The air was with no “r”. These were the 90s and everybody rolled with it. At the top of its head: Liam Gallagher’s obnoxious presence–there has never existed quite like it, rockstars are a handful–matched only by his brother’s own, even wider–he was the surface upon which they stood. When he titled Oasis’ fourthcoming Standing on the shoulder of giants of course Noel Gallagher was referring to himself.
There is no britannia with no clash. The purity dressed and cologne-scent’ed, well read and kinda gay, Blur, were at the top of their game. I would argue that they were britannia. The encapsulation of low, faded englishmen bored of their privilege and bored of sex, lead by Damon Albarn and carried by Graham Coxon, conquered the United Kingdom and became its 90s zeitgeist.
Like it is with most privileged kids, Damon grew bored of Blur’s success. After mastering britpop and reducing Oasis into a faded fad, the Essex boy wanted America. Thus, the self-titled happened. The greatest alternative album in history. Oasis got Ashton Kutcher but Blur got sublime. And no one was listening. At least no one in America.
Then Justine happened, 13 happened, and he was gone.
