Yo In 1994 I visited my brother at RAF Chivenor, where he worked as a gunsmith. My parents and I drove from Glasgow over the weekend so we could have dinner with him and his new girlfriend. I don't want to go. Luckily, my brother knew this and asked me to stay in his room and raid his music collection. “Here, listen to it first,” he handed me a CD. The now inevitable opening hearings for the rock 'n' roll star began. The dirty guitar riff announced the arrival of Oasis into my life, when I was 14 years old.
Back home, I rushed out to buy my own copy of what must have been the band's debut album. My running shoes, jogging pants and store-bought sweaters were replaced by Adidas Champass, Adidas tracksuit tops and Fred Perry polos. None of these should be used for sports. I wanted to emulate Liam and Noel Gallagher. I bought a pair of Levi's 501s and a parka to complete the look. The clothes had swagger, an identity and fashion accessories to give me a teenage marty look. Fortunately, my Nana would buy them at a second-hand clothing store if Clarks shoes weren't for school, since my mother never understood the importance of labels.
This is my uniform. It was my music. My parents had the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. My older brother had the Specials and the Smiths, and now I had Oasis and Blur. I'm team Oasis. It's not that I didn't like Blur's music – I did. However, I don't know people like Damon Albarn or Alex James. I know people like Liam and Noel – all attitude, swagger and swagger. In the Glasgow area we call them “gales”, a word that describes the trifecta of audacity, daring and recklessness.
I come from a working class background and find that I have no inhibitions when it comes to looking at celebrities who look and act like people I know. I was born in January 1980; It was a dark time to grow up in the west of Scotland. The east end of Glasgow and its surrounding areas were devastated by the industrialization imposed by Margaret Thatcher's government.
My father was out of work in Scotland and had to work outside the home mainly as an electrician in the south of England. My brother joined the Royal Air Force; It was not a chance to serve his country, but a chance to escape the desperate decline he saw in Scotland. I watched many of my friends' older siblings go from laughing and sniffing glue in a classroom to burning off the brown substance with a teaspoon in the local woods. Unable to find work, they plunged into a sea of needles.
I'm obsessed with Oasis. I bought all the CDs, singles and albums. I would skip school to queue for new releases and concert tickets at HMV. I slept on the street with my friends, behind a music shop, to buy a £22.50 ticket to see them in Loch Lomond. I was 16 years old and that concert ended up being one of the best weekends of my life.
Britannia's cold revolution led by Oasis, Tony Blair led his own policy. The new Labor leader, dressed in some 501s and playing a Fender Stratocaster, promised change. He sold me a dream of hope and prosperity. I felt a change in the air. My friends and I got involved in politics in 1997 when Oasis asked us to vote for the Labor Party. Tony promises that everything will be okay and Noel sings that we can start a revolution from our beds in Don't Look Back in Anger. We did so as first-time voters, influenced not by our parents, but by our musical heroes.
Some might say things were good for a while. The economy was booming, Tony introduced the Good Friday Agreement and for the first time in my life I could turn on the television and not see violence on the streets in another part of England. As a lesbian, it was amazing to see LGBT equality on the agenda. It is worth remembering that article 28, which prohibited local authorities and schools from “promoting” homosexuality, was rejected.
But the album, Be Here Now, released on August 21, 1997, sounded like Nero had proudly recorded it on cocaine. Oasis took hate too far. Ten days later, Princess Diana died in a car accident in Paris. Britain was in mourning. I felt like it was all over: the hope, the change, and the soundtrack were gone.
I don't know if it's my own situation, the change in the world at large, or a combination of both. I came out of my lesbian closet with the same arrogance as Liam, only to be rejected by people who should have loved, supported and nurtured me. I am 17 years old; I felt alone, guilty and ashamed. I felt like I had let my family down. I left home to live with my beloved Nana. Suddenly, I was an adult, albeit a small one, trying to kiss a girl in an underage gay club.
Thirty years later, my wardrobe is still the same. The tracksuit t-shirt is a little tight, the Fred Perrys are too big and the Adidas Sambas are too expensive. My politics will always remain central. I still love Liam and Noel even if they don't love each other. His music was a turning point in my life. It was a time of political progress and hope for the marginalized. Those two boys convinced me, as a working-class kid, that I belonged in this country.
Susie McCabe's stand-up tour of Merchant Off The threat begins on November 1.
