OASIS Faq

NEW MUSICAL EXPRESS

27th February 1999

Handwritten lyrics by Oasis, The Prodigy, Blur and Manic Street Preachers are among those being auctioned at London's Sound Republic on March 22.
All lyrics have been especially written out by the artists on a variety of novelty items - including The Prodigy's on a radiator - for the charity auction.
Altogetherm 200 items will be auctioned. Proceeds will go to children's charities. Tickets are Ł120 each from Hits Under The Hammer on 0181 420 6849. "Yah! - Noel Gallagher's Super Weekly Diary" in order to prevent confusion for those without a sense of humour please note that this is a spoof; it is not true Tuesday: On the couch, neckin' a few lagers, nibbling at some savouries Meg left out. Written a top fookin' song. It's called 'Let Them Be Now What You Wanna Bow Be Let Be'. It's about being your own fookin' man, like, not tekking crap off any fooker and living yer own life the way you wanna live it, like. So I'm strumming away, lie, an' the fookin' dog pricks up her ears and starts howling. In scuttles the fookin' Missus with her hair all turbaned up in a flash bath towel. "Noel! Stop making that horrid noise. You're upsetting Frou-Frou!" I nearly choke on a fookin' savoury. "Horrid?" "Well, it is horrid. It's so '93. Everybody's saying so - Vogue, Esquire - do you realise you were on Sebag-Ponceby's famous 'Out' list in the February issue of Harper's?" "I don't give a fook about Sebastian Ponceby-Ponceby, I'm speaking directly to the kids on the fookin' streets!" "What thos ehorrid urchins who scrawl graffiti all around our intercom? I had to have the home help chase two away yesterday. They made finger gestures at me as I was standing by the bay window." "Heh heh, er, I mean, did they? That's terrible." "You should play jungle music. Like Goldie. He's such a dear. By the way, we'll be going out to dinner with him again tonight." "Again?" "Yes. He's terribly fashionable. Jungle music is so thrillingly with-it right now. Everybody at The Met Bar's wild about it. Tara Palmer-Tomkinson plays jungle music all the time. It's the authentic music of the jungle, you know." "I'm not playing fookin' jungle music! Anyway, for yout fookin' information, it's called drum'n'bass and it's been around so long it's used as the theme music for gardening programmes these days." "Listen, darling, if Tara says it's fashionable, then believe me, it's fashionable." Then she glances down at a half-full plate of savouries. "Aww, Frou-Frou, why haven't you eaten up all your biscuits?" "They were for the fookin' dog?" I splutter. "Yah. Gourmet dig biscuits from Harrods. I say, Noelsie, you've gone frightfully green..." Thursday: Well, I put me foot down. Meg wants me to do jungle stuff on't next fookin' album but me, I said no way. Laid down most of the tracks the other day, all set for a playback at the studio today. Get down there, and fook me, there's all the band there lookin' right fookin' glum, Meg - and Goldie! "Oh, hi, Noelsie!" trills Meg. "We're about to listen to your new stuff." "Yeah, W-well, it's not drum'n'bass," I stammer, defiantly. "No, Noelsie, it wasn't. But Goldie here's done some weird and wonderful twiddly things with the tapes and now it sounds heaps better." So I turn on the fookin' tapes and it's nowt like my stuff - it's all fookin' electronic bollocks at about 95 miles a fookin' hour! It's been remixed to fookin' buggery! Alan, me drummer, says there's no way he's playing like that live, he's not a fookin' octopus and storms off in a fookin' huff while Meg and Goldie dance around all over't fookin' shop like fookin' retards. They might as well be dancing on my fookin' grave.
in order to prevent confusion for those without a sense of humour please note that this is a spoof; it is not true
Tuesday: On the couch, neckin' a few lagers, nibbling at some savouries Meg left out. Written a top fookin' song. It's called 'Let Them Be Now What You Wanna Bow Be Let Be'. It's about being your own fookin' man, like, not tekking crap off any fooker and living yer own life the way you wanna live it, like. So I'm strumming away, lie, an' the fookin' dog pricks up her ears and starts howling. In scuttles the fookin' Missus with her hair all turbaned up in a flash bath towel.
"Noel! Stop making that horrid noise. You're upsetting Frou-Frou!"
I nearly choke on a fookin' savoury. "Horrid?"
"Well, it is horrid. It's so '93. Everybody's saying so - Vogue, Esquire - do you realise you were on Sebag-Ponceby's famous 'Out' list in the February issue of Harper's?"
"I don't give a fook about Sebastian Ponceby-Ponceby, I'm speaking directly to the kids on the fookin' streets!"
"What thos ehorrid urchins who scrawl graffiti all around our intercom? I had to have the home help chase two away yesterday. They made finger gestures at me as I was standing by the bay window."
"Heh heh, er, I mean, did they? That's terrible."
"You should play jungle music. Like Goldie. He's such a dear. By the way, we'll be going out to dinner with him again tonight."
"Again?"
"Yes. He's terribly fashionable. Jungle music is so thrillingly with-it right now. Everybody at The Met Bar's wild about it. Tara Palmer-Tomkinson plays jungle music all the time. It's the authentic music of the jungle, you know."
"I'm not playing fookin' jungle music! Anyway, for yout fookin' information, it's called drum'n'bass and it's been around so long it's used as the theme music for gardening programmes these days."
"Listen, darling, if Tara says it's fashionable, then believe me, it's fashionable." Then she glances down at a half-full plate of savouries. "Aww, Frou-Frou, why haven't you eaten up all your biscuits?"
"They were for the fookin' dog?" I splutter.
"Yah. Gourmet dig biscuits from Harrods. I say, Noelsie, you've gone frightfully green..."
Thursday: Well, I put me foot down. Meg wants me to do jungle stuff on't next fookin' album but me, I said no way. Laid down most of the tracks the other day, all set for a playback at the studio today. Get down there, and fook me, there's all the band there lookin' right fookin' glum, Meg - and Goldie!
"Oh, hi, Noelsie!" trills Meg. "We're about to listen to your new stuff."
"Yeah, W-well, it's not drum'n'bass," I stammer, defiantly.
"No, Noelsie, it wasn't. But Goldie here's done some weird and wonderful twiddly things with the tapes and now it sounds heaps better."
So I turn on the fookin' tapes and it's nowt like my stuff - it's all fookin' electronic bollocks at about 95 miles a fookin' hour! It's been remixed to fookin' buggery! Alan, me drummer, says there's no way he's playing like that live, he's not a fookin' octopus and storms off in a fookin' huff while Meg and Goldie dance around all over't fookin' shop like fookin' retards. They might as well be dancing on my fookin' grave.

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c 1998 Andrew Turner
aturner@interalpha.co.uk

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