I was a teenager when Britpop happened. Born in 78, comin' of age right when it kicked off. Mixtapes in my mum's Ford Fiesta on the way to the caravan in Wales. The jukebox in my dad's pub — I'd put 50p in and play 'Live Forever' three times in a row. Sunday nights at me nan and grandad's, listenin' to the chart show. Then arguin' with my mates at school about whether Blur or Oasis was better.
This wasn't just a musical genre. It was a moment when British guitar music became the most excitin' thing on the planet. Ridiculous and brilliant and excessive and wonderful. Never quite been the same since.
1994. I bought Parklife from Our Price in town. Still got the receipt somewhere. 'Girls & Boys' everywhere that summer. 'Parklife' with Phil Daniels as a council estate layabout — you couldn't escape it. Blur were suddenly the biggest band in Britain.
Same year, Definitely Maybe. Oasis. If Blur were the clever art-school band, Oasis were the opposite — workin'-class, boisterous, overflowin' with confidence. 'Live Forever' felt like it had always existed. Fifteen million copies worldwide. My mate Dave had the poster on his bedroom wall. We'd sit there listenin', pretendin' we were rock stars.
14 August 1995. Blur and Oasis released singles on the same day. The most famous chart battle in British history. 'Country House' versus 'Roll With It'. North versus South. Everyone picked a side. My family was split — my dad Team Oasis all the way, my cousin swore by Blur. The arguments at Sunday dinner were proper heated.
Blur won the chart battle — 274,000 to 216,000. But Oasis won the war. Morning Glory was a phenomenon — 22 million copies worldwide. 'Wonderwall', 'Don't Look Back in Anger', 'Champagne Supernova'. Songs that have become part of the fabric of British life. I still can't hear 'Don't Look Back in Anger' without singin' along.
Knebworth, August 96. Two nights. 250,000 people. 2.5 million applied for tickets. I didn't get one — none of us did. But we listened on the radio. Oasis at their absolute peak. The photograph of Liam with his hands behind his back, microphone tilted up — that's the image of a moment that defined a generation.
It couldn't last. Be Here Now in 97 was a bloated mess. The drugs took their toll. The political moment passed. But for a few years in the mid-90s, British guitar music was the most excitin' thing in the world. The bands were brilliant, the rivalries were real, the music mattered. The last great guitar boom. Still feelin' its echoes today. I've got the CDs in a box in the loft. Still know exactly where.