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Science and history have always taught us that when a vacuum is created something needs to happen to take its place. The implosion of Oasis, however, left many a nineties converse-wearing music lover bereft. We had always known the fractious nature of the Gallagher brother’s relationship, but we always assumed it would be a little bit like Ross and Rachel; there’d be fall outs but, of course, they’d stay together. The question has to be asked; was Stafford V-Fest 2010 the day that Brit-pop music died?

It was clear that the pretenders to the throne, and by this I mean various insipid curly haired boys with guitars but nothing substantial to say, were going to be no help. The Gallagher brother’s own offerings; Liam’s Beady Eye providing the raw rock ‘n’ roll you would expect and Noel’s High Flying Birds creating beautiful melodies with a lyrical intensity at the heart of each song are both fantastic in their own way but lack the nostalgia-tinged history that those of us in our early thirties need to remind us that we were the Brit-pop generation.

A flurry of indie reunions was therefore very welcome news; in the summer sunshine of Nottingham Splendour Festival 2011 it was easy to be transported back to the good old days of ‘The Zone’ and ‘The Cookie Club’ where music was power and the words meant as much to you as they did to the person singing. The songs have clearly stood the test of time; there were children dancing in that crowd that were probably conceived against a soundtrack that they were hearing. The Bluetones, Cast, Feeder were all helping to keep the Brit-pop flag flying but a real revival needs a leader.

I was starting to worry that my festival days could be over and that if the choice for a Saturday night was going to be staying in and watching Casualty or dancing to The Kooks or other brand new so-called indie bands that’s so bad that I haven’t even bothered to learn their names then bring on the blood and guts! Don’t get me wrong, I do think there are bands out there that are brilliant (note my glowing review of the Maccabees at Nottingham Rock City on Thursday) but I don’t want to say goodbye to my own musical heritage.

What about Blur? I hear you ask. I bought Roll With It, not Country House would be my sneering reply. Blur had nothing much to say to a council estate intellectual who had dreams of a better life to come. Oasis articulated my inner thoughts whereas Blur seemed failed to ignite my passion. Only one man can remind everyone of the days when you really did feel like you could change the world, but not with the violence and looting of the summer, but with the one thing that we’ve got more of, and that’s our minds.

Oh yes, let there be Jarvis. Not that he’d ever really gone away, creating two stupendous solo albums and a live set that fizzed with wit, poetry and, well…sex. In the heady days of being the first of my family to attend and excel at university I could have only one hero, and now he is back with the songs that reassured me that being from a different class didn’t make me any less worthy than those whose parents paid their way through university.

Pulp’s live shows heralded a summer where art had teeth. Those of us who had become apathetic remembered that even if we can’t put the world to rights, we can stop being wrong. We wait with baited breath to discover whether there will be more opportunities to see the best of Brit-pop again in the future but in the meantime, we should be grateful that the void was filled by the only band that could possibly have done it.

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