There is a particular type of Oasis fan I just can’t get along with.
That says everything about me and nothing about them.
You may be with me on this one or you may be agin me.
If you have the haircut, define a good night out by how little you remember about it, still think coke is it and gaze longingly at footage of naughty boys having a right tear up at the footy then it is likely you and I will never really get on.
I’m not criticising.
I’m not sneering.
I’m really not.
Different strokes for different folks.
I do, however, get a little shiver of delight when Noel Gallagher releases songs like this.
Soaked in dance music, the spirit and soul of Nile Rogers exorcising the thud of Slade that infects the worst of Oasis. These are not songs for the terrace stompers. These are not songs that are chained to the mirror and the razor blade. No white lines here. This is the warm embrace of club culture of the possibilities offered by the first rush of ecstasy, when love was in the air.
I’m not a raver.
I’ve never taken drugs.
But I reckon all my people, right here, right now, are equally thrilled by “Blue Moon Rising” for who it doesn’t speak to as much as they are by how much it speaks to them.