Oasis - Stop The Clocks (Sony)
5/5
By: Matt Tomiak
August 21, 1997: the day a little part of my childhood died forever. On a family jaunt in rural Norfolk, the fresh-faced, wide-eyed and hopelessly idealistic 13 year old Matt Tomiak resolutely insists upon taking a detour into Norwich so as to procure Oasis' hyped-to-oblivion third album 'Be Here Now' upon the day of release. Giddy anticipation... and then crushing disappointment. The devastating realization that self-absorbed bluster and pharmaceutically-induced pomp had transformed the erstwhile purveyors of the life-affirming, era-defining anthems that had provided the soundtrack to formative adolescence into indolent, overblown extravagance still haunts me to this day.
Well, there's nothing from 'Be Here Now' on Oasis' career-spanning best of 'Stop The Clocks.' And there's only one track from the almost equally disappointing 'Standing on The Shoulder Of Giants.' But, as you might expect, there's plenty from the halcyon 1994-196 era that comprised debut 'Definitely Maybe' and 'What's The Story (Morning Glory)?' and their supplementary B-sides. That giddy, glorious epoch: preceded by the despair and nihilism of grunge and shoegazing's pensive musings; followed by solemn, pre-millennial angst, mopey acoustic balladering, and jaded too-school-for-school affected hip 70s revivalism. In retrospect, it's intriguing how much popular music in the late 20th century is marked by introspection, sombre earnestness and, in some cases, is just bloody depressing. In that context, Oasis' assurance, optimism and complete lack of cynicism is even more breathtaking.
If you're old enough, just cast your mind back. Long hot, pre-global-warming-scare summers. Euro '96. England trouncing Holland 4-1 at Wembley. The death-knell sounding for John Major's government, and the British decided not to be totally pessimistic and self- deprecating for a bit. A time when Noel Gallagher's songwriting comprised that most heady concoction of confident, exhilarating, visceral, unpretentious, and empathetic. A cultural phenomenon that allowed us to glimpse what Beatlemania must have been like for our parents' generation. In the unifying 'Wonderwall', a tune that became more familiar than the national anthem. Truly, an exciting time to be young.
The omissions (I'd have included 'Columbia', 'Fade Away', and 'Whatever') and the running order (a slight lag after the initial opening burst of us-against-the-world offhand brilliance of 'Rock 'N' Roll Star' and 'Some Might Say') are but minor quibbles. Performed live, this would still be one hell of a set. Oasis' star may have burned relatively briefly, but for ambition, audacity and sheer universal appeal, there's unlikely to be anyone quite like them again. As Liam has it, 'It's Just Rock 'N' Roll.' If only it were that simple...
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