What’s wrong with Wonderwall?

There is nothing wrong with wonderful, in fact quite the opposite; it’s a masterpiece. And yet there is everything wrong with it. Or its legacy. Let me explain.

“So are you gonna do Wonderwall?” asked the ogre sitting beside me. That’s not the question he was asking though, the question he was asking - crystal clear in his tone - was when are you going to ‘do Wonderwall’? It was a foregone conclusion that I would be playing it at some point, he was just very keen for me to get on with it. I was entertaining a room of 400 rugby fans post-match in Bath Pavillion after our home team losing to the Saracens and it was a Friday night. The man in question was one of a rabble of young men in their mid/late twenties and they were a nice bunch at heart. I was informed as we chatted after the show that my voice was ‘amazing’, my tattoos were ‘wicked’, that I was taller up close than they expected and that I would surely “pull, at least 4 times out of five” (for any non-Brits reading this, to ‘pull’ is to successfully pair-up with the object of your sexual desire). Oh, and that my beard was ‘a bit shit’. I guess four out of five is a win (I do hope so as this exactly matches my odds for ‘pulling’, according to the group’s statistician, should I ever need to do so again). It was right at the end of the night and the group’s wildcard - our ogre - had made himself comfortable on some steps next to where I was playing. He wasn’t allowed to be there but it was almost time for the punters to vacate and only a minor infringement so he’d been allowed to crack on by the staff who looked on and smiled to me knowingly in a way that suggested ‘I bet you’re used to this’. I am used to it. I routinely get requests that are really demands, delivered with puffed up chest and an undertone of the threat that I’ll be responsible for the disappointment of every person in the room if I fail to comply. It’s a moment when I’m often glad to be over six foot tall, though sometimes this apparently just makes me more of a challenge. It isn’t always men. It’s the shittest part of my job. And, invariably, the song in question is Wonderwall.

I love Wonderwall. I think it is one of the most beautiful pop songs ever written. I can still remember with absolute clarity the first time I ever heard it. I was in year eight at Castle School in taunton (so twelve and thirteen years old). Our English class - taught by Mrs Turner - had been separated into groups and sent to empty classrooms with a tape recorder each to write and record a ‘radio interview’ (in truth I can’t remember whether there was a set topic or whether the point was to be creative) before coming back at the end of the lesson to play the short recordings to the class. Of the five or six groups, two had embellished the end of their interview by choosing to segue into music (we all carried Walkmans back then, happy days). One group chose ‘I’ll be there for you’ by The Rembrandts, theme tune of the wildly popular FRIENDS tv show at the time and they got instant creds from the room, followed by groans as Mrs Turner halted playback to move onto other things. But the other group had chosen something different. As the squeaky twelve-year old voices stopped babbling at the end of their interview, an acoustic guitar started playing, slowly, rhythmically, in a minor key that was somehow melancholy. It seemed an unnecessarily long intro before this voice came in, almost monotone but somehow hypnotic. Then drums, then strings, then bass (I’m playing it in my head as I type this and wondering if I’ve got that order absolutely right but whatever, don’t spoil it for me). Somehow, it was completely spellbinding. Every pupil in the classroom was silent. Mrs Turner let it play to the end. I became a lifelong Oasis fan in that moment and I think Wonderwall is still their greatest achievement.

I’m sure there are countless covers of the tune, and rightly so, because it’s that good. On my wedding day, my wife-to-be entered through a beautiful wildflower garden, accompanied by her Dad on his way to ‘give her away’, and the tune playing as all eyes followed her journey was Ryan Adams’ version of Wonderwall. Adams is one of my all time music heroes Kara and I first bonded (among other things) over our love of Oasis since this was the only artist that existed in both of our CD racks (it was 2002). This song was a common ground for us. The Ryan Adams version was voted one of the top five rock covers of all time by Q Magazine. I love this song with all my heart. It’s a thread that runs deep through my soul.

It is also, clearly, still one of the most popular songs of our time three decades later. It seems to transcend class, age, gender and nationality. Everybody knows it and it unifies us all. There are other songs that get a predictably big crowd response - Mr Brightside, Hey Jude, Take Me Home Country Roads, Sweet Caroline - but not one song even comes close to getting the amount of requests as I get for Wonderwall.

Its success is fascinating to me too. It’s weird. I don’t mean because it’s not brilliant - if I haven’t already been absolutely clear, I think it’s bloody fantastic - but it’s not your usual hit. The intro goes on uncharacteristically long for a pop song. Liam’s voice is monotonous (he doesn’t even seem that excited when it’s time to sing the chorus, does he not know how this will be belted out in pubs worldwide for the rest of time?!). Dynamically it’s…well, boring; aside from the brief stop in the middle, it doesn’t really change in tone or key or volume for the whole four minutes (which also makes it quite long for a pop song). Even the topic of the song - this wall of wonder - is obscure; it’s a Dylanesque bit of nonsense that has been inserted into a sentence so craftily that you don’t even realise you have no idea what’s actually being sung about. And the lyrics in the second half of the song are almost a complete repeat of the first half. Lazy. But somehow, utterly perfect.

So what exactly is my problem with it if I think it’s so wonderful? Why is it the scourge of singing guitarists everywhere? Why is it banned from some venues and from countless open mic nights?

Well, to answer all but the first of those questions: Wonderwall is a monster. It sends crowds into a frenzy. People become uncontrollable; by the time we hit the first ‘Maybeeeeeeeeh…’, what used to be a group of individual human bodies has now linked arms and is moving like a tidal wave, knocking aside tables, drinks, decorations and the customers who just wanted a quiet night. For a performer, there is almost nowhere left to go after Wonderwall, it’s why we don’t play it at start of a set. In 1966, The Beatles stopped touring, choosing instead to exist as a studio-only band, because at their gigs they could no longer hear themselves over the crowds and what had begun as an enjoyable egagement with fans and a chance to exhibit their art - their very reason for being - had become a completely pointless and unenjoyable endeavour for the artists. Wonderwall is the embodiment of this phenomenon in one song. Once alcohol is consumed, Wonderwall is no longer the seminal artwork of an iconic band; it is a war cry.

To answer the first question - that of my personal problem with being asked to ‘do wonder wall’ (note: no one ever asks you to ‘sing’ Wonderwall, it is a task to be done, a manual undertaking to be executed) - well, it’s just disappointing. There are literally millions of brilliant songs in the world that a room full of people would enjoy but they’re seldom requested. The world of song is full of stories, they’re supposed to be like books or movies; whole adventures crammed into a perfect three or four minutes. They’re meant to be sung around a fireside with one person telling the story and everyone else hanging on to every word, excited to hear what happens at the end, even if they’ve heard the story a hundred times before. Maybe they’ll be invited to join in singing the chorus and maybe not. The art form is storytelling, and the storyteller has worked hard to hone their skills to deliver the story better than anyone else - that’s why they are the teller and everyone else is listening. And he doesn’t want to sing fucking Wonderwall!

Generally (though not exclusively), the earlier the performance in the day, the more likely I am to get different requests. Thinking over the last week or so, at afternoon bookings and early on in my evening gigs, I’ve had requests for Nirvana, Fleetwood Mac, Hothouse Flowers, Smashing Pumpkins and The Beatles. But once booze sets in and braincells begin to die, so too it seems does the ability to think for oneself and the final straw is clutched at because it’s the one song that is common to all. It’s massively impressive and totally heartbreaking all at the same time for someone who has spent their life discovering the vast and colourful universe that is music. I have one friend - another very successful singer & guitarist - who flatly refuses to play Wonderwall, ever.

As my ogre friend made his demand on Friday night, I had to disappoint him. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to play it, I explained, but that I had literally just played the last song for the night and it was home time (it actually was home time, people were being ushered out by this point). Did I feel a pang of smugness at turning him down? I couldn’t possibly say.

Am I bitter? Well, yes, sometimes, about lots of things, but not about Wonderwall. As a songwriter and performer, I am in complete awe of what Oasis achieved with this song. I doubt they had any idea of the impact it would have on the whole world for decades to come. I salute the Gallaghers and their team. I am impressed at a level I don’t even have words for. I am envious. And it remains one of my favourite songs of all time. And I have five bookings in the week ahead so I’m absolutely positive that I will be singing it at some point.

But if you see me on a stage or in the corner of a room, guitar in hand, and think you’d like me to sing something special for you, you will get a ton of respect from me if you ask for something else. Something with guts and pain and triumph, everything a good story is supposed to have. And if I don’t know it, that’s ok too, because I know lots of other songs and this is what I do for a living ;)

TC

The problem with Wonderwall? Pull up a seat.

Photo by Dan Rushworth, QuietInTheWild Photography