“What music do you like?” It’s always a tough question. I remember the days when my entire being was ruled by what music I liked, when I couldn’t imagine going out with someone who didn’t get my music. That decision - love over music - ruined my social scene. Just imagine the dilemma about where to go on a Saturday night - the Rat and Parrot followed by the infamous Blue Orchid, advertised as the night out of choice for the London Broncos as if that were an inducement, with one’s new and pristine beloved? Or the Ship followed by the Gun, full of the Croydon misfits because it was the only place where they didn’t get beaten up, with the speccy Nick at the turntables and a 1am licence, the place that introduced me to a different type of music when all I’d previously owned was the best of Bon Jovi? I can still remember the classic set, ending with some admixture of the following: I am the resurrection, Lithium, The only one I know, Sympathy for the devil and Do you remember the first time?.

So, at one time, for maybe two years from 15 to 17, whilst inviting the scorn of “townies” (a word with apparent universal comprehension, yet which never applies to oneself…), I could answer with truthfulness and without embarassment “Blur, Pulp, Suede, Elastica, you know the sort of thing.” However, I had a problem: the further I got from 1995, the less credible that answer became. It just about did when I went to university in 1998, though with so much new to do music soon became little more than background noise. By 2000, with the delights of the danceloving gay scene in front of me, and with the inescapable knowledge that being gay required one to know the moves to Steps, I started to deny my true feelings for the soundtrack of my teenage years. Faced in 2005 with a manager seven years older and immensely cooler than me (she went to see Goldie Lookin’ Chain live! When everyone who’d heard of them knew they were a joke!), I resorted to admitting the time-warped nature of my CD collection and realising that whilst I appear to have the trappings of an outwardly well-adjusted 25 year-old, inside I’m dancing to the Boo Radleys. Still.

So imagine my surprise when, on my way home from work yesterday, I chanced across a copy of the NME, with its front page celebrating the ten-year anniversary of the Blur-Oasis feud for number 1. Ten years on, how can it be ten years since the first time popular music was worthy of discussion on the News at Ten and we all took sides? (Blur, always Blur - they were Londoners - well, sort-of anyway; Country House was not their best track but they just had to beat the excrable Roll with it). I sneaked a quick peek, recalling the “Blur by a nose!” front page from the week after and the heavyweight title front page of the week before, and then, coming to my senses, hurriedly picked up the New Statesman and left. Do we want to be reminded of our teenage years? Or just the best bits? Pulp at Glastonbury, but not Menswe@r?

At home, though, I realised that it was getting inescapable: John Harris, he who wrote the definitive account of Britpop (and an irritating tactical voting guide for May, but then he was nice about me so I’ll let him be), had the front cover of the Guardian’s arts pages celebrating the legacy of Britpop. I rarely read the arts pages - they’re not a patch on the Media, Education or Society Guardians, or even on Thursday’s perpetually underachieving Online, for this Guardian stalwart - but this drew me in. There’s also an article over at the Times, though that’s much more focussed on Damon Albarn. After all, I still have the taped-off-the-telly video of the BBC One special, Britpop Now, presented by Damon dressed as Sherlock Holmes, deerstalker and all, and all my homemade compilation tapes from the era, duitfully packed into boxes and moved with me every year. I suppose I should just give in to it, and wallow in the Britpop special airing on BBC4 all night on Tuesday:

8:30 pm The Britpop Story
John Harris charts the rise of Britpop, its brief romance with New Labour, the emergence of the ‘new lad’ culture, and the legacy Britpop has left behind. Part of BBC FOUR’s Britpop Night.

9:00 pm Britpop Now
Damon Albarn presents a compilation of live performances from Britpop acts originally recorded on 16 August 1995, including Blur, Supergrass, Elastica and Menswear. Part of BBC FOUR’s Britpop Night. (As I remember, Blur do Country House, Elastica do LineUp, Menswe@r do Daydreamer, Dodgy Staying out for the summer, Sleeper do Inbetweener, Echobelly and possibly Shampoo also feature, Supergrass are scarcely older than me and the whole thing ends with a magisterial Common People with Jarvis making moon eyes at the camera. )

9:45 pm Live Forever: Storyville
Live Forever charts the sounds that defined the real mood of the 90s, offering an alternative history of the period and a more intriguing vision of Britain and its music. Strong language. [S]

11:10 pm Pulp: No Sleep Till Sheffield
In 1995, the BBC followed Jarvis Cocker and Pulp as they charmed their way around Britain, having finally become popular after many years of trying. Part of BBC FOUR’s Britpop Night.

So that’s my Tuesday night sorted then, even if it’s called Britpop night, when any fan would know that the term speedily became pejorative. We knew it as “indie”, as a commenter over at DoctorVee’s points out. Now, where are those tapes?

UPDATE:

There are interesting and far more reflective blogs on this topic by Assistant and No rock and roll fun.