Oasis - What’s The Story (Morning Glory)?

Are you team Noel or team Liam ?

This Birthtopster malarkey has fallen at a good time. Oasis are shit but I’ve grown to like their musty stench; we all sniff our hands from time to time. I’m going to see (or, at the time of this being sent out, have just seen) Oasis in Manchester for their “Noel Gallagher Existential Post-Divorce Crisis Reunion Tour.” The brothers have gaffer-taped the multiple holes in their upturned bucket-hat flotation device of a relationship, presenting the façade of harmony on stage. After a few gigs in Cardiff and Manchester over recent weekends, the brothers’ microaggressions and swagger-language are being psychoanalysed by the internet with a will-they-won’t-they-stab-each-other-in-the-head-with-bloodlust.

I don’t love Oasis, but I bagged tickets. The hype (here in Manchester, at least) is real. Despite Noel’s middle-aged divorce slouch and Liam’s crow-like descent into caricature puppetdom, their imprint on the zeitgeist of British culture is unbelievable, palpable, monstrous. Over recent weeks I keep hearing snippets, listening to interviews, seeing things: I’ve allowed myself to be taken in by it.

My earliest real memory of Oasis was their sixth album, Don’t Believe The Truth (which, for years, I thought was called Don’t Believe The Truth (Retail) due to the dodgy labelling of the ripped copy on my 50GB(!) iPod Classic). By then, Oasis were weary and disoriented, shuffling through the remnants of their myth, haunted by the shadows of John Lennon and Marc Bolan and the unexpected ascent of Damon Albarn’s Gorillaz. Oasis had become just another name in the chant-heavy line-up of terrace rockers (Kasabian, Kaiser Chiefs, the lot) whose music was now less a cultural statement and more a backing track for darts highlights and Monday Night Football. The years passed, the band dissolved, solo projects, karaoke reminiscences filled a sad little hole, and the world kept turning.

Only in recent years, being less snobbish, sarcastic and closed off to society, have I become attuned to the behemoth that was Oasis in the 90s. At the beginning, in the early 90s, they were a nasally rock’n’roll slap and spit in the face, completely and totally confident in their swaggering ability to write hit after hit after hit. Their second album What’s The Story (Morning Glory)? is a hit-fest, a hazy mid-paced jam of songs interspersed with megayacht ballads and tearjerkers that transcend music.

Liam Gallagher’s snarl is a snarky, beautiful thing. In “Some Might Say” it stings the wash and echo of drums and rhythm guitars. The song unravels, Noel and Liam alternate and bounce off one another, and tub-thumping rock submerges the mix and continues into oblivion. “Cast No Shadow” is a gruff dream, demonstrating the second tone of the record: the ballad. Instrumentals glitter, a gorgeous mellotron whistles and swings amongst Noel’s backing vocals, and Liam Gallagher provides tambourine-led, gravelly vocal introspection.

Yes, “Wonderwall” exists. Yes, the fandom is painful. Yes, Oasis are a mealy rehash of good old fashioned British rock sausage. But, when the bubbling saturation of “Champagne Supernova” hits its peak, the spicy crust of “Morning Glory” builds, and even the nostalgic chords of “Wonderwall” and peace-and-love sway of “Don’t Look Back in Anger” settle into their sadness, I can’t help but admire the album’s standalone power.

And performed live, it’s another beast. I’ll never be a superfan, and I’m aware I’ve been swept into the hype, but at least it’s given me a window to re-evaluate, re-listen and re-appreciate. Maybe you’ll experience something similar… or your hate may grow stronger.