Oasis : Who feels love
And it'll probably survive the kicking we're about to give this depressingly mediocre single...
Did you see that TV tribute to Ian Dury? They showed some awesome footage of the good old days when the geezer stalked the stage like a demented Neanderthal gargoyle
and growled his lubberly-jubberly leer-ics inna pissed-off-Cockernee-grizzly-bear-with-a-severe-head-cold stylee and it was good. Then they showed footage of a recent concert where he was proper poorly and the poor sod's voice was totally shot and it was awful. But the crowd reaction was exactly the same both times!
Y'see the crowd weren't applauding what they were actually seeing or hearing. They were applauding what they thought they were seeing or hearing. They were applauding the idea of Ian Dury rather than the reality. And one must assume that the ever-ecstatic crowds who similarly go apeshit over the painful caterwauling of Ian Brown or Danny from Embrace are doing the same thing. They're not applauding the music, they're applauding the concept - what Naomi Klein, author of the brilliant book No Logo, would call "the brand identity".
And so it goes because, by an amazing coincidence, that night's TV also featured Oasis in concert. This hack only saw a bit but that bit (a cover of The Who's 'My Generation') was, well, excuse the strong language, bloody dreadful.
"People try to put us down!" roared pretty Liam in that fantastic Noddy Holder after a night on the fags and paint-stripper voice of his. "Talking 'bout ma gener-ashun!" screeched the brutish Noel in a voice like a throat-cancered cormorant sicking up partly digested sardines for its screaming young. And at the end of this abysmal performance the crowd, surprise, surprise, went absolutely mental. They obviously hadn't actually heard a single word.
They were exhibiting brand
loyalty. Nike Heil!
The Oasis brand is, of course, one of the strongest in rock. (Wild. Real. Hard.) It has survived the critical kickings rightly doled out to two depressingly mediocre albums. And it'll probably survive the kicking we're about to give this depressingly mediocre single.
'Who Feels Love?' is a piece of tacky sub-Kula Shaker tripe that's so shit that it probably wouldn't even have made it on to that fuck-awful aural abortion that passes for the new Paul Weller album. It's 'Leaving On A Jet Plane' crossed with the hurdy-gurdy middle eight from 'Theme From The Magic Roundabout'. And then they deliver a clattering fuck-up of a totally unnecessary cover version of
the best rock song in the fucking world EVAH! ie, The Beatles' 'Helter Skelter'. Fuck off, you useless old tramps! Quick, clean out the ears with a sharp blast of Rage Against The Machine and send in the next victim.
Steven Wells
and growled his lubberly-jubberly leer-ics inna pissed-off-Cockernee-grizzly-bear-with-a-severe-head-cold stylee and it was good. Then they showed footage of a recent concert where he was proper poorly and the poor sod's voice was totally shot and it was awful. But the crowd reaction was exactly the same both times!
Y'see the crowd weren't applauding what they were actually seeing or hearing. They were applauding what they thought they were seeing or hearing. They were applauding the idea of Ian Dury rather than the reality. And one must assume that the ever-ecstatic crowds who similarly go apeshit over the painful caterwauling of Ian Brown or Danny from Embrace are doing the same thing. They're not applauding the music, they're applauding the concept - what Naomi Klein, author of the brilliant book No Logo, would call "the brand identity".
And so it goes because, by an amazing coincidence, that night's TV also featured Oasis in concert. This hack only saw a bit but that bit (a cover of The Who's 'My Generation') was, well, excuse the strong language, bloody dreadful.
"People try to put us down!" roared pretty Liam in that fantastic Noddy Holder after a night on the fags and paint-stripper voice of his. "Talking 'bout ma gener-ashun!" screeched the brutish Noel in a voice like a throat-cancered cormorant sicking up partly digested sardines for its screaming young. And at the end of this abysmal performance the crowd, surprise, surprise, went absolutely mental. They obviously hadn't actually heard a single word.
They were exhibiting brand
loyalty. Nike Heil!
The Oasis brand is, of course, one of the strongest in rock. (Wild. Real. Hard.) It has survived the critical kickings rightly doled out to two depressingly mediocre albums. And it'll probably survive the kicking we're about to give this depressingly mediocre single.
'Who Feels Love?' is a piece of tacky sub-Kula Shaker tripe that's so shit that it probably wouldn't even have made it on to that fuck-awful aural abortion that passes for the new Paul Weller album. It's 'Leaving On A Jet Plane' crossed with the hurdy-gurdy middle eight from 'Theme From The Magic Roundabout'. And then they deliver a clattering fuck-up of a totally unnecessary cover version of
the best rock song in the fucking world EVAH! ie, The Beatles' 'Helter Skelter'. Fuck off, you useless old tramps! Quick, clean out the ears with a sharp blast of Rage Against The Machine and send in the next victim.
Steven Wells
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