Old music: Ride – Twisterella
To my 17-year-old ears, this single was sunshine, hope and good times. But the only way was down for this band at the peak of their powers.
Twenty years ago, Britain inexplicably plumped for five more years of Tory rule, Leeds United won the league and teenagers circumnavigated the M25 in search of the next rave. On a joyous sunny morning, with a peal of guitars, and more than a nod to the kids getting out of it, Twisterella came skipping on to the radio.
To my 17-year-old ears, the second single from the second album by Ride was sunshine, hope and good times. Like all the best songs, unalloyed pleasure came with a tinge of melancholia too. Happiness was fleeting; songs like this could only ever be three-and-a-half-minutes long.
Coming straight after their biggest ever hit, the self-assured Leave Them All Behind, and their top five album, Going Blank Again, Twisterella was the playful sound of a band at the peak of their powers. At the time, it didn't seem like the only way was down.
History has not been kind to Ride. Perhaps fate wasn't. Bursting on to the scene with a series of EPs and blisteringly tight live shows, these four nice young men were pioneers, among the first of the single syllable bands (before Blur and Suede and Oasis), the first of the Oxford scene (before Radiohead and Supergrass), an early critical triumph for Creation Records, and the leading lights in what swiftly was boxed up and dismissed as Shoegazing, the dreamy, very English antidote to grunge that included wall-of-sound guitar bands like Chapterhouse and the lovely Slowdive.
After Twisterella, Ride disappeared for two years. In the spring of 2004, the boss of Creation Records, Alan McGee, talked up what he called his most important release since Primal Scream's groundbreaking Screamadelica. The record he was hyping was Birdman, Ride's new single.
A brilliant and faintly preposterous epic, it entered the charts at 38, bewildered the audience on Top of the Pops and sank without a trace; that summer, Ride played a magical set at Glastonbury, but they – and their beautiful, indulgent, Byrds-inspired third album, Carnival of Light – were completely eclipsed by what actually became the most important release in Creation's history – Oasis's first album.
Britpop was born, dominated by the hot hedonism of Oasis and the cool art-school irony of Blur and Pulp. There was no place for warmth, sentiment and romance; no room for Ride. Looking back, their videos (check out the rave-era dance moves in Ecstasy-inspired Twisterella) are quaintly dated. And if I'm honest, I can't always tell what songs I love simply because they take me straight back to being 17 and feeling happy-sad, driving back from gigs, fast, late and alone.
Listening again, though, mostly I am convinced that Ride wrote a shedload of shamefully overlooked, poundingly glorious guitar-pop songs. So I'm hoping that a few people other than 30- and 40-something ex-fans might chance upon this and give Paralysed or Vapour Trail or the Today Forever EP or even the whole wonderful misfit child that was Carnival of Light a try.
After Ride split – with typical panache, their two guitarist-singer-songwriters Mark Gardener and Andy Bell wrote songs about intra-band tensions for their ill-fated fourth album – Bell joined Oasis. He is still playing bass with Liam's Beady Eye. To Ride admirers, it's the equivalent of Adele joining the Saturdays as a backing singer.
Perhaps reunions are a devalued currency given the current blizzard of comebacks but as a shy teenager who had a ticket to see Ride in 1990 and for some angst-ridden teen reason didn't go – the biggest regret of my life – I am still praying for a reformation. I bet several Brixton Academy-loads of half-forgotten Ride fans feel the same. Apparently Loz, Ride's brilliant drummer, is up for a reunion. Come on Andy and Mark: if you love music, and you do, then you will.
Coming straight after their biggest ever hit, the self-assured Leave Them All Behind, and their top five album, Going Blank Again, Twisterella was the playful sound of a band at the peak of their powers. At the time, it didn't seem like the only way was down.
History has not been kind to Ride. Perhaps fate wasn't. Bursting on to the scene with a series of EPs and blisteringly tight live shows, these four nice young men were pioneers, among the first of the single syllable bands (before Blur and Suede and Oasis), the first of the Oxford scene (before Radiohead and Supergrass), an early critical triumph for Creation Records, and the leading lights in what swiftly was boxed up and dismissed as Shoegazing, the dreamy, very English antidote to grunge that included wall-of-sound guitar bands like Chapterhouse and the lovely Slowdive.
After Twisterella, Ride disappeared for two years. In the spring of 2004, the boss of Creation Records, Alan McGee, talked up what he called his most important release since Primal Scream's groundbreaking Screamadelica. The record he was hyping was Birdman, Ride's new single.
A brilliant and faintly preposterous epic, it entered the charts at 38, bewildered the audience on Top of the Pops and sank without a trace; that summer, Ride played a magical set at Glastonbury, but they – and their beautiful, indulgent, Byrds-inspired third album, Carnival of Light – were completely eclipsed by what actually became the most important release in Creation's history – Oasis's first album.
Britpop was born, dominated by the hot hedonism of Oasis and the cool art-school irony of Blur and Pulp. There was no place for warmth, sentiment and romance; no room for Ride. Looking back, their videos (check out the rave-era dance moves in Ecstasy-inspired Twisterella) are quaintly dated. And if I'm honest, I can't always tell what songs I love simply because they take me straight back to being 17 and feeling happy-sad, driving back from gigs, fast, late and alone.
Listening again, though, mostly I am convinced that Ride wrote a shedload of shamefully overlooked, poundingly glorious guitar-pop songs. So I'm hoping that a few people other than 30- and 40-something ex-fans might chance upon this and give Paralysed or Vapour Trail or the Today Forever EP or even the whole wonderful misfit child that was Carnival of Light a try.
After Ride split – with typical panache, their two guitarist-singer-songwriters Mark Gardener and Andy Bell wrote songs about intra-band tensions for their ill-fated fourth album – Bell joined Oasis. He is still playing bass with Liam's Beady Eye. To Ride admirers, it's the equivalent of Adele joining the Saturdays as a backing singer.
Perhaps reunions are a devalued currency given the current blizzard of comebacks but as a shy teenager who had a ticket to see Ride in 1990 and for some angst-ridden teen reason didn't go – the biggest regret of my life – I am still praying for a reformation. I bet several Brixton Academy-loads of half-forgotten Ride fans feel the same. Apparently Loz, Ride's brilliant drummer, is up for a reunion. Come on Andy and Mark: if you love music, and you do, then you will.
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