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2025 Is The Summer of Britpop – And We've Never Needed It More

2025 Is The Summer of Britpop – And We've Never Needed It More
What year is it?In the end, it was the washing machine that did it. Not the swagger, not the sneers, not even the sibling warfare that made Oasis the biggest band in the world for five magnificent, messy years. It was, metaphorically at least, the washing machine cycling endlessly in the background of the Gallagher family home, that Noel claimed he could no longer bear to share with his brother. ″I simply could not go on working with Liam a day longer,” he said, and fifteen years later came the reunion announcement with all the fanfare of that same appliance’s instruction manual: a simple black and white image, a date, the sound of a million middle-aged hearts collectively skipping a beat.But Oasis getting back together is just the most obvious symptom of something bigger happening in 2025. Britpop – that glorious, ridiculous, utterly unsustainable moment when British bands ruled the world by acting like they already did – is having what the marketing people would call “a moment.” Virgin Radio has launched a dedicated Britpop station. Robbie Williams is back with a new album and tour literally called “Britpop”. Pulp have the number one album with More. This summer you can catch Sleeper, Cast, Ocean Colour Scene, Kula Shaker, Supergrass and Suede on tour. Suddenly everyone’s talking about the mid-90s like it was some sort of golden age, rather than the era that gave us Mr Blobby and the BSE crisis.And it’s not just nostalgia capitalism operating on its usual 30-year cycle of anniversary editions and box sets. There’s something different about this particular resurrection. Something that feels less like grave-robbing and more like a genuine hunger for what Britpop represented: the radical idea that you could matter.There’s a thing about Britpop that everyone forgets: it was never just about the music. It was about believing you mattered. About insisting that your voice, your story, your three-chord anthem could change the world. It was working-class kids from Manchester acting like rock stars until they became rock stars. It was middle class pseuds from Colchester reimagining Englishness as young and classic-sounding and brilliant, in an age where John Major was talking about “warm beer and old maids cycling to Evensong”. It was the sound of a country that had spent the 80s being told there was no such thing as society suddenly rediscovering that, actually, there might be.And that’s what we’re missing in 2025. Not the music, but the certainty. The absolute, unshakeable belief that what you have to say matters, that your band could be the one that changes everything, that next week you might be on Top of the Pops.Not anymore. We’re living through a period of cultural identity crisis where everything solid seems to be melting into air, but instead of responding with defiant optimism, we’ve embraced defiant pessimism. Brexit promised to “take back control” and somehow left us feeling less in control than ever. The culture wars rage on Twitter (sorry, “X”) while the high street dies and the housing market makes homeownership a fantasy. We’re all waiting for someone to tell us what Britain is supposed to be now … and the answer keeps changing.No wonder we’re reaching backwards. Britpop said, “you can be whoever you want to be, as long as you want it badly enough,” but 2025 says “you can be whoever the algorithm thinks you are, as long as you can afford it.” The defiant optimism that made ‘Live Forever’ an anthem and ‘Common People’ a manifesto has been replaced by the quiet desperation of doom-scrolling and house-price anxiety.But nostalgia is a tricky beast, and Britpop nostalgia is trickier than most. Because for all its talk of championing the underdog, Britpop was also ruthlessly commercial, nakedly ambitious, and occasionally downright nasty. The same movement that gave us ‘Girls & Boys’ and Different Class also gave us lad culture and the normalisation of casual sexism. There were about 436 men in famous 90s indie bands. There were roughly eleven women. And people of colour were represented only by Sonya from Echobelly and the drummer from Ocean Colour Scene. Jack Knife Lee recently called Britpop Britain’s “Make America Great Again” moment, which is unfair … no Britpop star would be seen dead in a red baseball cap. But you can see what he means. The line between national pride and nationalism is as thin as a shadow. And yet. And yet, and yet, and yet. Listen to Parklife or Definitely Maybe or His ‘n’ Hers now and try not to feel that surge of possibility, that sense that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. Try not to get caught up in the sheer bloody-minded enthusiasm of it all. These weren’t just songs, they were manifestos. These weren’t just bands, they were movements. These weren’t just albums, they were… everything.And so, we return to the trough. Those of us old enough to have been there the first time around get to refocus ourselves in an era where anything seemed possible. Those too young (and if you’ve seen any of Pulp’s recent shows you’ll know that Gen Z are out in force for the #BritpopSummer) are desperate to connect to an era they see as more straightforwardly optimistic. A simpler time. With cooler bands. The difference is that this time we know how the story ends. We know the Gallagher brothers will probably fall out again. We know the reunion tour will be overpriced and under delivered. We know that most attempts to recreate the magic of the mid-90s will feel forced and hollow. It’s all dad-dancing at a wedding.But maybe that’s okay. None of this needs to be cool to justify itself. It’s enough to have the reminder that such things are possible. That culture can matter. That music can change things. That a bunch of kids with guitars and attitude can, for a brief, shining moment, make the whole world pay attention.The real legacy of Britpop isn’t the music, anyway – though the best of it remains glorious. It’s the attitude. The sheer brass neck of it all. The refusal to be told you can’t do something just because of where you’re from or what you sound like. The insistence that working-class culture isn’t just something to be patronised or pitied, but celebrated and elevated.That message feels as relevant in 2025 as it did in 1995. More relevant, perhaps. In an age of social media algorithms and streaming playlists, when the path to musical success seems more opaque and corporate than ever, there’s something beautifully punk rock about a bunch of bands who basically blagged their way to world domination through sheer force of will.So yes, bring on the reunion tours and the vinyl reissues and the inevitable documentary series. Bring on the corporate sponsorship deals and the overpriced merchandise and the tribute bands playing in Holiday Inn conference rooms.Because somewhere, in between the nostalgia and the commercialisation and the middle-aged men in Stone Island jackets singing ‘Wonderwall’ at karaoke, there’s still that original spark. That moment when everything seemed possible and the future belonged to anyone brave enough to reach out and grab it.The washing machines are back on. The cycle starts again. And maybe, just maybe, this time it’ll all come out in the wash.Marc Burrows’ The Britpop Hour will be at Underbelly’s Bristo Square at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival throughout August 2025 and then will embark on a UK tour in 2026. For tickets and more information visit: https://www.marcburrows.co.uk/the-britpop-hourRelated...Critics Are All Saying The Same Thing After The First Of Oasis' Long-Awaited Comeback ShowsRobbie Williams Spills On His Shrooms Experience At This Rock Icon's HouseRobbie Williams At Knebworth Tickets Cost This Much And I’m In Shock

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