by

AIDAN SMITH


NINE years ago, Oasis had the world at their feet and the future of rock’n’roll in their hands. And in Glasgow’s Hilton Hotel in the summer of 1996, after playing to 80,000 adoring fans at Loch Lomond, they also had Scotland’s hack-pack sticking to their shoes.

Picture the scene: 20-odd tabloid reporters in a foyer, trying to blend in, hoping to pass for conference delegates on a rest-day, peering over the tops of magazines held upside down, sniffing ashtrays, scouring toilets, counting the empties and doubling the total, fighting each other for that what-the-bellboy-saw exclusive... 20-odd reporters "reviewing" the post-gig wind-down, no less than five of them from a single publication. I know this because I was one of them.

That yardstick is as useful as any for measuring fame and, back then, every boast by the Gallagher brothers was front-page news. Every brawl and every belch, too. Back then, they were massive and we were mad for it. And now?

Nine years ago, I was waiting for Oasis to go to bed. Today, I’m waiting for the elder Gallagher to tell me why, post-Britpop, post-Laddism, Oasis still matter.

full article: scotlandonsunday.scotsman.com/thereview.cfm?id=526352005