So Dylan Jones decides to give an oral biography treatment to the Britpop years and try to encompass them in a multi-contextualised way. And wouldn't you know it, it's overlong and repetitive and in the end a bit of a slog, but it also has some things going for it. (Brief disclosure: I was there and experienced quite a chunk of it in real time.)
One plus is the way he decides to twin it with Swinging London, leaning in to compare and contrast the two periods. But Jones (and his interviewees) miss an important distinction: in 1965, the UK really did lead the way for the US and other parts of the world. British films routinely won awards. Big-budget films were filmed in London. The Beatles and Stones bestrode the world etc etc (not to mention The Who, the Kinks and Uncle Tom Cobley and all…) So the 1995 version was a little too parochial in its effects to be regarded as THE scene on the world stage.
Another is the interest in the YBA-led art scene. This gives it a little more breadth than just banging on about Oasis. I remember trying to source some original paintings to put in a new reception for a record company and being told that there was an artist who had piqued the attention of Damon Albarn. All this guy's paintings were focused on toilet bowls, in what we could almost read as a hyper-prosaic postmodern parody of Bacon and Duchamp.
Another is this golden age of magazines, a time when people bought and read lots of printed material, and knew the names of certain journalists. (Indeed, I bought a flat from a magazine honcho moving up in the world.) Then it all blew up for the mags, as the easy road to soft porn beckoned to the less imaginative suits. Loaded and FHM gave into the siren call of Maxim and Nuts before everything simply got washed away by the internet.
Yet another way is when we start to consider how the joining of wish-making and jingoism may have provided at least a little lungpower to the whole Brexit catastrophe. While this notion is skirted by many of the inteviewees, it is far from preposterous and indeed provides quite a tragic tinge to the aftermath of this time. It was a time when you felt it "really really really could happen" and when your behaving badly could always be laughed off. Your questionable comments could be passed off as edgy humour and your love for some artist from a minority could supposedly innoculate any far-reaching racist comments ("some of my best friends are…"). Well, look at what there was in Brexit: flag über alles (check), Empire dreaming (check), white comeback (check), better to trust in perfidious Albion than perfidious Europe (check), the concept of 'as soon as you brand them, you control them' (remoaners, Brexiteers, taking whatever it was back again, repeating someone else's wish list etc.) All with its own (suitably retro) soundtrack.
There was an energy to these years. It was the early days of computers, when websites still felt like newsletters, when you still did things yourself - drawings, drum tracks, self-written texts. There was a feeling of the right-to-hedonism. There was a sheepish grin on your face when you were forced in the morning to break out of the nightclub you'd passed out in the night before… There is something to the stretching of this time to reach Danny Boyle's opening ceremony for the 2012 Olympics, which showed us how the UK in effect saw what it could be and then allowed itself to drift into the antimatter version of all that energy, harking backward and whiteward.