Forget Oasis - here are 11 90s tracks by Pulp, Stereolab, Suede and Teenage Fanclub that deserve more attention than the Gallagher brothers

Half-French, 100 per cent wonderful, Stereolab are among the greats of indie music. Nobody realised there was a need for guitar noise, vintage keyboards and krautrock/motorik vibes, fronted by the coolest woman ever singing left-leaning humanist and anti-capitalist songs of hope, but by god there was a space to fill. Throughout many albums they would become prettier and more delicate, but the sheer adrenaline blast of 1993 single French Disko is hard to beat.

Lazy Line Painter Jane  - Belle and Sebastian

An earlyish (1997) one from the long-standing Glasgow band, and one of the first tracks which showed they weren’t just here for a fey librarian sound. The lyrics detail how ‘Jane’ is going to escape her mundane world of working in the village shop and cross-country at school with the ‘last bus out of town’; the music builds and builds to a Northern Soul climax, with joyous handclaps and an organ fuelled wig-out at the end that is exhilarating, especially so when heard live. A song for the ages. 

The Concept - Teenage Fanclub

Another Scottish institution to treasure. The opening track of the 1991 album Bandwagonesque arrests from the start “She wears denim wherever she goes, says she’s going to get some records by the Status Quo”, and tunefully rolls along until a coda that absolutely soars. There’s a reason that the Fannies were a favourite of Kurt Cobain - they weren’t grunge but they were kindred spirits in taking guitar music and elevating it to something else.

Stay Together - Suede

Most people remember the self-titled debut album of the “best new band in Britain” as they were hailed on magazine covers before releasing a song, which among NME and Melody Maker readers saw excitement equally to Definitely Maybe’s release a year later. It’s a great record, but the stopgap single between the debut and masterpiece Dog Man Star was a thing of beauty in its own right. Lyrically it’s the usually themes of escape, longing, and suburbia; musically it’s a guitar band spreading their wings, layering sound, experimenting with noise. 

Yes - McAlmont and Butler

Bernard Butler left Suede near the end of the recording of Dog Man Star - the NME’s glowing review memorably ended with the line “You’re a fool, Bernard Butler. You really are” - and has since floated around the music scene. Few songs of any era are as uplifting as this 1995 effort - David McAlmont’s near-choirboy vocals over strings and ringing, fuzzy guitar, popping drums, a Motown feel, and lyrics explaining to an ex why in fact he is fine after “what you did to me”. It could have been written at any time after 1960, by any of the classic songwriters, and cannot fail to raise your mood and make you walk taller.

Razzmatazz - Pulp

Hardly a well-kept secret, but away from the staples of Disco 2000 and Common People - great though they are - head for this 1993 Pulp track, which was arguably the breakthrough single. Jarvis’s obsession with dysfunctional suburban sex was front and centre with the opening: “The trouble with your brother / He's always sleeping with your mother / And I know that your sister missed / Her time again this month” and the nasty - but laugh-out-loud - lyrics continue “Oh well I saw you at the doctor's / Waiting for a test / You tried to look like some kind of heiress / But your face is such a mess”. It slinks along before ending with a singalong, and the jerky angular rhythms were perfect for Jarvis’s early ‘dancing’. Classic Pulp.

Do You Believe in Me? - Catatonia

Again, another band where there’s plenty of treasure away from the top 10 hits. This was an early B-side, a 1996 guitar slowburn with Cerys Matthews’ clear, true voice immediately arresting. Plus many points for an ultimate 90s football reference: “I'm Andy Cole whose tortured soul / Lost out again in front of goal / I wish I had your cocaine confidence” as part of a song about a lack of confidence in a relationship. And Cerys’ delivery of the line “And all the wine you had just left me sober” is surprisingly heartbreaking.

Patio Song - Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci 

One of the theories behind Gorky’s, a wonderful under-appreciated band, is that living in rural west Wales radios couldn’t get FM so they grew up without Radio 1 and the top 40 and so developed their music in a bubble. God knows if it’s true, but watching their development from teenage scuzz punkers to wizard-obsessed druid like prog rockers, to cleaner-cut guitar poppers was a delight. Their astounding gift for melody is to the fore on this classic summery tune from the 1997 Barafundle album - it’s almost too tuneful for its own good. 

 Lazarus - The Boo Radleys

The Boos were a workaday shoegazing band until their second album, Everything’s Alright Forever, which remained fuzzy and guitary, but as the Spanish guitar on opening track Spaniard showed, they had eyes on bigger things. The album Giant Steps blew everything else in 1993 out of the water - 17 psychedelic tracks, bringing the spirit of musical pioneers such as Brian Wilson, My Bloody Valentine and yes, The Beatles in spades. Opening single Lazarus was this feeling of adventure to a T - start with a gentle dub bassline, build it up for three minutes and then explode upwards with noise and trumpets. To these ears, one of the greatest moments in recorded sound. Without exaggeration.

God Show Me Magic - Super Furry Animals 

Virtually any SFA track is worth listening for, but it’s hard to get away from the opener of 1996 debut Fuzzy Logic. A guitar riff skids in, mad noises squeak in the background, someone starts playing a honkytonk piano in the background, and then a pop tune kicks in, describing an atheist demanding to be impressed by God. Then, less than two frenetic minutes later, it’s over. They may have looked a lot like Oasis with the shaggy 90s haircuts, but goodness me despite being Creation labelmates they were worlds apart. They once bought a tank and took it to Glastonbury.

City Sickness - Tindersticks

More 1993, this time from a band completely out of kilter with all trends (except perhaps the early 90s craze for dressing in charity shop suits) and standing outside time. Stuart Staples’ gravelly, almost muttered singing style tells a tale of loneliness in a city. It could be a song of love or a song of addiction, but the despair in the lyrics is belied by the soaring strings and chugging guitars. 

Do you agree with Tom Morton’s picks? Let the team know by leaving a comment below with your favourite Britpop or ‘90s anthem or contact the writer with your memories of some of these artists in question.