When a dictator dies, his lackeys will often pretend to the public that their leader is still alive, fearful of a rebellion if the people discover that they are no longer under the oppressor's yoke. The same thing is happening in British rock - it's as dead as a doornail, but the music industry flunkies don't want us to know, at least, not until they've shifted some more of their surplus CD stock.
The signs of Britrock's decay have been there for a couple of years, but are now so glaringly obvious, we can practically smell its rotting corpse. It's hard to believe that, back in 1996, British rock music seemed in such rude health: Oasis were swearing and spitting all over the world's television screens, Blur were romping around in their country house, Pulp were getting down with the common people, and The Charlatans were seeing just how high they could go. In 1999, however, it all seems to have gone a bit pear-shaped, and once-mighty Britrock bands are fighting for their space in the bottom reaches of the charts.
This year, Kula Shaker released their second album, Peasants, Pigs and Astronauts, with a fanfare worthy of Buddha himself. All the omens pointed to another mega-selling hit to equal their successful 1996 debut, K. With such Top Five hits as Hey Dude, Tattva and Govinda under their belts, Crispian Mills and his band were set to reincarnate their initial glory, but this year the karma seems to be against them. The flagship single, Mystical Machine Gun, shot into the lower reaches of the Top 20, then ricocheted straight back out again, while the album tumbled out of the Top 40 after just four weeks. That's shorter than Cher's stint at Number One.
You could argue that Kula Shaker is an isolated case, a result of the record-buying public's boredom with Mills's brand of reheated vindaloo, but the Shaker aren't the only Brit band who are having trouble getting the punters excited. Pulp's 1998 album, This Is Hardcore, for instance, was a surprise flop for the Sheffield band, falling into the ha'penny place in comparison with their Mercury Music Prize-winning smash, Different Class. Not even Jarvis Cocker's notoriety as the man who dared to disrupt Michael Jackson's Brit Awards performance saved Pulp from a crushing defeat in the album charts.
Just a few years ago, British bands were all fired up to conquer the world; but for all their bravado and brashness, the world seems to have remained indifferent. In the rock 'n' roll arena, the Brit lads and lassies have been beaten by four siblings from Dundalk, a bunch of Welsh weirdos, and a motley crew of misfits from Middle America. These days, it's The Corrs, The Manics and The New Radicals - not Britannia - who rule the airwaves.
So where did it all go wrong, then? Let's go a little bit back in Britrock's history, back to when it was better known as Britpop. The year was 1995, and the so-called "Battle of Britpop" was raging in the UK singles charts. Blur and Oasis were going head-to-head in a race for the ultimate prize, a first-week entry into the Number One slot. Oasis had Roll with It, a run-of-the-mill rock anthem, while Blur had Country House, an archetypal English knees-up. The battle was, admittedly, a bit of a media creation, but the fervour with which the public followed this spat reflected the sense of occasion which Britpop was creating around itself. The prevailing feeling was that British rock was about to go global, and a repeat of the 1960s British Beat boom was inevitable. The high point of Britrock had to be when Oasis played in front of a quarter of a million fans in Knebworth in 1996, attracting one of the largest attendances ever for a single pop act. The band's second album, What's the Story (Morning Glory?), had become a landmark British rock record, selling 10 million copies worldwide and establishing the Manchester band as the torch-carriers of the Britrock flame. It was generally acknowledged that Oasis would easily conquer the US in as spectacular a fashion as The Beatles did years earlier, and that their next album, Be Here Now, would go stellar and establish them as the global kings of rock 'n' roll. In fact, the UK music press were so certain of victory, they were already referring to Oasis as the biggest band on the planet, conveniently ignoring the fact that their wonderboys still hadn't even sold as many records as Bush.
In the event, the widely-predicted world domination never happened. America had grown tired of the mouthy guys from Manchester, and just kept on buying records by Hootie & The Blowfish instead. While Liam Gallagher desperately tried to get noticed by spitting on live television, the eyes of America were fixed on five scantily-clad Brit babes called The Spice Girls.
Ironically, it was Blur, long thought to be too archly English for American tastes, who recently enjoyed Stateside success with Song 2, a tune which was used as the theme for the National Hockey League and on the trailer for the blockbuster movie, Starship Troopers. This may just be a blip on the radar, similar to Chumbawamba's surprise hit with Tubthumping, but it seems to be the best that Brit bands can expect in America these days. Even Radiohead are remembered by Americans more for their 1993 US hit, Creep, than for OK Computer. If Blur, Oasis and Radiohead can only muster up minor league status in the US, how can we expect B-division bands to fare any better?
Three years ago, a whole cast of British bands such as The Charlatans, Suede, Shed Seven, Elastica, The Bluetones, Gene, Sleeper, Terrorvision and The Seahorses were waiting in the wings, ready to take centre-stage in the colonisation of the US pop world. They're still waiting, and some, like Sleeper and The Seahorses, have already given up the ghost and announced their break-up, while others, like Gene and Terrorvision, have been dropped by their record companies. Meanwhile, the meaning of Britpop has changed to denote bland, manufactured teenage fodder performed by boybands such as 911 and Five, and girlie acts like Billie and Cleopatra. In a new twist on the genre, acts like Younger Younger 28s and 21st Century Girls are now taking the Britrock blueprint and repackaging it for a teen audience.
The low point for British rock was probably the day Richard Ashcroft announced the end of The Verve last April - not that there was a great wailing and gnashing of teeth, mind, just the odd shrug and a doffing of the beanie hat. The Verve were seen as the last great hope for Britrock, a band with integrity and, well, verve, who had half a chance of reaching what Oasis narrowly missed - the hearts and minds of American rock fans. But disagreements within the band - which nearly pulled them apart in 1995 - proved their downfall in 1998, and their headline appearance at Slane Castle in August turned out to be their last hurrah. In a way, Slane was the final movement of Britrock's bitter sweet symphony.
Strangely, it is the Welsh who have stepped into the breach, grabbing the glory which eluded many Britrock bands. The Manic Street Preachers, Catatonia and The Stereophonics are all enjoying continuous chart success and sustained fan fervour. The Manics' current album, This is My Truth Tell Me Yours, is a certified blockbuster, while The Sterephonics's Performance & Cocktails went straight in at Number One last March. Catatonia have achieved the Corrs-like feat of having two albums in the Top 40, and Super Furry Animals are snapping at the heels of immortality. You could say that, being Welsh, these bands are technically Britrock, but you would be wrong. What sets them apart from their English counterparts is a fiery individuality, an inventive edge, and an explosive passion which contrasts sharply with Britrock's aloof, dispassionate and derivative style. They don't have much chance of cracking the US, but which would you rather hear, Cerys from Catatonia dueting with Tom Jones or Noel Gallagher jamming with Ocean Colour Scene?
Of course, we cannot underplay the role of British dance music in pulling the Persian carpet out from under the feet of Britrock. Acts like The Prodigy, The Chemical Brothers, Underworld, Orbital, Leftfield and Propellerheads have stolen the thunder from traditional UK rock bands, and the latest British solo star to conquer America is not Robbie Williams, but Fatboy Slim. Rock 'n' roll will never die, but the world isn't exactly holding its breath for the next Oasis album - it's too busy trying to catch its breath after dancing to Rockefella Skank.
In a last gasp attempt to drum up some excitement for Britrock, the music press has found a new star in the firmament: Gay Dad. Led by former music journalist Chris Jones, Gay Dad burst onto the scene earlier this year with their debut single, To Earth with Love, soaring on a cloud of column inches and cruising on a wave of next-big-thing predictions. However, the band's most recent single, Joy, has failed miserably, while their heavily-touted debut album, Leisurenoise, has just limped into the charts at Number 23. I think it's time to call the priest.
kevincourtney@ireland.com
