If you were to take a stroll down our block at just the right time . . . could be day, could be night, could be any day of the week . . . you might hear the sound of a woman screaming from one of the smaller houses on the street.
No, we’re not having sex. We are neither screamers nor scratchers. We moan and talk dirty in three languages, and the music from one of my fuck playlists drowns all that out anyway.
If you were fortunate enough to bump into one of the locals before you rushed to the rescue of a damsel in distress, they would likely stop you and say something like, “Ce n’est rien. Arielle fait encore du bruit.”
Translation: “Don’t sweat it—it’s just Ari making noise.”
I’m not used to people calling me by my full first name, but my neighbors insist on it. When I lived in the States, I encouraged people to call me Ari because Americans had a hard time with Arielle. Either they went full American and pronounced it “aerial” or tried to show off their high school French and wound up almost choking themselves by trying to gutturalize both the “r” and the “ll” (only the “r” is guttural). After a while it got tedious trying to correct people and I resigned myself to the typically hard pronunciation of the “r” used in the western U. S. You can find the proper pronunciation here.
You may have noticed that my father calls me “Sunshine,” which has more to do with his lousy French than my sunny disposition and blonde locks. He wanted to name me “Catherine,” but because my mother always wins, he had to settle for second place. Given my personality and nasty habits, Arielle is certainly more fitting than Catherine, which means “innocent and pure.”
Arielle translates into “Lion of God,” and when I’m making noise on my guitar, that’s exactly how I feel.
I began making noise in my teens when I was seriously into punk, banging away with a low-end Strat, a Boss distortion pedal and a Pignose amp. I’m happy to report that I have upgraded my setup and now make a ruckus on a gen-u-ine American Strat while plugged into a remarkable device called an Apollo Twin X from Universal Audio, a recording interface that gives me access to several software plug-ins that emulate the sounds of an array of high-end amplifiers. My favorite is the Fuchs Overdrive Supreme 50, but I also use a Marshall Plexi Classic and three amps from Friedman (BE100, DS40 and Buxom Betty). Though I’m sure the Apollo is a wonderful recording interface, I’ve never used it as such. Instead, I just plug in my guitar, open iTunes, slip on my headphones and play along to a carefully-chosen set of songs that help me develop my rhythm guitar skills while getting my rocks off at the same time.
I have two distinct practice playlists: one for making noise and one for practicing vocals. The most noticeable difference between the two is that most of the songs on my making-noise playlist come from the music of my generation (18 out of 22 come from the ’90s and ’00s) while most of the songs on the sing-along playlist come from the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s. You might snarkily conclude, “Yeah, millennials are pretty good when it comes to making noise,” but I think the data hints at the declining importance of melody in popular music, as demonstrated by the ascendance of rap and hip-hop. As for the noise factor, there was a vast improvement in guitar-related technology in the ’90s, resulting in more effective and more diverse forms of guitar distortion.
Without further ado, I’ll take you through my current making-noise playlist and identify those moments where the excitement of rocking out becomes so overwhelming that I entertain the neighbors with a near-orgasmic scream. Links to YouTube have been provided if you’re in the mood.
Warm-Up Songs: These are generally simpler songs in manageable tempos that get my fingers moving around the fretboard. Comparatively screamless.
- “How Do You?” Radiohead: This two-minute number from Pablo Honey consists of five chords and a raucous fade involving A major variants—sort of like a warped version of “Feel a Whole Lot Better.” I always open my session with this one because I can bang away on A-chord alternatives without ever making a mistake. Anything goes!
- “Advert,” Blur: When you’re playing rhythm guitar you have to focus on the drummer so you can remain in sync, and it helps to have someone like Dave Rowntree who knows what the hell he’s doing. The song is a mix of two-note power chords and a couple of straight chords in the verse (on “You need a holiday”). That sounds pretty simple but actually requires a lot of discipline and patience because of several instances of extended repetition involving the A-G pattern. The longest pattern (in the instrumental segment) tricks you because a voice counts out sixteen measures but you actually have to repeat the pattern twenty-six times! As Paul Chambers discovered when Miles had him play the same bass part ad infinitum on “All Blues” from Kind of Blue, this is frigging hard. I try to get through it by repeating a quote from Ed O’Brien of Radiohead during each measure—“Rhythm is the king of limbs”—so I can remember why it’s important to keep things together. Instead of screaming when I hear Dave Rowntree give the snare hit cue that signals the end of the torture, I let out a big “whoosh” of heartfelt relief.
- “Ask the Angels,” Patti Smith Group: This is good practice because of the three key changes, but when the band settles on the F major of the fade and drives this baby home, I usually let out a scream . . . call it a practice scream.
- “Pills,” The New York Dolls: A solid rock ‘n’ roll classic to loosen up the fingers and get into the groove. I love it when I nail the rhythm and hear Johnny Thunders ripping through my headphones, but it’s more “satisfaction for a job well done” than a screaming moment.
Let It Rip Songs: It’s time to let the neighbors know that the Lion of God is on the prowl!
- “Listed MIA,” Rancid: “Fuck, yeah!” is how I opened my post on And Out Come the Wolves, and this high-speed punk romp with plenty of power chord action is one of nineteen reasons the album earned that honor. The scream comes in the last verse when the boys give it all they’ve got and throw in some handclaps to seal the deal—and I scream as if I’m taking the deepest plunge on the biggest, baddest roller coaster ever. Absolutely fucking relentless!
- “The Librarians Are Hiding Something,” $wingin Utter$: More Bay Area punk from a band I saw half a dozen times, this one has the virtue of an even faster tempo and hilarious lyrics. The scream arrives with the let-it-all-out finish when Greg McEntee absolutely destroys his cymbals.
- “Don’t Mess with Me,” Brody Dalle: The challenge here comes from the rapid B-C power chord slides; the orgasmic moments come every time Brody hits that long note on “I’ve got the feeling I can break” with plenty of Cobainesque sandpaper in her voice.
- “Clampdown,” The Clash: I’ve always wanted to emulate the sound of those propulsive power chords, and thanks to the Apollo I can now adjust my settings to sound just like Mick Jones! The real trial involves restraint—I tend to get too excited and play past the cuts instead of giving way to Topper Headon. You have to be an idiot to play over Topper Headon, and I qualify. Too many screams to count.
- “M. O. R.” Blur: This one involves a series of two-note power chord arpeggios followed by a let-it-rip chorus that serves as the scream trigger. Sometimes I’ll break off and try to emulate Graham Coxon’s screaming bends with little success.
- “Play You Out,” Mind Spiders: The Mind Spiders have two drummers, so I have plenty of cues to keep me on track as they alternate between all-out punk bash and a classic rock rhythm. Lots of screams on this one.
- “Things You Say,” Sleater-Kinney: I ignore both Carrie’s and Corin’s guitar parts and add a third rhythm guitar part of pure power chords, possible only because Janet Weiss is such a fabulous drummer. The varied syncopation serves as a refreshing stylistic change; the scream comes at the end of the song when Corin belts out the line, “It is brave to be alive!”
- “One More Hour,” Sleater-Kinney: This one is a lot of fun to play because of the three rhythmic variations and subtle downshifts. The scream moment arrives later in the song when they bring it down a notch for Corin’s agonizing lines, “Don’t say another word/About the other girl,” expressing lingering passion and rising anxiety echoed in the ascending chord pattern.
- “Richard III,” Supergrass: Frantic sliding up and down the fretboard sweetened by a dissonant six-half-step chord combination (A-Eb) makes for an excellent rhythm guitar workout and earns a scream every time they cut from A-Eb to C-Ab-G (what y’all know as the chorus). Perfect for the Buxom Betty amp emulator that features a range of nasty presets.
- “Cigarettes and Alcohol,” Oasis: Tony McCarroll wasn’t much of a drummer, but all he needed to do on this song is keep the beat and stay out of the way of the Gallagher Brothers. I like practicing this song because I have to spend a lot of time on the lower strings, thus strengthening my callouses.
- “Lyla,” Oasis: This is one of two songs that are duplicated on my vocal playlist. It’s a song dominated by rhythm guitar (Noel’s solo is brief and to the point) and because the full chords sound better on an acoustic, I switch over to my Ovation for this one. I absolutely love playing along with Zak Starkey, a vast improvement over McCarroll and Alan White.
- “Gimme Three Steps,” Lynyrd Skynyrd: Allen Collins was one of the best rhythm guitar players ever, and trying to duplicate his timing on this song is a master class on rhythm guitar. I scream whenever I nail it, which doesn’t happen all that often because I get too damned excited.
Stretch Songs: These songs all involve arpeggios, the musical form that gives me the most trouble on the guitar. As noted in my Albert King review, I do better without a pick, but the thumb simply doesn’t produce the necessary edge you need in rock . . . hence the need to keep practicing!
- “Portions for Foxes,” Rilo Kiley: Lots of arpeggios all over the fretboard make this a challenge for me. Fortunately, there are several power chord breaks to restore my flagging confidence.
- “Words and Guitar,” Sleater-Kinney: This one frustrates me to the nth degree because it shouldn’t be that difficult. The arpeggios involve a simple chord change from A-flat to C-minor but my arpeggio anxiety tends to get in the way. I only scream when I get it right.
- “Supersonic,” Oasis: I’ve worked my fingers to the bone trying to master this one. The opening arpeggio involves five strings in the form of an F#m11 chord and I nearly always fuck it up on the downstrokes. The arpeggio leading to the chorus is played on an unusually shaped C#7 that hurts like hell. If I ever get to meet Noel Gallagher I want to study the fingers on his left hand to confirm my theory that his callouses extend beyond his fingertips.
- “Everyone Thinks I’m a Raincloud (When I’m Not Looking),” Guided by Voices: This is one arpeggio I get right . . . most of the time. I think it’s easier because it includes some open strings. Love the multiple variants on the E chord, ensuring that I get a lot of fretboard exercise.
- “Bodysnatchers,” Radiohead: When I first attempted this song I was stunned to learn that it demands much more speed than my ears led me to believe, adding to the difficulty of working with the bottom strings at the upper reaches of the fretboard. As is common with Radiohead, the chord changes are brilliant—and more complex due to the heavy use of alternative voicings. Even with the difficulty, I love working with this song and am absolutely determined to nail it someday. My scream moment syncs perfectly with Thom Yorke’s rebel yell after a series of quick chord changes resolve to a thunderous climax on the G chord—and I beat the living shit out of that chord while screaming my lungs out.
Special Bonus Warmup Song!
- Girls and Boys, Blur: When I haven’t played in a while and need to limber my digits and harden my callouses pronto, this is my go-to song. “Huh. That’s not much of a guitar song, is it?” you opine. Well, no, it isn’t—but the chord pattern is made up of a series of standard chords that are usually the hardest on the fingers (G7, C7, F, Eb, F#, F) . . . and the song demands that you play those chords over and over and over and over and over and over . . . well, you get the picture. I used to use “You Can’t Do That” by The Beatles (G7, C7, D7/B7, Em, Am, Bm D), as an alternative, but I tended to get pissed off by Lennon’s sexist control hangup so often that I’d miss my spots. My new backup is “We Used to Know” by Jethro Tull (Em, B7, D, A, C, G, F#, B7), which also allows me to practice my dynamic control.
I want to make one more point before I disappear into the ether—a consumer warning of sorts. I can usually figure out the chords to most songs by myself using either guitar or piano, but sometimes I’ll consult the various chord repository websites if I get stuck. This is a 50/50 proposition at best, but sometimes the errors guide me to the solution. The most common error (and it happens A LOT) involves transcribing minor chords in place of 7th chords. The transcription of “Girls and Boys” on Ultimate-Guitar.com features this mistake . . . and the transcription is rated 4.8 out of 5 stars!
Hey! I think I’ll go rock out right now! Back next week with The Jam!
If you traveled to various corners of the world, played word association with its far-flung inhabitants and said, “Britpop,” the majority would respond “Oasis.” You might get some competition from Blur and others on the continent or in Japan, but Oasis is the Britpop representative best-known in the USA, and the USA has nuclear-level marketing reach.
Note that the word “nuclear” was carefully chosen and is intended to convey all its meanings.
I’ve already reviewed all their studio albums, but I couldn’t do a Britpop series justice without including Oasis. Luckily, I had their concert album in my back pocket, where they cover nearly all their hits from the Britpop era.
My review of Familiar to Millions is somewhat colored by my experience: I have seen Oasis live four times in my brief existence:
- June 19, 1997, Oakland Coliseum, Oakland, California: I loathe outdoor stadium concerts and despised the Be Here Now album, but they were in town, I could get there on BART, I’d never seen them, so what the fuck. The sound wasn’t great and the thing I remember most was Liam wearing white tennis shoes that were terribly unsexy.
- August 6, 2000, Arlene Schnitzler Concert Hall, Portland, Oregon: A wealthy dermatologist I was dating took me for my nineteenth birthday. He really went all out—we flew first class, had Dom Perignon waiting for us at the Benson Hotel and sat in second-row seats for Oasis. I returned the favor with a couple of thank-you fucks, dated him for another couple of months but ended it before he could give me a Tiffany engagement ring for Christmas. Nice guy, good-looking, shallow as a rain puddle, entire identity wrapped around his wealth and status. As for Oasis, they put on a great performance despite the weak material from Standing on the Shoulder of Giants—the set list on this live album is pretty close to what I heard that night, minus the crowd size and energy of Wembley. At this stage in their career, Oasis was no longer considered a top-tier band in the States, and were generally booked for venues in the 3000 to 5000 seat range. I liked that.
- September 9, 2005, Everett Events Center, Everett, Washington: This was a flight on my own dime and worth every penny—this was the Don’t Believe the Truth concert and I consider that album to be their masterpiece. They were on fire from the get-go and never let up, with the presence of Zak Starkey on drums infinitely improving the band’s tightness and punch. The venue was hardly top-tier and I remember Noel asking the crowd, “We were told we’d be playing Seattle—where the fuck is this place?”
- August 26, 2008, WaMu Theatre, Seattle: This took place after I moved to Seattle. The venue sucked—it felt more like a school cafeteria than a theatre. Oasis management seriously fucked up on this one—the band prepared a setlist heavy on songs from Dig Out Your Soul and the geniuses who set up the tour scheduled several concerts before the album was released! Though I was hearing several of the songs for the first time, “Shock of the Lightning” left quite an impression.
I also saw Beady Eye at the Showbox in Seattle on November 30, 2011. I recall that a member of the audience almost lost his member after slapping me in the ass and that it took Liam about six songs to find the right key. Despite the presence of three Oasis alumni, Beady Eye did not play a single Oasis number, but their first album was energetic enough to make for a relatively satisfying experience.
Oasis has been called a working-class band, and they certainly lived up to that label in concert. Oasis concerts feature very little in the way of pyrotechnics and nothing in the way of choreography—they pretty much just fucking play. Liam’s singing stance rarely varies: he puts his hands behind his back, twists his torso a bit, leans forward into the mike and sings. Noel is usually stage left with his guitars at the ready. The only “additional entertainment” is found in the song introductions, which fall into three categories: perfunctory, unintelligible or insulting (the insults are directed at random people in the audience). They rarely invite crowd participation because they usually don’t need to—the crowd at an Oasis concert consider themselves one of the largest choruses ever assembled, and they join in from the get-go.
Familiar to Millions primarily consists from the performances at Wembley on June 21, 2000, with some vocal overdubs inserted from other concerts in spots where Liam fucked up the lyrics. He always fucked up the second verse of “Acquiesce,” insisting on the documentary DVD for Don’t Believe the Truth that he’d never heard that verse in his life, in defiance of recorded evidence to the contrary. I don’t think anyone has found the Rosetta Stone that holds the key to Liam’s brain; I’ve always thought of him as intuitive-emotional and rather “childlike,” with all the blessings and curses associated with that adjective. When he’s in the mood, though, he’s one of the best rock vocalists on record, and for most of Familiar to Millions, he’s in the mood.
His brother told The Daily Telegraph, “I like to think I keep it real. Liam keeps it surreal, and somewhere between the two we get on all right.” Noel’s feet are generally more firmly attached to terra firma, but he also has the tendency to say whatever is on his mind and you can go fuck yourself if you’ve got a problem with that, mate. He is eminently quotable, the master of the sound bite with bite, oscillating between self-deprecation and self-promotion. He has described his guitar-playing at “average at fucking best,” but sends modesty on holiday with observations like, “Look. I was a superhero in the ’90s. I said so at the time. McCartney, Weller, Townshend, Richards, my first album’s better than all their first albums. Even they’d admit that.” Putting aside his arrogance and aggressive defensiveness (adjectives that apply equally to both brothers), Noel Gallagher managed to write some of the greatest songs of the era and never wavered in his commitment to the sadly dying art of guitar-based rock ‘n’ roll.
People who don’t care for Oasis tell me it has more to do with the Gallagher Brothers being assholes than the music; some people won’t even listen to Oasis because of the assholity factor. Having struggled through a love-hate relationship with Oasis for twenty-odd years, I can appreciate those feelings, but what frustrates me is not so much their boorishness but their bipolar tendencies. That is not a clinical diagnosis, but an observation of a pattern of good boy/bad boy behavior present throughout their history—a pattern demonstrated on this particular album. The Wembley concert was part of the tour to promote the album Standing on the Shoulder of Giants—an album title that acknowledges the band’s debt to The Beatles and the other great British bands of the 60’s. Then again, who but Oasis would give their live album a title like Familiar to Millions? Even if it’s true, why the fuck do you want to go there?
Sigh. Enough psychologizing. All I know is this: whenever I’ve seen Oasis live, I forget all about that crap and sing along at the top of my lungs with everybody else.
Let’s get on with it! One last note: in addition to the album, you can get a DVD with the entire gig and various “special features.” The sound on the DVD isn’t as good as the CD or the vinyl (which Discogs currently priced at $397.33), but the review includes references to what’s happening on stage when I think it’s helpful.
A tape of “Fucking in the Bushes” would become the standard call to arms opening Oasis concerts, the pounding drums and ripping guitar a signal to those off taking a piss that they’ve got three minutes to get their asses back to where the action is. During the intro, the cameras pans the crowd, a rather scrawny looking bunch obviously thrilled to see their heroes. Displaying a complete lack of attention to the finer points of fashion, Liam struts on stage wearing hippie-style shades and a blue denim jacket over a hoodie while Noel appears in what looks like a thick brown shirt pulled from the back of his closet over a pinkish top. Liam warms up the crowd with typical ramblings, saying something about a “shithole” and “Hello, Manchester.” With everyone in place, Alan White dutifully plays the drum intro to “Go Let It Out,” the lead single from the album. Liam betrays his excitement through his off-kilter breathing rhythm, but the crowd of around 80,000 people don’t notice because they’re already singing at the tops of their lungs. When the bass is called on to join in, the audience goes nuts, as they should—Andy Bell is a hundred times the bass player Guigsy was. The highlight of the performance is when Liam sings the line, “Ordinary people that are like you and me,” pointing to self then audience to emphasize common roots. Second new band member Gem Archer joins in the fun by delivering the first guitar solo, handing it over to Noel on his Gibson Les Paul for the second passage. Although it’s far from my favorite Oasis song, “Go Let It Out” gets the job done, leaving the crowd in the early stages of ecstasy.
Noel switches to the Rickenbacker for the second track on the Standing album, the drone song, “Who Feels Love,” supported by non-member Zeben Jameson on synthesizer. I mentioned in my review of that album that the studio version is a pale imitation of the live version, and listening to this album confirms what I heard in Portland. Bass whore that I am, I thrill to the deep, filling sound of Andy Bell’s bass in the same way I thrill to the deep, filling feeling of a hard one stretching my vaginal walls. Oasis would become masters of the drone song as demonstrated on Dig Out Your Soul and their surprisingly strong cover of “Within You, Without You,” and in this context it serves to get the rhythm section in sync and ready to rock.
Our first trip down memory lane begins when Liam announces “Supersonic.” The crowd immediately begins to move their butts along with the opening drum beat, breaking out into an ecstatic cry of pleasure when Noel delivers the arpeggiated intro. EVERYONE is singing the quirky lyrics at the top of their lungs, as if they’ve been holding back the orgasm for just the right moment. The band immediately launches into “Shakermaker,” a song I’ve always loathed, but I have to admit they play it very well here, rocking hard enough to make me temporarily forget that the song is based on a fucking Coke commercial.
Right on cue, Liam fucks up the lyrics to “Acquiesce,” but fortunately his part is relegated to the verses while his brother sings the far more important chorus. You can hear the difference in the crowd vocals—the sing-along isn’t quite as strong as it was on the previous two songs, but when Noel steps up to the mike and delivers his lines in an exceptionally clear voice, the accompanying chorus rises to a new dynamic peak:
Because we need each other
We believe in one another
I know we’re gonna discover
What’s sleeping in our soul
Noel literally saves the day here, leaving the crowd in a state of post-orgasmic delight.
Liam heads off for a smoke and a piss while Noel takes the lead on the Stevie Wonder imitation song, “Step Out.” While I appreciate the way he and Gem kick ass on the guitar parts, I always get distracted in the chorus, which is a musical duplication of “Uptight.” Liam finds his way back to the stage for the third song from Standing, the meh piece “Gas Panic.” Unlike me, the crowd seems to enjoy itself, but this is the part of the concert where I follow Liam’s example and head to the wings for physiological relief. I return to the sound of Noel telling a guy in the audience, “If she starts getting out of line, slap her,” followed by an energetic rendition of “Roll With It.” Neither Noel’s sentiments nor the song bring a smile to my face, but I get over it when I see a woman with exposed DD-cup bubs displaying her assets while perched on the shoulders of strapping young lad. There had been some unintelligible stage banter about tits earlier in the program, perhaps inspiring the young lady to liberate her fabulous knockers from bondage and share them with the world—and for that, we can all be grateful.
“Stand By Me” gets the crowd back in focus, with the slowly spinning hypnotic lights serving to soften and sweeten the accompanying vocals. Liam gives one of his best performances of the night, and as the camera zooms in, you can see the sweat on his neck and lengthy mane. Noel slaps a capo on the second fret (funny, I always thought it was supposed to be the third fret) for “Wonderwall,” with the audience response meter hitting the red zone. I think the response here has to do with their love of the song itself and nothing to do with Liam’s rather sloppy delivery. The song is so iconic that it could stand the mangling, but really, Liam should have risen to the moment and treated this song with due respect.
Once again, Noel rescues his brother with a long low-string tease on the Les Paul that ends when he climbs atop the monitors and delivers the equally iconic opening riff to “Cigarettes and Alcohol.” Apparently panicked that his brother has taken him out of the limelight, Liam responds to the challenge with a strong and playful vocal accompanied by his energetic tambourine, earning himself full forgiveness. I respond enthusiastically to the editorial aside he inserts after “But all I found is cigarettes and alcohol,” where, with unusually precise diction he observes, “Which isn’t a bad thing!” “Fuck yeah!” I respond in unladylike fashion. The crowd sings with guilt-free delight to a great performance of one of the great rock songs of all time.
Noel introduces the next song by visually demonstrating the size of his johnson by holding his outstretched hands far beyond his shoulders, dedicating the piece to “everyone with a little dick.” That might seem like a rather crass way to introduce one of the most beautiful and enduring works of the Britpop era, but there you have it. Once Jameson enters with the instantly-recognized piano introduction to “Don’t Look Back in Anger,” the audience responds in a unified voice tempered with affection and get themselves ready for their greatest performance of the night.
While Noel is in exceptionally fine voice, your attention is immediately drawn to the responding intensity of the collective vocals from the audience. What’s truly stunning is that they’re not just singing at the top of their lungs but varying their dynamics with each line, lowering and raising their voices in all the right places. They start out strong on the opening lines, back off during the pre-chorus transition, then take deep, justifiable pleasure in belting out one of the great belt-out lines of all time—“You ain’t ever going to burn my heart out.” What happens next is absolutely magical—Noel, sensing that the crowd’s got this one, drops out of the picture entirely and lets the audience take the entire chorus. Stimulated by the sounds of their collective voices, they raise their volume even higher to indicate their acceptance of the challenge. It is a thrilling moment that never fails to bring tears to my eyes, as does the stop-time closing passage where the audience solos on the coda (“Don’t look back in anger/Don’t look back in anger/I heard you say”), then Noel repeats the coda to light guitar accompaniment. While the applause rolls across the stadium, he ends the song gently on that sweet line, “At least not today.” Even for the brash and often bombastic Noel Gallagher, that kind of validation for songwriter and song had to be a deeply satisfying experience.
Nothing can possibly top that collective performance, but Liam gives it a shot with “Live Forever,” one of Oasis’ contributions to the youth movement sub-theme of Britpop. The song is well-played and Liam is excellent voice, but I’m still feeling the after-effects of “Don’t Look Back in Anger” and can’t process it. Liam has already initiated the bullshit ritual associated with encores by announcing “Live Forever” as “the last song,” but I think the ruse would have been more effective had the band walked off after “Don’t Look Back in Anger” and left the audience begging frantically and sincerely for more.
As it is, Oasis doesn’t take the audience to higher levels of excitement during the three-song encore, making it something of a disappointment. The cover of Neil Young’s “Hey Hey, My My” was an odd choice that inspired only obligatory applause. Liam’s rendition of “Champagne Supernova” is excellent, but it’s a song designed to evoke nostalgic regret rather than raise one’s spirits. The concert ends with the first song on their first album, “Rock ‘n’ Roll Star,” where Oasis leaves it all on the stage in one last solid rock ‘n’ roll thrust before strolling off the stage.
For reasons both unknown and incomprehensible, the album compilers added an 18th track from a concert that took place on the other side of the world (in Florida, of all places) two months before Wembley—their cover of “Helter Skelter.” What the fuck, people? Not only does this unattached appendage interfere with the experience of closure we all want to feel at the end of a concert, but the Oasis version of “Helter Skelter” certainly isn’t going to make anyone forget about Paul McCartney’s last foray into manic rock.
Familiar to Millions came out a few years after the Britpop obituaries started coming out, so one has to wonder if the enthusiastic reaction of the crowd to the old favorites was a manifestation of nostalgia, a word defined as “a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.” While that may have been operating on some level for some people, I don’t think nostalgia had much to do with the audience response. I’ve noticed that songs that bring up memories of my wayward teens are clearly period pieces with no enduring value whatsoever, rather like the colorful iMacs and retro fashions of the mid-to-late 90’s. I ran this theory by my parents, and both agreed that listening to the Beatles, Kinks or Stones doesn’t trigger any longing for black lights, granny glasses or sit-ins, but hearing one-hit wonders like Barry McGuire and the Strawberry Alarm Clock does.
No, the people singing the hosannas you hear on Familiar to Millions aren’t indulging in sweet memories of exuberant youth, but expressing deep appreciation for great songs that inspire full-throated listener accompaniment. That’s as true for Oasis as it is for Pulp, Blur, Supergrass, Suede and other Britpop artists who rose above the era’s hype to create compelling music that will live forever.