In 2021 so much that was pivotal in the Supergrass story has moved on. Songs that once pumped on stereos now stream from voice activated digital assistants. Print champions such as Melody Maker, NME, Smash Hits and Select grace shelves of the great newsagent in the sky; CD:UK and Top Of The Pops, on which the band made countless appearances, are off air. John Peel, an early champion who included Caught By The Fuzz in a Festive 50, has passed on. The Jennifers’ first label is long gone and as for Supergrass’s old label, EMI… Well, that’s a long story.

The smartest popstars never allow themselves to be distracted by legacy or longevity; the best pop can only hope to be relevant in the future if has first meant something in the moment it was created. In one early interview Supergrass, whose earliest music was a perfectly articulated celebration of the nihilism of youth, took a smart stance on their own future: “We’re aware we could disappear overnight,” Gaz decided. As for success? “If it’s going to happen, it’ll happen.” 

And somehow it did happen, to the tune of millions of album and single sales, hundreds of gigs, blanket critical acclaim and, yes, a legacy that exists purely because nobody was trying to create one. Now in 2019 it’s happening again. And while few among us would claim to be young any more, thanks to those three (then four) fellas in the bath, some great dental hygiene advice back in the day and the Proustian rush of songs that continue to fizz, thrill, and tickle the senses, we can still feel alright.

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