 December 2006 The Absolute Sound
the buttoned-up grandeur of its “Great Britain”
lineage—even the music being recorded was
in direct response to grunge’s couch-crashing
ethos. Following Nirvana singer/guitarist Kurt
Cobain’s suicide on April 5, 1994, British rockers
again began to establish dominance on their
home continent. The year saw inspired third
albums from Blur and Manic Street Preachers
as well as debut efforts from Oasis and the
long-underrated trio Supergrass.
Released the same month as Cobain’s death,
Blur’s Parklife [Food/SBK] is a cheeky album
written after an extensive tour of the United
States. Appalled by the plastic, shopping-mall
culture they witnessed, singer Damon Albarn
and guitarist/sparring partner Graham Coxon
lashed back with the record’s title track, urging
listeners to “Cut down on your park life, mate, get
some exercise.” The album is ostensibly British,
from Albarn’s pronounced Cockney accent on
the synthetic chug of “Girls & Boys” to Phil
Daniels’ “Parklife” narration, the Quadrophenia
actor twisting his syllables with obvious glee.
Stephen Street’s production highlights the neon
quality of the songs, string sections, punchy
drums, and sharp bursts of guitar marching in
lock step like the Royal Guard parading in front
of Buckingham Palace.
Oasis’ Noel Gallagher has consistently
mocked this kind of high-concept, artistic
statement from Albarn, dismissing the singer
as a “fuggin’ stoo-dent” in John Dower’s 2003
Britpop documentary Live Forever. With songs
like “Rock ’n’ Roll Star” and “Cigarettes &
Alcohol” on its Epic debut Definitely Maybe,
Oasis’ ambition was clear from the start,
brothers Liam and Noel Gallagher firmly
believing they were stars long before they
recorded a single note. Liberally borrowing
from everyone from the Beatles to the Rolling
Stones (“Shakermaker” even echoes the New
Seekers’ “I’d Like To Teach the World To
Sing”), Oasis appeared to embrace America’s
“bigger is better” philosophy—bigger guitars,
bigger personalities, and bigger choruses. The
production highlights this rawk element, guitars
buzzing and gnashing like a timber mill as Liam
Gallagher rasps, “It’s just rock ’n’ roll.” But a
mix of the Gallagher brothers’ refreshingly
brash attitudes as well as undeniable tunes like
“Supersonic” and “Live Forever” gave credence
to the group’s inflated self-worth.
Breaking through with the same tenacity and
a tenth the ego, Supergrass released I Should Coco
[Capitol], a breakneck, mash-up of an album
that finds the trio, barely out of its teens, tearing
at its instruments with the manic
energy of a speed freak searching
out another hit. Sam Williams’
production is justifiably sloppy,
capturing the sound of three
friends recording in a basement
with too much beer and not
enough time. But the resulting
album is a thrill-a-minute joyride,
whether the threesome is on the
run from the cops (“Caught By
the Fuzz,” which could also refer
to the band’s recording technique)
or off chasing the wrong girls
(“She’s So Loose”).
Often lumped in with the
Britpop movement, though its
roots aren’t British (the band hales
from Blackwood, Wales) and
music not overtly poppy, Manic
Street Preachers’ The Holy Bible
[Epic] is one of the direst records
to emerge from the scene. The
lyrics, some of the last penned by guitarist Richey
James prior to his unsolved disappearance
in 1995, touch on anorexia (the devastating
“4st 7 lb”), sexual confusion (“Yes”), and an
overwhelming desire to change, even at the high
cost of death (“Die in the Summertime”). Singer
James Dean Bradfield imbues the songs with
the necessary desperation, his vocals soaring on
“Mausoleum” as guitars scratch and claw like
demons pulling him towards hell. Sonically, the
album is not as dour as its lyrics might suggest, a
wide soundstage leaving room for the cavalcade
of razor-sharp guitar riffs. Especially impressive
is “The Intense Humming of Evil,” a rumbling
bassline echoing the title as Bradfield tosses and
turns with night terrors, the song smoldering
like Mephistopheles brooding upon his dark
throne.