Ten
years is a very long time - in fact, it's hard
to comprehend just how long without being physically
sick.
In 1994, nobody in England had heard of Friends,
Starbucks or, for that matter, coffee; for the first
time in its history the Union Jack was not considered
racist; and Pitt the Younger's Conservative government
had just passed laws ruling that all pop songs must
be about chip shops and Tube stations. It was, frankly,
shit. But whither today the so-called "Brit-pop" bands
who ruled the roost in those dark days?
Of the Big Four, only Blur are still doing anything vaguely
relevant, Oasis having descended into parody of parody, and
Pulp and Suede having postponed all future activities due
to an unforeseen lack of interest. At the other end of the
scale, The Bluetones and Shed Seven, who only got to Number
23 in the first place by entering into a dark Faustian pact,
are now damned to trawl student unions in Lancaster and Portsmouth
UNTIL THE END OF TIME.
In between the two extremes are Supergrass, whose catchy,
diverting tunes and hair have for a decade been an oasis
of consistency in a world gone insane. Like Ash, they've
continued to put out a series of decent pop singles, which
you never bothered buying because you figured you'd
wait for them to get dumped by their label and then buy the
greatest hits.
At time of going to, er, server, they're still in paid employment,
but they have got round to putting out a hits compilation.
Supergrass are 10. Accordingly, tonight's set has a retrospective
feel, relying surprisingly heavily on songs off 1995's I
Should Coco. It's also (according the one who looks a
bit like a monkey) their last gig for a little bit before
they go off and write some new songs.
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