It begins tomorrow. Two days of swagger, synths and snarling guitars. A full-throttle tribute to the twin cults of British pop hedonism — Madchester and Britpop — as Radio NOVA opens the floodgates and lets the spirit of the '90s back in.
It’s called Madchester Meets Britpop, and it’s not for the faint of corduroy. Expect a weekend where the Gallagher brothers still hate each other, Bez is somehow still dancing, and every song thinks it's the most important thing in Britain since the NHS.
Madchester, of course, was the beautiful accident — rave music trying on a leather jacket and discovering it liked it. The Stone Roses, the Happy Mondays, James: all pounding drums and psychedelic strut, sounding like a warehouse party broke into a football ground and started a band. It was northern, narcotic, and deeply unserious — until you tried dancing to it, and then it was everything.
And then, just as the comedown hit, came Britpop. Where Madchester was haze, Britpop was hangover. Blur, Oasis, The Verve — posh boys and pub lads, shoulder to shoulder, competing to write the anthem that would define a nation in denial. This was Cool Britannia in all its Union Jack-wrapped confusion: pop music as class war, art school project, and tabloid punchline.
All weekend, Radio NOVA will be rolling out the classics — the big hitters, the songs that once made teenagers believe that being clever, bitter and slightly wasted might be enough to change the world. But at its core, this is a love letter to belief — belief that pop music could save you, define you, or at least get you through a particularly grim Sunday. Whether you were sweating through a bucket hat at Spike Island or nursing a Stella in a Camden dive, this weekend belongs to you.
Then, on Monday, one final act of glorious Britpop theatre: the Battle of the Bands. Blur vs Oasis. The art-school southerners against the streetwise Mancs. Albarn vs Gallagher. And we are throwing it over to you! — You will vote for your favourite, passions will rise, and only one band will walk away with Radio NOVA’s crown. It’s democracy in its rawest form: shouted opinions, questionable taste, and absolutely no compromise.
So dig out the parka. Tune up the sneer. And let Radio NOVA take you back to the days when guitars were loud, ambition was louder, and the North of England briefly believed it had won.
Starts tomorrow. Ends only when the reverb fades.
