LINER NOTES: THE HEROES OF HANWORTH [1995-96]

1.     Main Title (Blow-Up) – Herbie Hancock

2.     Just When You’re Thinkin' Things Over – The Charlatans

3.     Anesthesia – Luna

4.     Breather – Chapterhouse

5.     Something and Nothing – The Wedding Present

6.     Stroll On – The Yardbirds

7.     Lamento – Antonio Carlos Jobim

8.     The Nile – A Guy Called Gerald

9.     Percolator – Stereolab

10.   The Game of Eyes – Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci

11.   Only Love Can Break Your Heart – Saint Etienne

12.   Sick and Tired – The Cardigans

13.   Do the Strand – Roxy Music

14.   The Joy Circuit – Gary Numan

15.   Moonlit Lungs – Sandy Dirt

16.   Underwear – Pulp

17.   Across the Universe (Wildlife Version) – The Beatles

18.   Tere Siva Duniya Mein – Nahid Akhtar

19.   Token Collecting – The Pastels

20.   So it Goes – The Verve

21.   Planet Telex – Radiohead

22.   Sugar Kane – Sonic Youth

23.   Twisterella – Ride
24.   Peaches – The Orchids

25.   F=GmM(moon)/R2 – Man or Astro-man?

26.   Rozmaryn – Hana A Petr Ulrychovi
27.   Be My Girl – James Taylor Quartet

28.   The Ipcress File – Roland Shaw and his Orchestra

29.   Alright Hear This – Beastie Boys

30.   Pinto’s New Car – Money Mark

There are many ways to while away the hours in Hounslow in the year 1995. Charity shops abound and are well stocked: Fred Perry tracksuit tops, brown leather jackets with collars courtesy of the 1970s, Gabicci polo shirts in man-made fabrics, all liable to attract the wrong sort of attention when out and about.

Let the lad who lent you The Sound of the Suburbs pay for a few games of snooker at Rileys off Bell Road, which you will invariably lose, and then head down to Inwood Park for a kick about with whoever else is around.

Wander around Hounslow with the guy with the tapes, who has bought himself a secondhand camera, posing for photographs with the chap who introduced you to Sarah Records, standing in front of mirrors.

Hang out in the Treaty Centre café drinking cheap tea with the chap who introduced you to Sarah Records and the lad who lent you The Sound of the Suburbs, or maybe even the pretty girl who lives across the road.

Stroll across to The Rifleman for a few pints and games of pool. Banter with the landlord, who suspects we might be local band The Bluetones, will often ensue.

The cohabitant from Brighton had bolted back to Brighton and the guy with the indie tapes offered to fill the vacuum. We employed the same tactic as the year before but batted a little straighter: we asked around for three bedroom houses or flats, and failing that for somewhere with four evenly sized rooms. We would then give tapes guy the option of moving in with us, should the property be to his satisfaction, which it more than likely would be.

And so it came to pass. We found a terraced house on Hanworth Road with a little more character than the last, in middle of Hounslow town centre, around the back of Argos, opposite The Rifleman, around the corner from the Noble Half, and only a few minutes’ walk from the bus station and thus The Chariot. The guy with the tapes took what was ostensibly the living room at the front of house, whereas I took the territory at the back beside the kitchen. The lad who lent me The Sound of the Suburbs was upstairs-front and the Cornish friend who swooned in Debenhams upstairs-back next to the bathroom. There was a pipe that travelled up through my room into that of my Cornish friend which we tapped to alert each other to our awakened states, a signal to open our windows and discuss exit strategies. The guy with the indie tapes was best avoided early in the day. Rarely hungover and with boundless energy, he could be very demanding of one's attention.

Marks & Spencer, Hounslow

The former cohabitant from Brighton arrived bearing records: Chop Suey Rock - Songs about the Orient Vol. 1, Decade of Instrumentals: 1959~1967, Rare Tunes Chapter One “From Latin… to Jazz Dance, Mission Impossible and The Money Spyder by the James Taylor Quartet, Stereolab's Refried Ectoplasm [Switched On Volume 2], and Intravenous Television Continuum by Man or Astro-man?. He also had a tape to give to me: the soundtrack to the film Blow-Up. 'Main Title' lasts a little more than a minute and a half. Short songs introduce playlists better than long ones do.

'Just When You’re Thinkin' Things Over' by The Charlatans rips off 'Torn and Frayed' by The Rolling Stones. I didn’t know this at the time but when I purchased Exile on Main Street some years later it was immediately apparent. 'Just When You’re Thinkin' Things Over' was released on the 7th August 1995, exactly one week prior to 'Country House' by Blur and 'Roll with It' by Oasis. The kids down at JFKs on Union Street, Plymouth, went mad for all of this, but 'Just When You’re Thinkin' Things Over' is a much better tune than either 'Country House' or 'Roll with It', in spite of its plagiarism.

Luna was the group Dean Wareham put together after dissolving Galaxie 500. Lunapark was played a lot during that first term at Hanworth Road. I say term but I was actually on a sabbatical. I’d semi-flunked my sophomore year, swapped American Studies for English but wasn’t due to recommence university until February. So I signed on and spent a lot of time in the room of the guy with tapes – the only room with a sofa and a television – drinking tea and sifting through his back-catalogue – hence 'Breather' by Chapterhouse and 'Something and Nothing' by The Wedding Present. I’d already been beguiled by Bizarro earlier in the year so it was no surprise when I fell for George Best, or that I then bought the Mini EP on its release in January.

The soundtrack to Blow-Up is mainly the work of Herbie Hancock but also includes a contribution by The Yardbirds: the hard, psychedelic rock of 'Stroll On'. Perhaps this dichotomy explains Britpop’s bizarre fascination with easy-listening jazz and orchestral pop, exemplified by acts like The Divine Comedy and My Life Story, and the canonisation of Burt Bacharach as some sort of musical saint. I didn’t have much time for The Divine Comedy or My Life Story but I didn’t mind a bit of easy listening. While the guy with the tapes bought second-hand Herb Alpert records and Bruton Music from charity shops, I reverted to my parents’ record collection to see what I could find, and found Wave by Antonio Carlos Jobim. It might seem odd to follow on from this with A Guy Called Gerald but it makes the transition from the ‘60s loungecore of Jobim to the avant-garde pop of Stereolab a smoother one.

At some point over the summer, an acquaintance of mine called me up to ask if I wanted to go and see Pulp at the Brixton Academy in December. I tried to be evasive but I suppose politeness got the better of me, because the next thing I knew she’d bought us both tickets. It wouldn't have cost more than ten pounds, but a pint back then was easily less than two and I was short on funds. With the vague hope that the acquaintance might offer my place to someone else with a little more disposable income, I agreed to accompany her on the condition that I could pay for it nearer the time. (In all probability, she would have invited the chap who introduced me to Sarah Records before approaching me, so I had no cause to feel guilty about any of this.) Different Class had yet to be released, although I'd seen Pulp perform 'Monday Morning' and 'Underwear' on The White Room in April, a live music programme on Channel 4 hosted by Mark Radcliffe, and was impressed – less so by the single that followed ('Common People'). When Different Class came out in October it failed to live up to my expectations. I didn't think it was bad, just not of the same high standard as His 'n' Hers. But I'm a man of my word so come December I paid up and off we went. This being 1995, I had no idea who was supporting; 'Plus Special Guests' according to the ticket. It turned out to be Stereolab, whom I rated by now more highly than Pulp. Their short set was worth the price of admission alone, especially ‘Percolator’ from their forthcoming album Emperor Tomato Ketchup.

Gorky's Zygotic Mynci’s 'Game of Eyes' off of the charming Bwyd Time, which the guy with the taps had purchased in the summer. This is not the sort of music that the chap who introduced me to Sarah Records much appreciated but was right up the street of the friend who lent me The Sound of the Suburbs. Saint Etienne was another product of Mr Tapes’ archives, but it was Mr. Sound of the Suburbs who provided The Cardigans.

What the hell was Romo? Whatever it was the guy with the indie tapes was into it and insisted that the former cohabitant from Brighton and I accompany him to Club Skinny in Camden to find out. Apart from that one night, I don’t recall hearing anything directly associated with this Melody Maker championed scene, but we did suddenly find ourselves listening to Telekon by Gary Numan, For Your Pleasure by Roxy Music and Hunky Dory by David Bowie, all delivered by the guy with the tapes.

27 Hanworth Road

In the autumn of 1995, Blur, Oasis and Pulp each released albums, their fourth, second and fifth respectively. Of these three records the only one that was played with any degree of regularity at 27 Hanworth Road, with wood-chip literally on every wall, was (despite my reservations) Pulp’s Different Class. Oasis’s (What's the Story) Morning Glory? – possibly the most overrated album of its time – was ubiquitous: heard on the radio, television, in bars, out of cars, in shops. Blur’s The Great Escape was the oddest of the three. Almost impenetrable, I didn’t know what to make of it. What's more, I didn’t like that Blur had suddenly embraced sportswear, nor the loutish persona the band seemed intent on cultivating (against Graham Coxon's better judgement, as it turned out).

It is often assumed that The Verve, Radiohead and Suede were actively part of the Britpop scene. They have in fact been affiliated in retrospect. All three groups were doing their own thing before the term was invented. When it was, they did not affect an about face, a change of musical direction or artistic reinvention of any kind. The accusation that any of them adapted their sound to exploit the fashion cannot be made. Only Radiohead somehow managed to shrug off the association, but whenever a magazine runs a retrospective piece on the Britpop movement, the mugs of Messrs Ashcroft, Yorke and Anderson will more often than not present themselves among the accompanying montage of images.

The opposite might be said of Stereolab and Saint Etienne, despite them understanding better the essence of Britpop – 1960s hairdos, the films of Michael Caine, vintage synthesizers, La Nouvelle Vague – than many of the more visible protagonists. As we have seen, Stereolab supported Pulp on their UK Christmas tour, while Saint Etienne were profiled alongside Suede, The Auteurs, Denim and Pulp in that April edition of Select magazine that prophesied Britpop’s coming. Stereolab covered the theme tune to Get Carter; Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs had the right hair. Nonetheless, time appears to have freed both groups from Britpop’s shackles, probably to their advantage. As with Radiohead, they have amassed bodies of work that have been allowed to stand on their own merit.

Then there are groups that were willingly subsumed into the movement having previously been associated with entirely different genres: bands like The Charlatans, Lush, The Boo Radleys, maybe Ride. I’m guessing the reason why, at least in part, is because they integrated socially and were party to the empty decadence that came to typify the Britpop scene.

When I’d visited Mr. Tapes at his old house in May he’d impressed me with The Verve’s new single, 'This is Music'. Now he had their latest album, A Northern Soul, an expansive work anathema to the poppy urbanism that typified Britpop. Nick McCabe’s guitar work is more expressive, more measured and the overall sound more textured than was fashionable at the time, and the drum work is of a higher order entirely. The Verve had more in common with Radiohead, who also eschewed the cheap thrills of Britpop for something more ambitious. I’d contest that A Northern Soul has the edge over Radiohead’s The Bends, but both albums have dated far better than much of what fell under the umbrella of Britpop. I also liked the way the band presented themselves – shabbier and darker than their contemporaries – and Richard Ashcroft came across as genuinely eccentric; he claimed he could fly. In fact, so impressed was I that one of the first things I did after cashing my first giro was buy A Northern Soul on vinyl from HMV on Hounslow High Street. (The first thing I actually did was go for a pint in The Chariot with the chap who introduced me to Sarah Records.)

Ashcroft would ultimately succumb to the fascistic elements of Britpop just like the rest, for what was Britpop if not a syncretistic, quasi-fascist movement? Consider the evidence. Just as Italian fascism eschewed peace, Britpop repudiated both the ethos of independent music and the concept of ‘selling out’, rejecting the perceived nihilism of the contemporary indie scene and creative liberalism that had hitherto typified the genre. As with National Socialism, Britpop simultaneously looked backward to an idealised past – a cult of tradition, doffing its cap to the 1960s* – yet regarded itself as relevant and current. Self-appointed Britpop commander-in-chief Damon Albarn admitted as much when he professed that, 'The whole thing about pop music is that… you’re ripping off as many people as you possibly can, and the trick is just to listen to the right people.'

Fundamentally a populist movement, Britpop embraced youth, flirted with violence and promoted masculinity (the Gallagher brothers presenting themselves as a physical force to be reckoned with, Damon Albarn getting into football). It exploited a fear of difference by encouraging its followers to dress a certain way, shedding more obscure sartorial references – desert boots and blazers – and replacing them with items of clothing that appealed to the man on the street – trainers and anoraks. A looser fit was also appropriated. (Jarvis Cocker somehow managed to circumvent this issue, qualifying him as Britpop’s very own Hermann Göring.)

Just as Hitler and many of his cronies were wacked out on barbiturates and amphetamines, the taking of heroin, ecstasy and cocaine became de rigueur, supplanting what had previously been a minor association with drugs such as speed, acid and marijuana. The film Trainspotting – essentially an extended trailer for the Britpop movement – featured a drug addict as its protagonist. Those involved don’t like to admit it, but the use of heroin soared off the back of that film. Members of Elastica, Blur, Suede and Marion all confessed to taking the stuff, others to ingesting prodigious quantities of cocaine. This mindset perpetuates the idea that everybody can become a hero, just like Ewan McGregor/Renton.

Treaty Centre

The Beatles Anthology documentary series was first broadcast in November 1995. The television at 27 Hanworth Road wasn’t up to much, so tapes guy and I would walk around to the house where the Scottish bloke who resembled the control freak from the Volvo ad lived and watch it on their much bigger set. A period of heavy Beatles rotation followed: 'The White Album', 1967-1970 (aka 'The Blue Album'), and Rarities, wherefrom I obtained the World Wildlife version of 'Across the Universe'. Take 7, as it’s also known, begins with the sound of tweeting birds and incorporates the backing vocals of two teenage girls who were found loitering outside the Beatles’ studio on the day it was recorded. Apart from that it’s just a slightly speeded up rendition of the original, but without the strings.

As well as lending me his copy of Rarities (which on vinyl is itself quite rare), the Scottish bloke introduced me to the culinary delights of curry. He didn’t mean to – he just wanted something else to drink – but we ended up sharing a chicken madras and a few pints at the Khyber Pass after hours. My Cornish friend was taken aback when I suggested we make our own curry, but very willing, and it became a semi-regular thing, normally on a Saturday when the guy with the tapes was out of town and we felt relaxed enough to commandeer the kitchen. The chap who introduced me to Sarah Records soon got wind of our new ritual and would begin to call around late in the afternoon looking for a free feed – he even bought us a large curry pot from a charity shop to facilitate his extra portion. To get us in the mood we’d put on the Nahid Akhtar tape that the house had gifted the guy who collapsed in Debenhams for his 21st birthday. Nahid Akhtar was a Pakistani playback singer and the music on the tape derives from various Urdu and Punjabi film scores, 'Tere Siva Duniya Mein' being my favourite.

The chap who introduced me to Sarah Records had aborted college by this stage and his lifestyle had become peripatetic. I don’t know where he kept his records but he was able to lend me a couple of The Pastels’ albums after I took a shine to their latest, Mobile Safari, which was loaned to me by someone else entirely. This in turn led me to the Sandy Dirt EP, a collaboration between The Pastels and Al Larsen of Some Velvet Sidewalk, which I purchased from Rival Records in Plymouth over Christmas. Comprised of five tracks, the last is the most interesting, incorporating the line, 'and the mechanisms for transporting oxygen to the cells which require it, is the same for you and me.'

The guy with the indie tapes’ contribution to this playlist probably stands at something like 40%, which is comparable to the impact he had upon The Sounds of Baden Pearce. Sonic Youth was him, as was Ride, The Orchids and Man or Astro-man?. He didn’t own a record player, but the Hana A Petr Ulrychovi LP was his and so too was The Return Of James Bond In Diamonds Are Forever And Other Secret Agent Themes by Roland Shaw and his Orchestra, from which The Ipcress File theme was taken. But 'Pinto’s New Car' by Money Mark wasn’t from him. That was from the pretty girl who lived across the road, as was Radiohead, while my brother fixed me up with copies of Check Your Head and Ill Communication by the Beastie Boys, and swapped his spare copy of Paul's Boutique for my spare copy of One For All by Brand Nubian.

But this period cannot be adequately conveyed via one compilation alone. Rather than just being something heard at parties, or maybe through headphones, I began playing dance music at home. For this reason I felt the need to complete a sister compilation entitled The Hanworth of Heroes, which never existed at the time but does fairly encapsulate what we listened to:

1.    Saint Angel – Goldie

2.    The Reno – A Guy Called Gerald

3.    Energy Flash – Joey Beltram

4.    Shuffle – Dave Angel

5.    Turbulence – Sonic Solution

6.    X-Trak 1 – Percy X

7.    Purple Road – DJ Misjah & DJ Tim

8.    Mathematics – Barada

9.    Ecsta Deal – Emmanuel Top
10.  Dodeccaheedron – Aphex Twin

11.  Storm 3000 – Leftfield

12.  Break and Enter – The Prodigy

13.  Chemical Beats – Chemical Brothers

14.  Pearl’s Girl – Underworld

15. The Girl with the Sun in her Head – Orbital

The first seven tracks were provided by my brother. He copied the whole of Timeless by Goldie and Black Secret Technology by A Guy Called Gerald for me, and the others appeared on a mixtape he compiled under my direction – he played a number of tunes he thought I might like and I told him which ones I did. Tracks 8 and 9 came from a cassette entitled Journeys by DJ: 60 Minute non-stop dance mix by Justin Robertson that came free with Select Magazine, which I would often put on after a night down the pub. Aphex Twin was also from my brother, as was Leftfield, but I purchased Music for the Jilted Generation by The Prodigy myself. The Chemical Brothers and Underworld records were recorded off of the girl across the road, and my brother gave me the Orbital album In Sides for my birthday.

The bigger picture was this: the dance and indie scenes were converging. The Prodigy was perceived to be punk rock, at least in spirit. The Chemical Brothers invited Tim Burgess from The Charlatans to add vocals to the single 'Life is Sweet' and would ask Noel Gallagher to contribute to their next album. Everybody was into the Wu-Tang Clan all of a sudden. Big Beat, year of the trainer, Loaded magazine, football's coming home. And away with it went all notions of political correctness and integrity. Sarah Records folded in the summer of 1995 in an act that now seems symbolic.

____________
*In an essay entitled ‘Eternal Fascism’ the author Umberto Eco proposed 14 ‘qualities’ that could be said to typify it, including the cult of tradition, the rejection of Modernism, fear of difference and that everyone is educated to be a hero. While we’re at it, we might also like to consider an appeal to a frustrated middle class and selective populism.

[Listen to here.]

LINER NOTES: CARRINGTON CLASSICS [1994-95]

1.     Cherub Rock – Smashing Pumpkins

2.     Brassneck – The Wedding Present

3.     She’s So High – Blur

4.     That’s Entertainment – The Jam

5.     Inbetweener – Sleeper

6.     Lipgloss – Pulp

7.     Brenda – The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion

8.     Itchycoo Park – Small Faces

9.     Jumpin’ Jack Flash – The Rolling Stones

10.   Cucaraca Macara – Harvey Averne Barrio Band
11.   Teenage Kicks – Undertones

12.   Deny – The Clash

13.   A Morning Odyssey – The Sea Urchins
14.   Try – Razorcuts
15.   Maybe the People Would be the Times or Between Clark and Hilldale – Love

16.   Sweet Jane – The Velvet Underground

17.   She’s so Loose – Supergrass
18.   Sour Times – Portishead

19.   Science Friction – Orbital

20.   Sing – Blur

21.   I Don’t Know – Teenage Fanclub
22.   Starlust – Lush

23.   Stop Me if You Think You’ve Heard This One Before – The Smiths
24.   You Should All be Murdered – Another Sunny Day
25.   Sunflower – The Springfields

26.   Sure to See – 14 Iced Bears

27.   So Said Kay – The Field Mice
28.   Sabotage – Beastie Boys

The Treaty Centre presides over Hounslow like a red-bricked monolith – only the modernist Holy Trinity Church can compete. The Chariot, The Noble Half and the South Western are our pubs of choice, although if we’ve just missed the H37 we’ll stop off for a swift bourbon & coke (easy on the coke) in the Duke of Cambridge on Kingsley Road while we wait for another. The high street has recently been, and only partially, pedestrianised. In spite of this, people continuously get in your way, careering out of Boots without due care or attention. Maybe that’s why we seem to spend so much time in The Noble Half, The Chariot and the South Western.

       The Chariot is what’s been termed a flat-roofed pub. It is not necessarily a description to be taken literally. The appellation is supposed to convey the building’s age, interior decor and its clientele (post-war, brightly lit, hard drinking). The Chariot does have a flat roof but only if you take into consideration the office space between. Like the Treaty Centre, it has a red-bricked facade. Inside, there are fake plants, faux Roman busts, large mirrors, paintings of Piccadilly Circus on rain sodden nights and an actual red telephone box. The people it attracts are a strange mix: students, leather clad rockers and an assortment of downtrodden locals. The jukebox contains Hot Rocks 1964-1971 by The Rolling Stones. Despite the lighting being a bit on the bright side, it is a wonderful place to drink.

         The Noble Half is also flat roofed but it is smaller and darker. Tuesday night is student night, and the many students who reside locally, in shabby semi-detached domiciles with archaic furnishings and neglected gardens, will turn up and take full advantage of the cheap booze. People we know have organised the event and called it Lyfe. I don’t know why they chose this name or elected to spell it that way.

The South Western on Whitton Road is a more traditional drinking establishment. Prodigious fenestrations flanked by faded velvet drapery, the carpet is well worn. Students don’t tend to rent around these parts and it pays to be a little more discreet. We mainly go there to play pool and put money in the jukebox: more Rolling Stones (Jagger warming up in the wings), and the Small Faces too.

Carrington Avenue is a road in a residential area of Hounslow rife with avenues (Argyle, Park, Murray, Grasmere). It lies south of the train line that runs diagonally through Hounslow’s south-eastern corner, as close to Whitton high street than to Hounslow town centre. The feeling is of being on the periphery of something, separate from it.

 

The South Western

I was supposed to be moving in with a fellow from Cornwall, the lad who lent me The Sound of the Suburbs and the guy with the indie tapes. I’m not really sure how it happened but the guy with tapes backed out after the rest of us found a house and offered him the smallest room. We advertised for someone to fill the void and ended up taking in a first-year student from Brighton, who was our age but had taken a year out to make movies.

The house itself was a bit of a dive, very typical of student accommodation in the Hounslow area: a semi-detached three-bedroom dwelling with an interior that looked like it hadn’t been re-decorated since the 1970s, and maybe hadn't. We had to move the dining room table to the lounge to free up the dining room to be used as a fourth bedroom, which was taken by our Cornish friend. I took upstairs-front, ‘Sound of the Suburbs’ took upstairs-back and the bloke from Brighton the box room adjacent to that. The rent on the whole house was about £700 a month.

Britpop was now recognised as a distinct movement, but the residents of 23 Carrington Avenue perceived it only as a vaguely entertaining sideshow. I’d sooner listen to Smashing Pumpkins or The Wedding Present than the likes of Cast or Shed 7. Actually, I wasn't sure about Smashing Pumpkins but could get on with Siamese Dream, which one of my Plymouth friends played for me while visiting him in Portsmouth. The jukebox down the student union had 'Brassneck' by The Wedding Present on it, and I then borrowed the album Bizarro from a Scottish bloke who resembled the ‘control freak’ from an advert for the Volvo 850 T-5. The Wedding Present’s guitars are fast, repetitive, and David Gedge’s vocal style is droll, almost deadpan. Both these bands could be described as voluminous, in that guitars – loud guitars – are integral to their sound. Britpop tends not to paint broadly with guitars. Oasis are the exception, and in this respect maybe they’re not really a Britpop band at all. If there is a signature Britpop sound – and you’ll struggle to identify one – then it’s the stabbing, staccato guitars of punk and new wave.

This not to say we were completely disinterested in what was going on. When a chap I’d got to know towards the end of my first year (who would later introduce me to Sarah Records) informed us that he was going to see Blur at Alexandra Palace, the residents of Carrington Avenue expressed interest. The chap who later introduced me to Sarah Records went on ahead with his associate from Ealing, while the rest of us – save our Cornish friend, who wasn’t up for it – went about the business of trying to find tickets. With a limited budget our situation initially looked precarious, but we were given hope after a tout said to us, 'don't go home just yet.' We found a pub, played some pool, put on The Jam to get us in the mood, returned about an hour later and managed to buy three tickets at pretty much face value. We missed Corduroy and Supergrass but did arrive in time to see Pulp. For any Blur fans out there, here’s the set-list:

Lot 105 / Sunday Sunday / Jubilee / Tracy Jacks / Magic America / End of A Century / Popscene / Trouble in the Message Centre / She's So High / For Tomorrow / Chemical World / Badhead / There's No Other Way / To The End / Advert – 1st Encore: Supa Shoppa / Mr. Robinson's Quango / Parklife (with Phil Daniels) – 2nd Encore: Girls & Boys / Bank Holiday / This Is a Low.

We were especially pleased when they played 'She’s So High', which was a ‘can night' favourite. Can nights started off as a precursor to Friday evenings at the student union but might often happen before a Saturday night at The Chariot, or just randomly in the middle of the week. As the name suggests, they involved buying four cans of cheap lager or bitter – in my case Castlemaine XXXX – and then sitting around in someone’s room – usually mine – and listening to records, often at great volume.

Can’t remember who picked up a copy of The Jam greatest hits compilation Snap! but I recall taping what of it I could onto the B-side of my Rolling Stones compendium. I think the Stones material had been recorded off of Shaky Tim, a music student who had been my neighbour in our halls of residence and was now living with the girl who was a massive Blondie fan (not in the biblical sense). The girl who was a massive Blondie fan was also into Manic Street Preachers, Senseless Things, Jane's Addiction, Porno for Pyros, and she had recently discovered Green Day. None of this appealed to me, shedding some light on our increasingly rocky relationship.

According to lead singer Louise Wener’s T-shirt, Sleeper were just ‘another female fronted band’. She had a point – there was Elastica, Salad, Echobelly, and more on the way – but if Wener was trying to utilise irony to suggest Sleeper offered anything different she was wide of the mark. 'Inbetweener' is a jolly enough single though, as is the lesser known B-side, 'Little Annie'.

Pulp's His ‘n’ Hers had been out since April '94 but I’d invested more time listening to Intro – The Gift Recordings, released the previous October. I eventually bonded with His ‘n’ Hers on a National Express coach back to London at the start of a new term, disembarking at Heathrow Airport whereupon I got on the tube to Hounslow Central for a pint(s) in the Bulstrode with the chap who was to introduce me to Sarah Records. His 'n' Hers is probably the best record of the Britpop era. Take your pick: 'Joyriders', 'Lipgloss', 'Have You Seen Her Lately?', 'Pink Glove', 'David's Last Summer'. These songs invoke the spirit of Britpop in the way others seldom did. They spoke of people and situations that were relatable, if only from a distance. As opposed to Blur, whose lyrics were informed by the novels of Martin Amis and the city of London. Or Oasis, who didn't really sing about anything at all.

The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion are chaotic, exultant – punk meets blues. I taped the album Orange off of the guy with the indie tapes. I liked it so much I later bought it on vinyl. The record did well. Despite Britpop, there was still an interest in things like this, in Beck or Pavement or Sonic Youth, even if it wasn’t what was getting the mainstream airplay.

Britpop's sense of fashion was confused, a diffuse spread of influences ranging from '60s mod to '70s punk to '80s casual, consisting of desert boots, Ben Sherman button-down shirts, roll neck sweaters, Chelsea boots, anything by Fred Perry, Harrington jackets, anoraks, wide collared shirts in man-made fabrics, flares, corduroy trousers, Adidas tracksuit tops, old-school trainers, blazers, even ties (especially if you were in Blur). It should be appreciated that wearing this sort of gear bid trouble. Having your hair layered, over the ears but not as far as your collar, invited derision. People would laugh openly at your flared jeans. You were neither a 'townie' nor a 'metaller' or a 'raver' and therefore an object of suspicion. We didn't let it bother us, and tunes like 'Itchycoo Park' and 'Lazy Sunday' by the Small Faces and 'Jumpin’ Jack Flash' and 'Wild Horses' by The Rolling Stones provided a backdrop to games of pool in the back room of The South Western in amongst the locals.

The influence of punk and new wave, although slightly diminished since that new wave of new wave thing had been supplanted by Britpop, persisted. As well as The Jam, groups like The Clash and The Undertones would find their way onto any respectable indie DJ’s set list. 'Teenage Kicks' was ready to go courtesy of The Sound of the Suburbs and I found The Clash’s first album in a charity shop in Plymouth, probably while shopping for second-hand Fred Perry polo shirts and Adidas tracksuit tops.

The chap who introduced me to Sarah Records came around with a stack of records he thought I might like: Storyteller by Razorcuts, Stardust by The Sea Urchins, Loaded by the Velvet Underground, Forever Changes by Love, Singles Going Steady by Buzzcocks, a couple of Field Mice albums and EPs, and a few Sarah Records compilations. The Sarah Records’ records made a firm impression. Formed in Bristol in 1987, the record label was resolutely anti-fashion, anti-London music scene and anti-lad rock, which is what Britpop was mutating into. This political sensibility was married to a very British sort of aesthetic. But if Britpop fixated on, say, Get Carter, Blow-Up and Quadrophenia as its cinematic archetypes then Sarah Records channelled more the spirit of Kes or Billy Liar, as well as French New Wave.

The Sarah Records’ band I really took to was probably the band least representative of that particular scene: The Sea Urchins. In Sam Knee’s excellent indie-fashion retrospective A Scene In Between he describes The Sea Urchins as veering off 'in a more militant pop-art mod fashion direction'. Think Jeff Beck in the Yardbirds.

The Razorcuts could have very easily been a Sarah Records act but were instead signed to Creation. I put their album Storyteller onto the other side of the cassette I recorded The Sea Urchins’ Stardust, a tape I would often listen to on the two mile walk into college, along Whitton Dene and past Twickenham Ruby Stadium.

If 23 Carrington Avenue had a specific soundtrack then it would be Love’s third album, 1967's Forever Changes. I’d never heard of it before but was quickly won over by its string arrangements, Tijuana horns and Flamenco guitar. The chap who introduced us to it – who would often join us for can nights – was quite taken aback by our enthusiasm and returned to his record collection to bring us Da Capo, Love's earlier work, which was almost as well received.

Loaded was Velvet Underground’s last proper LP (Squeeze was a contractual obligation written and recorded by Doug Yule featuring none of the original group members). Having wasted the opportunity to get to know the band during my first year, I wasn’t well versed in Velvet Underground mythology and so took the record at face value. It's probably the band's most accessible work, and the reason why the chap who introduced me to Sarah Records had hold of it. The idea of him grooving away to the noise-rock of something like 'Sister Ray' or 'Venus in Furs' is barely conceivable.

I wonder if I’d seen Supergrass supporting Pulp supporting Blur at Alexandra Palace I would have liked them more. I didn’t have anything against Supergrass per se, but their whole shtick seemed a little silly. Almost 20, maybe I was too old for it. Nevertheless, 'She’s So Loose' is a very good tune, and so lip service is paid.

Orbital and Portishead were a portent of things to come, the acceptability – nay, the expectancy – of absorbing genres that beforehand had been perceived as tribally distinct. I came across Dummy by Portishead on the same trip to Portsmouth that had me re-evaluating the Smashing Pumpkins. The hype surrounding the record had yet to transpire, and I didn’t see it coming, but I ended up copying the copy I took back with me to London for a number of friends. The Orbital album was recorded off of my brother in the summer before I left for university but proved less popular among my inner circle. Such eclecticism reflected the limitations of Britpop. I even took to playing some of my old Acid Jazz records, much to the delight of our cohabitant from Brighton who fell for 'Cucaraca Macara' by the Harvey Averne Barrio Band in a big way.

Which leads to the missing pieces of this aural jigsaw: techno, acid and trance. This sort of music came ready-mixed, be it via the DJ Tsuyoshi cassette somebody copied for me or the tape exploring similar themes compiled by my brother, who was bang into this sort of stuff. It couldn’t very well be assimilated into my other, more identifiable, auditory explorations and so stood alone, to be listened to on my Walkman. This, along with hard house, was the music that would play at any student house party worth its salt. The idea of a load of kids jumping around in someone’s living room to an Oasis record appals me. Fortunately such abominations never came to pass. Carrington’s classics were confined to my bedroom mostly, or my headphones, or around the house of the guy who continued to amass tapes.

By the time we moved out there were eleven empty bottles of High Commissioner whiskey lined up on the mantelpiece and we owed a couple of months’ rent – taking into account the deposits we’d already surrendered in lieu. A few days after the May Ball my Cornish friend passed out in Debenhams and was taken to hospital concussed, requiring stitches. The cohabitant from Brighton had abandoned university altogether and I'd lost too much weight through not eating enough.

It had been a strange and tumultuous year. The summer would usher in the farce that was Blur vs. Oasis. It is amazing how quickly Britpop revealed itself for the asinine nonsense that for the most part comprised it, and so I got back into the Beastie Boys and continued to harvest my brother’s record collection for sonic alternatives.

[Listen to here.]

LINER NOTES: THE SOUNDS OF BADEN PEARCE [1993-94]

1.    Ana Ng – They Might Be Giants

2.    Lenny Valentino [Album Version] – The Auteurs

3.    No. 13 Baby – Pixies

4.    Cannonball – The Breeders

5.    Rebound – Sebadoh

6.    Trigger Cut / Wounded Kite at :17 – Pavement

7.    Arms Control Poseur [Album Version] – The Fall

8.    Ghost Highway – Mazzy Star

9.    Capital Letters – Moonshake

10.  Marbles – Tindersticks

11.  Transona Five – Stereolab

12.  Tearing Apart My World – Beatnik Filmstars

13.  Water – Automatic Dlamini

14.  White Shirt – The Charlatans

15.  For Tomorrow – Blur

16.  Line Up – Elastica

17.  Columbia – Oasis

18.  His ‘n’ Hers – Pulp

19.  Red Right Hand – Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

20.  Hand in Glove – The Smiths

21.  Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve) – Buzzcocks

22.  Naked Cousin [Peel Session] – PJ Harvey

23.  Bike – Pink Floyd

24.  The Gift – The Velvet Underground

25.  Ballad of a Thin Man – Bob Dylan

26.  The Chain – Fleetwood Mac

27.  House of the King – Focus

28.  Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five – Wings

29.  Rapture – Blondie
30.  Reflections in a Flat – Half Man Half Biscuit

The Sounds of Baden Pearce: ‘Baden Pearce’ being the name of my hall of residence at the West London Institute of Higher Education, 'The Sounds' being a collection of tunes encountered over the academic year I resided there. Baden Pearce tended to be the domicile for people who came through clearing – ‘clearing’ being the system whereby you applied anew for a place at a particular college or university after receiving your A-level results, maybe because you did better than expected and wanted to explore other opportunities, or worse and were obliged to. (I had done better.)

Our rooms were meagre cuboids. A tiled floor, a rug, a single bed, a wardrobe, a desk come chest-of-drawers, a shelf, and a large cork notice board with room enough for a couple of posters. Boys slept on the ground floor, girls on the first in what was a two-storey building. There were no en-suite bathrooms; sinks, showers and toilets were shared. My lodging overlooked portacabin-style classrooms. Ducks used to congregate outside my window some mornings. There was a television, piano and table tennis table in the common room. It was a lot of fun but there were only two washing machines and no tumble dryer to speak of. One’s radiator took on a more vital dimension.

Eager to expand my knowledge of all things ‘indie’, I made an association with a guy who was well acquainted with the genre. He had tapes of the stuff and seemed to make a new purchase almost every week, which we would listen to in his room.

Sartorially, indie music could be hard to pin down but appeared to have little to do with fashion. Footwear and jeans might be bought new but T-shirts, jumpers and coats were typically found in charity shops and weekend markets – Camden and Portobello in our case. Brands and labels were meaningless conceits. Having much money did not make you a better dressed person. Clothes were not worn to reflect status or hierarchy; indie was supposed to be beyond all that. The attitude was that anything was permissible, both with regards to music and a band’s image: alternative, lo-fi, shoegaze, grunge, baggy, dream pop, chamber pop, jangle pop, art pop, drone pop, noise pop, slowcore, sadcore, hardcore, post-hardcode, post-punk, straight edge, industrial rock, garage rock, gothic rock, experimental rock, art rock, noise rock...  The indie scene was a very broad church.

This being said, there were a number of identifiable looks. Fans of American indie generally favoured plaid shirts, Converse trainers, suede jackets, well-worn denim and long hair. Skateboarding gear would also feature – apparel for the 'slacker generation'. The British scene was more eclectic and slightly smarter. With their mop-top hairdos and roll-neck jumpers, Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs of St. Etienne and Bobby Gillespie from Primal Scream appropriated the 1960s long before Britpop laid claim to it. In the wake of their album Modern Life is Rubbish, Blur came up with a sort of Mod/Skinhead hybrid involving Fred Perry polo shirts, blazers, Harrington jackets, desert boots and Dr. Martens. Pulp had also developed their own style, a retro, charity shop get-up comprised of nylon and corduroy. Tindersticks wore suits. V-neck jumpers were doing the rounds. I rummaged through my dad’s old clothes and found a few, as well as a brown leather ‘car coat’ that Luke Haines (of The Auteurs) might have worn.

In my room

The Sounds of Baden Pearce was the name I whimsically came up with when I began collating the music I had on cassette and transferring it onto MiniDisc in and around the year 2000. In actual fact, there was no cassette carried over from this period. I would certainly have thrown something together during that time – possibly a number of tapes pertaining to various genres – and I’m confident that many of these tunes would have appeared on one compilation or another, if only because of the strong association they still hold.

I already possessed a copy of Flood by They Might Be Giants (taped from a friend during my A-levels) but 'Ana Ng' comes from an earlier album entitled Lincoln that I borrowed from the guy who owned all the indie tapes. They Might Be Giants were by now old hat, but I was playing catch-up and did not know this.

I’d read about The Auteurs and was persuaded to buy Now I'm a Cowboy on the strength of the single 'Lenny Valentino' – the album version is even better. Unfortunately, Now I’m a Cowboy didn’t live up to the expectation that The Auteurs’ debut album, New Wave, foisted upon it, but I liked their vibe.

Every aspiring indie-kid listened to Pixies and the Breeders, most to Sebadoh and some to Pavement (as well as Dinosaur Jr., Sonic Youth, Nirvana, etc.). If any specific sound defined indie music back in the early ‘90s it was expressed via groups like these. The guy with the tapes provided Pixies, The Breeders and Pavement, while I bought Sebadoh’s 4 Song CD – on vinyl – on his advice. All the songs worth hearing on this EP later appeared on the album Bakesale, rendering it obsolete.

The Fall were at the height of their popularity after 1993’s The Infotainment Scan had entered the album charts at no. 9. I borrowed Extricate from the guy with tapes, which was the only Fall album he had, and played it to death. Come the end of the academic year, I’d own This Nation’s Saving Grace, The Wonderful and Frightening World Of..., The Frenz Experiment, Bend Sinister, Shift-Work, Code: Selfish, The Infotainment Scan and Middle Class Revolt. 'Arms Control Poseur' is my favourite track off of Extricate, although frustratingly it isn’t included on the abridged vinyl copy I picked up years later.

Tapes guy purchased the Mazzy Star LP So Tonight That I Might See as soon as it came out (October 1993). It made such an impression that I quickly bought their earlier record, She Hangs Brightly (May 1990). We journeyed to the Mean Fiddler intent on seeing them play live only to find the gig had been cancelled. If we had tried to buy tickets in advance we would have found found this out, but as it was we had no way of knowing – no internet, no mobile phone, no anything.

Moonshake utilised samples and had odd drum patterns. Tapes guy had a copy of their first album Eva Luna, and on a visit to Bristol to see family I purchased the mini-album Big Good Angel, from which 'Capital Letters' is derived. This was last release featuring the old line-up, before band member Margaret Fiedler left (or was kicked out) to form Laika. Tapes guy and I went to see them play at the Highbury Garage, I suppose to promote their third album, The Sound Your Eyes Can Follow. All I remember of it was a loud brass section, tapes guy chatting to a member of The Family Cat, and Lætitia Sadier from Stereolab asking me if I had a spare cigarette.

Tindersticks were from Nottingham and seemed older and more sophisticated than many of their peers, which they were. Their music could be described as dark chamber pop, incorporating string arrangements, woodwind instruments, horns, Spanish guitar. Tindersticks’ eponymously titled debut was nominated album of the year by the magazine Melody Maker, and deserved to be. [When it was suggested by Melody Maker (March 18 1995) that their look was contrived, Stuart Staples retorted, 'It's not that we wouldn't be able to make the music we do in jeans and T-shirts, it's that if we were the sort of people who did wear jeans and T-shirts, we wouldn't make the music that we do.']

The passage of time has tricked me into associating Stereolab with a period of my life it can’t have had much to do with. I purchased the Ping Pong EP in July 1994, which was almost as soon as I returned to Plymouth for the summer holidays, and the LP Mars Audiac Quintet in August. Regardless, this music has a strong association with that which surrounds it, lending weight to the theory that I did indeed compile something representative during this period, perhaps in Plymouth.

The Beatnik Filmstars had a hard, lo-fi sound more akin to American indie-rock, but with the softer vocal inclinations of British jangle pop/shoegaze. Automatic Dlamini was John Parish's gig, but their second album, 1992's From a Diva to a Diver, included contributions from Polly Harvey. Both groups where part of a Somerset and Bristol based indie scene that the guy with the tapes was also part of, by way of his involvement with a band called The Tony Head Experience.

As well as hanging out with the guy with all the tapes, I was friendly with a Welsh lad who looked a bit like Keanu Reeves. I possessed the Charlatans 12" 'Weirdo' but nothing other than that. Welsh lad had The Charlatans’ first album, Some Friendly, on vinyl, and we both bought Up to Our Hips on tape when it was made available in March for the paltry sum of £3.99 (tapes normally retailed at around £8, give or take, while CDs would set you back about £12). 'White Shirt' is my favourite tune from Some Friendly and better than anything off of Up to Our Hips, which isn’t The Charlatans’ best work.

The Charlatans would later find themselves co-opted into the Britpop movement, but the zeitgeist that was to beget the scene had yet to be given its name. You sensed something was happening but didn’t know what it was. The term new wave of new wave (NWONW) was being bandied about, with regards to groups like Elastica, S*M*A*S*H and These Animal Men, but it never really caught on. In any case, Pulp and Oasis couldn’t have sounded more unlike each other. The scene as it was, there was plenty of room for both and no obligation to align yourself this way or that. If you stopped the clock here – 1993 running into 1994 – you might think British indie music was a wonderfully diverse and multi-faceted thing.

'For Tomorrow' by Blur correlated with my impression of London: Portobello Road on a Saturday, the Notting Hill Record and Tape Exchange, Kensington Market, all-you-can-eat buffets at Deep Pan Pizza on Leicester Square, Hammersmith flyover, HMV Megastore on Oxford Street, the District Line, Camden Town. It wasn't just their music but Blur's image, which felt more urbane than many of their contemporaries, Suede included. This impression was probably enhanced by repeated viewings of the tour documentary Starshaped, which tapes guy acquired on video. This was a very different Blur on display to the one that would trade punches with Oasis, and all the better for it: less calculated, more immediate, whimsically humorous, if somewhat jaded. For a while they were my favourite band and Modern Life is Rubbish one of my most listened to albums.

I perceived Elastica to be a more local concern. Lead singer Justine Frischmann grew up down the road, and tapes guy and I once ran into her shopping with her mother in Richmond. Tapes guy wasn't shy, so he introduced himself and informed her we were both fans, to which she responded with good grace. We then proceeded to creepily follow her back, at a distance, to her parents' house in Twickenham (not my idea).

A couple of weeks before Blur released Parklife, Oasis unleashed their debut single, 'Supersonic'. Whereas Blur’s game changer shot straight to number one in the UK album charts, Oasis’s single only made it as high as number 31 in the concomitant ranking. 'Supersonic' was a good song, but 'Columbia', which was only included on the CD iteration, was even better. The next two singles leading up to the album ('Shakermaker' and 'Live Forever') fared much better, and by the time Definitely Maybe hit the shops in August Oasis were easily as popular as Blur.

Meanwhile, Pulp’s His ‘n’ Hers had almost slipped under the radar, although it still peaked at number 9 in the charts, which was more than respectable. The title track wasn’t actually included on the album but surfaced on The Sisters EP released in late May, just in time for my 19th birthday (a present from the guy with tapes). I could have just as easily have included 'Staks' on this compilation, the B-side to the single 'Razzmatazz'. I found it on Intro – The Gift Recordings, which was as good an introduction to Pulp as anyone could've asked for.

I didn’t take to the front cover of Let Love In by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds but trusted that the guy with the tapes knew what he was buying. I don’t actually recall much of the album other than the track 'Red Right Hand', but it’s quite some track and one that Cave plays live to this day.

I picked up a copy of The Smiths’ debut in an indoor flea market in Richmond that no longer exists for about £3 (along with the 12” of 'Hey! Luciani' by The Fall). The tapes guy had Hatful of Hollow on tape so this purchase was by no means out of the blue, but having a vinyl copy of that album felt significant somehow.

Another one of my university chums owned a compilation entitled The Sound of the Suburbs, all about punk and new wave. This is where the Buzzcocks tune came from, and it also put me in touch with The Jam, The Undertones, The Stranglers and Blondie. Actually, I was already getting into Blondie on account of a girl who was a massive fan, with whom I had a bit if a thing. (She would go on to provide me with a copy of Definitely Maybe on the day of its release.)

As well as lending me his cassettes, the guy with the indie tapes introduced me to a number of other things, such as the NME and Melody Maker, suede as a viable material, the films of Woody Allen and John Peel’s Festive 50. I must concede to having never listened to John Peel up until this point in my life, and although I didn’t suddenly start tuning in religiously I did make a point of recording that year’s Festive 50. This allowed me to obtain a copy of 'Naked Cousin' by PJ Harvey, which hadn’t featured on any of her records and was only made commercially available in 2006 when she collated her Peel Sessions onto an album.

College Grounds

It became evident that to fully appreciate indie music you had to know a bit about the history of alternative music in general and some of the acts that comprise the cannon: The Beatles, The Velvet Underground, The Byrds, Syd  Barrett, Bowie, the Stones, and so on. The Welsh lad who looked a bit like Keanu Reeves was very into The Beatles, and many evenings were spent listening to Abbey Road and ‘The White Album’, as well as Paul McCartney and Wings. My parents used to play these records when I was younger, but it was revelatory listening to it now as a teenager, earnestly in a darkened room. I was also introduced to what might be called progressive psychedelic rock: bands like Gong, Caravan, Camel, Focus. I never really liked this music enough to bother recording any of it, although I did enjoy Angel’s Egg by Gong. The same cannot be said of Pink Floyd’s The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, which I obtained from the lad who lent me The Sound of the Suburbs. There are far better songs than 'Bike' on the album, but when I was putting this compilation together I felt I needed to convey some of the more humorous aspects of the music I was being introduced to (see also Half Man Half Biscuit).

Indie tapes guy obliged with the first VU album but I never gave it the attention it warranted; all I cared for was 'Venus in Furs' which had recently featured in an advert for Dunlop tyres. However, tapes guy also had a recording of 'The Gift' off of Velvet Underground’s White Light/White Heat. It tells the improbable tale of Waldo Jeffers who, lovesick, mails himself to his long distance lover, Marsha Bronson, only for her to inadvertently skewer him with a sheet-metal cutter as she struggles to open the box that transported him. The plot is not so much the thing, it’s all about the language, the phrasing and John Cale’s delightful Welsh lilt.

The Welsh lad who looked like Keanu Reeves – who didn’t have a very strong Welsh accent, come to think of it – also liked Bob Dylan and Fleetwood Mac. My old man liked Bob Dylan too, but his music had never left much of an impression. Repeated listens in Welsh lad’s room to Highway 61 Revisited and Blonde on Blonde saw this right. Fleetwood Mac I was more familiar with, but again I’d never made any effort to properly engage with them. Welsh lad had Rumours, and I borrowed my father’s copy of Greatest Hits (the 1971 edition). Over the years I have included both 'The Chain' and 'Dragonfly' on this compilation, but never at the same time, so take your pick. Similarly, anything from Band on the Run by Wings will do (or Red Rose Speedway for that matter).

The calm before the storm. I’d seen The Breeders supported by Luscious Jackson at The Forum in Kentish Town, The Fall at the same venue (different night), The Fall again at The Fridge in Brixton, Moonshake at The Garage, the Moonflowers somewhere between Fulham and Hammersmith – all in the company of the guy with the indie tapes – and These Animal Men at Connections in Plymouth. The criteria for going to these gigs were just fancying it and the availability of tickets. There was never any question of being part of something, of it being a communal experience. When did it all change? When did indie music become embroiled in another scene?

Britpop’s ascendancy was gradual and by no means assured. The received wisdom is that it started with 'Popscene' by Blur in the spring of 1992. If that’s true then nobody really noticed. Besides, it was Suede who were making waves. Their debut single 'The Drowners' was voted single of the year in the NME, although it only reached number 49 in the charts, which isn’t the stuff movements are made of.

How about 1993? Did that April issue of Select Magazine – the one that’s wheeled out every time the origins of Britpop are being discussed, with the serpentine Brett Anderson on its cover – not signal the start of something? To a degree: both Suede’s eponymous debut album and Blur’s second made it into NME’s top 10 albums that year. But then so too did Black Sunday by Cypress Hill, Come on Feel the Lemonheads by the Lemonheads, Siamese Dream by Smashing Pumpkins, Star by Belly, and Bjork’s debut, Debut. (Cannonball by The Breeders was voted best single.)

What about April 1994, the month that saw the release of two of Britpop’s defining albums: His ‘n’ Hers by Pulp and Parklife by Blur? Possibly, but the effect was not as immediate as one might assume. Britpop’s prime movers were still sharing a fair proportion of airtime, the front covers of magazines and placings in polls with acts as diverse as R.E.M., Manic Street Preachers, The Stone Roses, a recently deceased Kurt Cobain, Morrissey, Primal Scream, Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, The Auteurs, The Prodigy, Jeff Buckley, Beastie Boys, NAS, Public Enemy, Johnny Cash, Pavement, Sebadoh, Pearl Jam.

You have to hand it to Oasis. It was Definitely Maybe that promulgated Britpop’s arrival as a populist movement. The lads who had been grooving away to The Stone Roses, Happy Mondays, and Inspiral Carpets just a few years earlier were not the sort to be seduced by the likes of Suede, Pulp and Blur. But know this: it took until 1995, maybe even 1996, for the aggro vested upon fans of alternative music – or towards people with alternative lifestyles in general – to finally settle down, for the jibes and the dirty looks and the threats of violence to subside, the objections towards how you wore your hair or how thin you were, or something as innocuous as a leather jacket or a roll neck sweater.

[Listen to here.]