Oasis

(Photo [L-R]: Noel Gallagher, Gem Archer, Andy Bell, Liam Gallagher)

A few short weeks ago, Noel Gallagher—with his new girlfriend and another couple in tow—went out for what he thought would be a nice, quiet night on the town. Dinner followed by seats in the secluded balcony of London’s Round Chapel, the intimate venue where Coldplay was performing a hush-hush gig to premiere songs from its upcoming X & Y album. Sure, Gallagher’s multi-platinum outfit Oasis also has a new effort in the wings—Don’t Believe The Truth, a dark, neo-psychedelic stunner for Epic that’s bound to blindside its “Wonderwall” faithful. But Gallagher wanted to avoid the spotlight for an evening and just vicariously enjoy the crowd-wowing return of Coldplay. Chris Martin, however, had other plans.

Gallagher believed no one would notice him in his shadowy crow’s-nest hideout. He was wrong. “So I was just sitting there, having a beer, smoking a cigarette, getting off on the gig,” he recalls with a muffled Mancunian chuckle. “And the next thing I knew, Chris was right in me face, giving me a big kiss to enormous cheers from the audience.” Stealthily, Martin had crept up on his unsuspecting prey. “He’d climbed up from the stage onto the piano, then on top of the P.A. stacks, then up a pole, across a set of chairs, just to give me a kiss. He asked me how he was doing and I said, ‘You’re doing alright, man! You’re doing alright!’ We had a very funny evening.”

Granted, Gallagher admits, he and Martin are old pals. So a Capulet balcony kiss—however odd it might’ve appeared—came as no big surprise. Later, the two compared notes backstage. “He was asking about our record and I was asking about his,” recalls Gallagher, 37. “And we were both saying how difficult they were, how we’d both scrapped ’em a few times. And I hadn’t seen him for a long time, but in recent years we tend to put albums out at the same time. So we were kinda both asking ‘Where ya gonna be? What’re you doing? How are the kids?’ And all that shit.” Gallagher pauses and sighs over the pleasant experience, which instantly became a much-larger career-kudoing metaphor. “It made me feel really good that people like Chris and bands like The Killers, Kasabian and Franz Ferdinand all kinda check for Oasis now—it makes me think that we did do something right in the beginning, and the flame for [1994 debut] Definitely Maybe did inspire kids to start groups. Which was always the plan anyway,” he adds, before tacking on his first “D’ya know wot I mean?” He’ll repeat the catchphrase—which even became the title of an Oasis single a few years back—after almost every key interview point he makes. And with a lesser intellect, such repetition might be annoying. But Gallagher—a rapier-sharp wit lurking beneath that bowl haircut and beetled brow—makes it all sound natural, astute, almost professorial. He may seem sleepy-eyed and sheepish when you first meet him. But rest assured, he’s lupine-tense and ready to spring, and his darting gaze catches just about everything.

Gallagher (along with his fisticuffs-prone kid brother, Oasis vocalist Liam) had to grow up fast. Eight years ago, he was equally shocked and hurt when competitive countryman Damon Albarn moved the release date of his latest Blur single to coincide with Oasis’ single, thereby launching—almost through Blur-vs.-Oasis controversy alone—a new Britpop movement. And, he sighs, only a couple years ago “I used to meet kids who said they’d started bands because of Oasis. But they just weren’t very good. And now I meet people who’ve sold a million albums and they’re really cool and they’ve got it. They’ve got that passion and spirit. And it kinda makes me feel a little bit old. But it makes me feel good as well.”

Johnny Borrell—the blond-haired heartthrob who fronts up-and-coming U.K. act Razorlight—just sought Liam’s advice. And the younger Gallagher gladly gave it to him. “And all these new bands coming through, like Razorlight and The Libertines and Babyshambles,” he dotes like a proud parent. “I went to see all of ’em and I thought ‘F---, you are really good. And I wanna make better records than you. And as old as I am, I’m gonna do it, man!’” But here’s the cold, hard truth—it hasn’t been hip to dig Oasis for quite some time now, since the admittedly cocaine-addled Be Here Now (’97) and its conversely stone-cold-sober follow-up Standing On The Shoulder Of Giants (2000). Even the band’s recent return to rollicking form Heathen Chemistry—transfused with the fresh blood of guitarist Gem Archer and ex-Ride axeman Andy Bell, now on bass—failed to rekindle that Gallagher fire, the one burning so brightly on definitive ’95 sophomore set (What’s The Story) Morning Glory? And rumors of the turbulent Truth sessions didn’t bode well for the future; After mastering 10 tracks with Death In Vegas, Oasis ditched the duo, then reconvened with Noel at the production helm. A decision, harrumphs the Oasis elder, “that just led to slow, simmering arguments. Like ‘What song are we gonna do next?’ ‘Let’s do one of mine.’ ‘F---in’ hell, we did one of yours yesterday!’ And I just went ‘Look—I f---ing don’t wanna do it—we’re gonna have to get somebody in to referee this.’ I’d only agreed to produce it because we were in a bit of a scrape.”

The solution came from an unlikely source: Dave Sardy, a young producer the band’s manager had bumped into one night in Los Angeles. Fresh from overseeing the chart-topping Jet debut, Sardy was eager to flex his muscles with an equally intrigued Oasis, and the pairing proved magical. For nine weeks, they got down to comeback business in Hollywood’s famed Capitol Recording Studios, aided by brand-new drummer Zack Starkey—Ringo Starr’s son—who’d previously slapped skins for The Who.