Oasis emerged out of a Manchester music scene that couldn’t have cared less. ‘Madchester’ had fizzled out and the city’s music scene had fragmented in an attempt to move on from the legacy left by The Smiths, Joy Division and Factory. Formed by Paul ‘Bonehead’ Arthurs, Paul McGuigan and Tony McCarroll, The Rain, as they were originally called, began to take shape when they recruited mercurially charismatic singer Liam Gallagher. Something about them attracted the attention of Liam’s brother Noel, a bedroom guitarist who, after years of study and practice, was on the verge of unlocking some kind of songwriting ark of the covenant. This early lineup was a touchpaper – the first time he recognised a potential in his younger brother that could bring his songs to life.
Much to the benefit of a nascent Oasis, limitations have always defined rock’n’roll. McCarroll was eventually replaced as drummer by a much safer pair of hands, but the way he played is impossible to separate from the myriad factors that elevate their debut album, reissued once more for its 30th anniversary. His style is melodic, hooky and has a push and pull that gives the songs a similar feeling to a speeding juggernaut whose chassis is about to crumble. Meanwhile, Liam Gallagher described Bonehead as the heart of Oasis; a capable instrumentalist who knew exactly what to play and what not to play. The relatively simple innovation of playing barre chords alongside Gallagher’s open chords is really the sound of classic Oasis. Combined with distortion and cheap amplifiers, this marriage of chord voicings gives these simple songs a world of distorted harmony and dissonance. A small spin on a timeless formula, but originality comes from small margins; and so strident, anthemic melodies were blanketed with a jet-engine roar reminiscent of labelmates Ride and My Bloody Valentine.
The trick that Noel Gallagher and Creation’s Alan McGee were determined to pull off was translating this unique sound, honed in weed-smoke-filled rehearsal rooms, on to record, and this latest reissue – with its second disc of studio sessions and outtakes – does a brilliant job of telling that story. The first series of versions included here are taken from an attempt to capture the magic at Monnow Valley Studio in Wales. There’s a certain naive charm on display, and the recordings capture a band getting to grips with hearing the sum of their parts for the first time. “Rock’n’Roll Star” lacks the swagger of the final version, and the comparatively limp way in which it’s recorded emphasises the wide-eyed escapism of the lyric. “Up In The Sky”, from the same session, has energy for days, while the “Rain”-era Beatles influence is considerably more pronounced than on the released version.
The reaction to the Monnow session was a collective shrug from everyone involved. The band and McGee agreed that they hadn’t nailed it, but no-one seemed sure what to do. For such a completely realised record, Definitely Maybe was essentially cobbled together by producer Owen Morris through sheer force of will. The raw versions of the songs that became Definitely Maybe were recorded at Sawmills in Cornwall and the illuminating tracks included here emphasise what a monumental job Morris did. “Columbia”’s abrasiveness doesn’t feel a million miles away from the neo-psychedelia being made on the West Coast of America by the Brian Jonestown Massacre. The version of “Bring It On Down” surpasses the finished version, and its Stooges-esque bluster makes you daydream about how this band would’ve developed if their career hadn’t blasted into the stratosphere. All over these earlier versions, it’s fascinating to hear how Noel’s guitar lines never change, with the riffs and guitar hooks as considered as the vocals, and just as melodic and memorable.
It’s difficult to divorce the Oasis of Definitely Maybe from what followed, of course. A year or so later they were playing Knebworth, and many of the edges that gave this record such a vibrancy had been rubbed away on (What’s The Story) Morning Glory?. Songs that are as beautifully crafted as the debut’s “Live Forever” and “Slide Away” would have succeeded in any circumstances, but Gallagher’s songs were nonetheless never again framed in such a compelling way as on Definitely Maybe. 30 years on, it remains a perfectly realised rock’n’roll album, and sounds just as exciting now as it did then.
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