How do you theorise the beat of a pulse, the strut of a peacock, the clang of a Les Paul? Just for a second though, bear with us. Theorising Oasis is like drinking butter – pointless and bad for the heart. And we can all get on to the important stuff. NME can stop trying to cross the speeding motorway of theoretical bullshit. Here’s a theory: if folk music is supposedly music of the people, but modern-day folk music generally consists of bearded, smelly plebs in Arran sweaters singing songs about fishing, then surely these songs are the embodiment of what contemporary British folk music really is? Songs for the terraces, for closing time, for parties – these are songs owned by the population of Britain. Like tea and soggy biscuits, snaking dole queues, recreational drug abuse and rainy, wasted days, these are songs – not only born from all of the above – but microcosms of modern life: songs woven into the tapestry of British culture itself. You all know what these songs sound like.
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