Speaking to Esquire, that mentioned him as December cover star, Noel Gallagher gave his opinion about modern music.
7 | “The bottle’s going to be a massive toe”
I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Fame’s wasted on these cunts today. Bar Kanye. You watch him on the MTV Awards and you think, “You can fucking stay, you’re alright.”
Does anybody give a fuck about what any of these current pop stars are up to? Who gives a shit what fucking One Direction do? Cocksuckers, all of them in rehab by the time they’re 30. Who gives a shit what Ellie Goulding is up to? Really? Adele, what? Blows my fucking mind. It blows my fucking mind. Nobody cares! Fame’s wasted on them, with their fucking in-ear monitors and their electronic cigarettes. And their fragrances that they’re bringing out for Christmas. You fucking dicks.
My fragrance? Oh it’s coming, it’s coming. Toe-Rag it’s going to be called. And the bottle’s going to be a massive toe.
There are no rock’n’roll people anymore. What people think of as rock’n’roll now is you can buy The Rolling Stones’ 1972 tour T-shirt in Topman.
This new generation of rock stars, they look great: Alex Turner, Miles Kane, the guys from Royal Blood. They’ve got the fucking skinny jeans and the boots, and all that eyeliner. I’ve got a cat that’s more rock’n’roll than all of them put together. Pigeons? Rips their fucking heads off.
I go back to this: fame is fucking wasted on these people. The new generation of rock stars, when have they ever said anything that made you laugh? When have they ever said anything you remember? People say, “They’re interesting.” Interesting! That’s a word that’s crept in to music: “Yeah, man. Have you heard the new Skrillex record?” “No.” “Yeah, man. It’s really interesting.” I don’t want interesting! Rock’n’roll’s not about that. To me, it’s about fucking utter gobshites just being fucking headcases. Well, not headcases. But what I want, genuinely, is somebody with a fucking drug habit, who’s not Pete Doherty. Do you know what I mean?
Record companies now can sell a billion Ed Sheeran downloads tomorrow morning. They don’t want someone like Ian Brown in their offices, or Liam, or Bobby Gillespie, or Richard Ashcroft, or me. They want professionals. That’s what it’s become now.
I guaran-fucking-tee you this: The Stone Roses never mentioned “career” in any band meetings. Ever. Or Primal Scream, or The Verve. Oasis certainly never mentioned it. I bet it’s mentioned a lot by managers and agents now: “Don’t do that, it’s bad for your career.” “What? Fuck off!” Like when we went to the Brits and we’d won all those awards and we didn’t play. The head of the Brits said, “This’ll ruin your career.” Fucking, wow. I say to the guy, “Do you know how high I am? You know who’s going to ruin my career? Me, not you. Bell-end. More Champagne. Fuck off.”
Ten years ago, I said we’d be the last. I just felt it. I felt that story, the poor boys done good, which was retold from Elvis through The Beatles – we won’t mention The Stones because they’re posh kids – Sex Pistols, The Smiths, The Stone Roses, I felt at the time we were the end. And I’ve been proved right. And I don’t like that. I mean I love being proved right but not in that case.
I get this from little spotty fucking herberts with guitars, all the time, “Oh, it’s really difficult. Everyone’s always going on about there are no great bands but there is.” My argument is this: are you fucking telling me that somewhere out there, undiscovered by the record industry, is the greatest band in the world? With all the amount of exposure that you can get by clicking on your own phone? Fuck off.
Rock’n’roll is all about freedom and honesty. Freedom of thought, freedom of expression. You have a duty to be honest.
Somebody said to me, “Have you been to Saint Laurent recently?” Which I have, by the way. And I was like, “No, why?” “Oh, you should, their new collection is so rock’n’roll.” And I was like, “Do you even know what that means? You mean it’s clothes rock stars would wear?” “Well, yeah.” “And what are they?” “Well, you know, it’s just…” “Well, I’m a rock star. And I’m wearing these fucking clothes.”
Harry Styles has got nothing to say for himself – nothing. “You alright, mate?” “Uhhh.” That’s it.
It’s no coincidence that all the big people from the Nineties lasted. I’ve been in festivals all summer – every one of them has been headlined by someone from the Nineties. That’s why Kate Moss has transcended eras. No one’s taken her place.
Everybody’s out to please The Guardian. And that’s the wrong attitude. I know people who live for their reviews. I once asked somebody how their new album was going, they said, “Fucking great. I’ve only got one bad review.” Who gives a fuck? “Only got one bad review.” Fucking hell, really? Shit, Jesus. Here’s your second.
You’re not seriously telling me that anyone is going to be listening to Foals in 12 years. Is anybody going to be fucking begging for Hot Chip to get back together in 22 years? I don’t fucking think so.
Source: Esquire