don't look back in anger
oasis. tonight. last night. today. forever. really, i get it now. after years of quibbling that they were just a beatles ripoff band, i really truly believe they deserve all the hype they've ever received.
liam doesn't do anything except howl nasally, strut across the stage, slap a tambourine and occasionally play harmonica. but damn, HOW he does all of those things. the poised shoulders, that cocksure stance, the lean into the mic, the nehru collared shirt, that attitude of penetration towards the audience. it's all there and it's pure sex. they really are the closest rock/sex gods to embody all that IS sexy about britannia since the 60's. the zeppelins and sabbaths and deep purples and judas priests just didn't cut it. of course oasis' music is primarily 60's derivitive but they have taken it to another level, adding a sonic warmth & layered depth that could only have come out of a 90's band, turned on by the idea of fusing more skeletal jangle pop with a richer, fuzzy, larger sound which is where the nouveau psychedelia comes in. damn liam and his charisma. he, and the way he leads them, is purely hypnotic.
the visuals at the show were excellent, flashing collage-y cutouts of static images, as well as brief flashes of vintage film, girls in crowds screaming, historic footage, a bright red apple which slowly erodes to its core, twirling around in space. at least they nod to the beatles openly. some of the footage included london, or rather, british streets. for all i know it could have been a shot of manchester, but it truly looked like london. one of the markets where i used to buy my groceries in soho was the photograph for their one of their albums. berwick street market, a chaotic strip of vendors heckling passers-by about their cheaper than cheap produce, sandwiched inbetween a row of record shops and sex stores.
i nearly started crying. i was with one of my closest friends from childhood, with whom i grew up sharing a passionate beatles-fetish. we threw beatles-themed parties. we would sit in her room and listen to album after album sprawled out on the floor. my final recital dance at my dance studio senior year of high school was a dance she and i choreographed together to 'in my life.' i thought of ollie, the boy who is like my little brother, whom i met at amoeba now 5 years ago, and without whom i would have been quite homeless those last few months in london. i thought of his passion for the band, and of that passion which sweeps their entire country: it is like that of a national football team-deliriously absurd, out of proportion, and nonsensical-but beautiful all the same.
i miss london. this is not news, but seeing the streets, hearing the music, it was far more than nostalgia. i can feel the chill slickness of a kitkat purchased from a newsstand in winter. i can see regent street in all its crisp, christmas-time glory, sparkling from 9 am into the night, adding a glow to the cheek of even the most frigid shopper or exhausted commuter. i miss plunging into the underground full speed ahead, navigating my way like a slithering snake, oasis & coldplay's passports shoved in my bag, at times nearly ready to fall out, slipping through the turnstiles, dashing down 100's of escalator stairs, and being whisked across town 10 stories below ground, squished next to my fellow commuters. i miss looking over their shoulders and reading thier papers. i miss knowing what was the best selling paperback by observing everyone on the bus and the tube. i miss being part of the throbbing mass which makes up that arterial town, which beats like no other city. not like new york. not like paris. not like chicago. i could sense the brick buildings, the feel of their domestic door handle, i could hear the click of their toilet doors-even their pre-fab interior architecture is distintinctively different from ours. i could feel the overcast gloom of winter and watched the city turn into spring in my head, watching snapshots of the barren trees grow to have leaf after leaf. i remembered my peaceful strolls across green park with passports in my pocket, swapping the japanese embassy for the uk passport office. my visits to the courtauld gallery on the strand while waiting for the indian high commission to complete visas for belinda carlisle, or naomi cambell. i miss running into friends at random. i miss the sweat, smoke, and heat of the venues. i miss the night bus rides home with hundreds of drunken revellers, exhausted but not yet ready to give in to our daytime realities just a few hours ahead of us. i miss being in love with the city in which i lived.
liam doesn't do anything except howl nasally, strut across the stage, slap a tambourine and occasionally play harmonica. but damn, HOW he does all of those things. the poised shoulders, that cocksure stance, the lean into the mic, the nehru collared shirt, that attitude of penetration towards the audience. it's all there and it's pure sex. they really are the closest rock/sex gods to embody all that IS sexy about britannia since the 60's. the zeppelins and sabbaths and deep purples and judas priests just didn't cut it. of course oasis' music is primarily 60's derivitive but they have taken it to another level, adding a sonic warmth & layered depth that could only have come out of a 90's band, turned on by the idea of fusing more skeletal jangle pop with a richer, fuzzy, larger sound which is where the nouveau psychedelia comes in. damn liam and his charisma. he, and the way he leads them, is purely hypnotic.
the visuals at the show were excellent, flashing collage-y cutouts of static images, as well as brief flashes of vintage film, girls in crowds screaming, historic footage, a bright red apple which slowly erodes to its core, twirling around in space. at least they nod to the beatles openly. some of the footage included london, or rather, british streets. for all i know it could have been a shot of manchester, but it truly looked like london. one of the markets where i used to buy my groceries in soho was the photograph for their one of their albums. berwick street market, a chaotic strip of vendors heckling passers-by about their cheaper than cheap produce, sandwiched inbetween a row of record shops and sex stores.
i nearly started crying. i was with one of my closest friends from childhood, with whom i grew up sharing a passionate beatles-fetish. we threw beatles-themed parties. we would sit in her room and listen to album after album sprawled out on the floor. my final recital dance at my dance studio senior year of high school was a dance she and i choreographed together to 'in my life.' i thought of ollie, the boy who is like my little brother, whom i met at amoeba now 5 years ago, and without whom i would have been quite homeless those last few months in london. i thought of his passion for the band, and of that passion which sweeps their entire country: it is like that of a national football team-deliriously absurd, out of proportion, and nonsensical-but beautiful all the same.
i miss london. this is not news, but seeing the streets, hearing the music, it was far more than nostalgia. i can feel the chill slickness of a kitkat purchased from a newsstand in winter. i can see regent street in all its crisp, christmas-time glory, sparkling from 9 am into the night, adding a glow to the cheek of even the most frigid shopper or exhausted commuter. i miss plunging into the underground full speed ahead, navigating my way like a slithering snake, oasis & coldplay's passports shoved in my bag, at times nearly ready to fall out, slipping through the turnstiles, dashing down 100's of escalator stairs, and being whisked across town 10 stories below ground, squished next to my fellow commuters. i miss looking over their shoulders and reading thier papers. i miss knowing what was the best selling paperback by observing everyone on the bus and the tube. i miss being part of the throbbing mass which makes up that arterial town, which beats like no other city. not like new york. not like paris. not like chicago. i could sense the brick buildings, the feel of their domestic door handle, i could hear the click of their toilet doors-even their pre-fab interior architecture is distintinctively different from ours. i could feel the overcast gloom of winter and watched the city turn into spring in my head, watching snapshots of the barren trees grow to have leaf after leaf. i remembered my peaceful strolls across green park with passports in my pocket, swapping the japanese embassy for the uk passport office. my visits to the courtauld gallery on the strand while waiting for the indian high commission to complete visas for belinda carlisle, or naomi cambell. i miss running into friends at random. i miss the sweat, smoke, and heat of the venues. i miss the night bus rides home with hundreds of drunken revellers, exhausted but not yet ready to give in to our daytime realities just a few hours ahead of us. i miss being in love with the city in which i lived.