Do You Really Remember Britpop?

“Can you remember what you were doing at the height of Britpop? Perhaps you were running the country? Bands like Damon Albarn’s Blur furnished the soundtrack to the early Blair Years, ‘Cool Britannia’ and all that’.

 (Steven Smith)

blair and brown britpop or shit pop

Eh? No, except they didn’t did they?

Britpop was at its zenith between 1992-1995 (at its peak around 1995’s Oasis Vs Blur feud) all firmly within and during the Conservative years of John Major’s government and by the time Blair gained power in 1997 and attempted to co-opt the sound and cool factor for New Labour propaganda it was, as a scene pretty much on its way out and maturing into something quite different in the face of mainstream media hype and anyone who used the term ‘Britpop’ to describe their musical tastes in ’97 would have been seen as being rather naff and possibly a bit of a late coming poseur than a fan. Certainly I don’t think I ever heard anyone describe themselves as being a fan of ‘Britpop’ during that period, many favoured just the term ‘Indie’ or even ‘Pop’.

britpop fight

It’s true though that both Pulp & Blur released what I think are their best albums of that scene around that period. Blur with ‘Blur’ in ’97 and Pulp with the wonderful ‘This Is Hardcore’ in ’98 but that was a last surge of scene creativity as things seemed to come to a natural halt all round with the bands who’d been slogging away and ever changing their style since the 1980s C86 shoegazing movement, then hurriedly through both the ‘Grebo’ & ‘Baggy’ fashions just folded in the wake of the Britpop storm. Some clearly worn out after years of slog to noticed by the NME never mind getting onto Top Of The Pops long before the Britpop craze reached its peak. Others were clearly keen to shift indie on into other areas and reinvent themselves for a new decade such as the a more clearly ‘rock’ based sound which was finding favour during a resurgence in the generic ‘Alternative’ music scene which would dominate for most of the late 1990s and early 2000s.

Pulp Blur

These early New Labour years actually saw most of the leading lights of ‘Britpop’ split up. Between the years 1997/1998 such stalwarts as- Sleeper, Lush, These Animal Men, Menswear and more decided to call it a day, so it can hardly be said that Blair rode in on a wave of Cool Britannia rather than he attempted to go for a bit of a paddle as the tide was hurriedly going out.

I’m not sure where this New Labour/Britpop myth originates but I think it could very well be with Blair alone, after all New Labour were brilliant at self-promotion and smarmily latching onto things which seemed to offer some semblance of credibility with the young voters. Or maybe we remember it that way because we’d like to think that the biggest explosion in national creativity and self-confidence to express the same sort of British identity for the modern age which we last saw in the 1960s (whilst being nostalgic was undeniably of the ‘now’) was ushering in a new age for Britain rather than bookending the previous Conservative rule, a whooping 18 years from 1979 until 1997.

For brief a moment in time we just couldn’t go wrong in everything from fashion, music, film- ‘Trainspotting’ featuring a suitably Britpop soundtrack of sorts was hailed as revitalising the British Film (although it also opened the flood gates to a host of various poor imitators) Art became sexy and daring with the YBA’s ushering in the ‘BritArt’ and even Comedy saw a boon with the rise of theatre and stadium stand-up acts such as Newman and Baddiel (now free from The Mary Whitehouse Experience) and on TV with things like ‘Fist of Fun’. For much of the 1990s comedy was being touted as being the ‘New Rock n’ Roll’ at the time when oddly enough Britpop was being hailed as such. Union Jack flags were duly slapped onto any old tat and onto the covers of a rash of hurriedly rushed out compilation albums. Like other retro tinged music genres which saw revivals in related or similar scenes Britpop’s umbrella saw the Mod scene enjoy a fresh resurgence and 1960s styles and pop gained new appreciation amongst the young music fan. Britpop also oddly enough saw a sort of retrospective for the previous indie pop of the Madchester movement with Baggy and older Post-Punk bands (The Cure, The Smiths etc) ( and even some so called Grebo ones ) often being lumped together with the more current groups on comp albums and in articles being cited as natural precursors, laying the foundations for Britpop to build its success upon.

Phew.

Maybe at the end of the say we would all just rather pretend that it didn’t happen under the watch of a Prime Minister so devoid of the wow factor, so utterly characterless and bland that he was often portrayed as having grey pallor skin and the epitome of a nerdy voice by the Spitting Image team as well as by the cartoonist Steve Bell.  So in the end Blair got all the glory and in the process he also possibly killed Britpop, for without anything to kick against anything approaching the sort of angst often attributed to a Tory majority government and which often sees a rise in such creativity that spurs on bands the spark soon fizzled out. Britpop just faded out, morphing into other tangents as Noel Gallagher supped champers with Tony at Number 10 happily posing for the press and Albarn legged it to Iceland for a bit in a sort of self-imposed exile leaving Coxon to steer Blur into the very American College Radio rock sound they’d been pushing against with their overly British band persona.

Anyway, politicians of any stripe pretending to know or care about pop culture are just as embarrassing as the shyster talking heads for hire and self-professed street culture experts who propagate these half remembered things as facts on TV items and thoughtful articles (such as this one).

As for what I was doing during the height of Britpop, well for the latter half I was pretending to be at Art College whilst doing very little to be creative and wore the then appropriate ‘Indie Kid Uniform’ of charity shop long black overcoat, clumpy boots and floppy home cut fringed hair making me the sort of cliché which gave rise to the Student Grant character in the comic Viz.

 

 

Lemmy

Did I meet Lemmy once?

I’m not all that sure truth be told, it may just be a half remembered fevered imagining from a confusing time in my past where alcohol consumption played a pretty big part. I speak of course of the heady days of the Mid-2000s, a time which was still enjoying full blown media interest and success after its post Grunge late 1990s ‘Nu-Metal’ led boon in many areas of ‘Alternative Music’ and in our case it was no different. For we were Psychobillies and our time had come once again. Thanks to the ‘Big Three’ American Label bands- The Horrorpops, Nekromantix and Tiger Army reviving an interest in all things Cowpunk/Billy based the scene was enjoying what some dubbed its ‘3rd Wave’ (and others its ‘4th’ confusing enough). Kids were dumping their skate punk and Emo fashions to adopt an off the peg American punk meets Rockabilly image, this was the start of the cliche fad for all those young Roller Derby women donning the head scarves, retro rocker hair and striking the famous American war effort poster ‘We Can Do It!’ pose in countless selfies today…

Anyway, the long and short of it was that all this interest had encouraged the band I was nominally roading for to pack up their bags and head abroad to play a new American festival and for the next few weeks slob about California preying upon the kindness of other bands there to blag a few gigs. A busman’s holiday of sorts. So off we jetted to play a hurriedly organised festival dedicated to all things Billy… Things did not go well, on arrival it became obvious there was no festival yet bands and fans were arriving from across the globe only to discover the venue was closed up and hurriedly hand scrawled note apologising for the cancelation was pinned on the doors. To this day I’m not sure what happened there, did the promoter leg it with the cash or was he let down by the venue? Anyway, instead of breaking it big to a new legion of fans the band and I had to dust ourselves off and make the best of a bad situation. This seemed to involved no more planning than hiring a car and setting off across the great state of California armed with a few contact numbers and addresses. Thankfully it seemed to pay off and we had enough gigs booked to warrant heading to that nest of vipers, the home of the rock cliché and paradise of the tasteless- Los Angeles. Once there we made a visit of many watering holes and of course the famous Rainbow Bar & Grill – well, it would have been rude not to.

I’m almost certain he was in residence at the Bar & Grill on the week we were propping up the bar attempting to look oh so cool and nonchalant as though we did this sort of thing all the time and hadn’t arrived from Lancashire all giddy with the excitement of being in America and California to boot. All these old ‘Roadie era’ stories start to wear thin and increasingly seem to the desperate ramblings of a man all too aware his youth is well behind him now and an admission that since that time I probably haven’t done enough or I’d have a collection of really cringe worthy, ribald stories about my life since. I think everyone’s getting bored of them, not just me.

That night I know we met and briefly chatted to legendary blue movie monster, the human hedgehog himself Ron Jeremy but he seemed more keen on filling his doggy bags with other diner’s unwanted food than talking to yet another group of excitedly gibbering and rather immature men in a band from another country.

The Rainbow is an odd venue; it’s pokey and large and seems to offer many hiding places for all manner of also rans and nearly famous faces… not just ours. There, like other such bars, exists an unwritten set of rules to save the celebs form the overly excited fans who have wandered into the holy of holies and the staff are ever observant as to who might be pushing their luck with a valued regular.

As we drunk with a mix of jet lag and expensive booze wandered aimlessly around the place we picked up a posse of the similarly lost with no agenda, including the drummer of Hanoi Rocks oddly enough who seemed rather chuffed he’d been recognised and so stuck to us like glue.

If he had been there, and he very well probably was, I probably muttered something daft but intended to be flattering his way, probably offered to buy him a drink but then I would have slunk away to peer at the great man from a curtained corner. I seem to remember he was there but memories a funny bugger with the benefit of 15years past and the added problem of seeing things through a drunken fug.

Lemmy Bar & Grill