I inherited a CD collection from a dear friend who passed away, an unexpected gift that turned out to be a treasure trove of music, memory, and meaning. Even now, several years later I’m still working through it, discovering albums I’d never heard and rediscovering ones I thought I knew. It’s more than just a stack of discs; it’s a map of someone’s musical soul.

Tucked quietly among the shelves was The La’s self-titled debut. I paused when I saw it. If my friend had kept it, it had to be worth a listen. And I was right.

I knew “There She Goes,” of course — who didn’t? I’d first heard it back in the mid-’90s on alternative radio, and it had appeared on Truebrit, a compilation CD I’d picked up in 1996 with that very friend, the one who later passed on the collection to me. It featured 40 essential indie hits of the Britpop era. That song had always stuck with me: a perfect slice of pop. But I’d assumed The La’s were a one-hit wonder and never looked further.

Now, decades later, I was holding the full album on CD in my hands — something I’d overlooked for years. And as I pressed play, I realized I wasn’t just listening to music. I was stepping into a story I hadn’t finished, a sound I hadn’t fully understood, and a connection I hadn’t expected to deepen.

“There She Goes” is now recognized as one of the most iconic indie pop songs to come out of the UK in the late ’80s. Originally released in 1988, it predates the Britpop movement that peaked around 1994–1996. While Blur, Oasis, and Suede defined the era, The La’s paved the way with their jangly, stripped-down sound — a nostalgic echo of ’60s British pop.

They’re often seen as a precursor to Britpop, and rightly so. Noel Gallagher of Oasis has spoken glowingly about the band, calling Lee Mavers an “amazing songwriter.” He even named “There She Goes” his favourite song of the 1990s, saying it wasn’t just a track he liked — it was part of Oasis’s DNA.

But behind the brilliance was a band in turmoil. Lee Mavers, the frontman and primary songwriter, was notoriously obsessed with achieving a specific vintage sound, rejecting mix after mix, believing none captured the raw essence he envisioned. The final version of the album was released without his approval, and he felt it betrayed his artistic vision.

Mavers eventually withdrew from public life, disillusioned with the industry and battling mental health challenges. His perfectionism may have prevented more music, but what remains is a cult classic — a sonic time capsule of what could have been.

I inherited the CD, and I absolutely love it. It’s a sonic treasure, and I often wish I’d had the chance to discuss it with my friend who passed it on. I’m now on the hunt for a vinyl copy — my personal white whale. Whether it’s a reprint or a used original, I’d love to hold it in my hands and give it the place it deserves in my collection.

This is subjective, of course, but more than 30 years later, these songs still resonate deeply.​
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• Timeless Melody – Right up there with “There She Goes.” It explores the power of music and memory and reminds me of The Beatles with a modern twist. Pearl Jam and Supergrass have covered it, so I know I’m not alone.
• Looking Glass – The haunting final track. Nearly 8 minutes long, it starts softly and builds into something ambitious and emotional. Some compare it to “A Day in the Life.” Knowing Lee Mavers’ perfectionism, I imagine this track went through countless versions. It’s a personal favourite. Favourite lyric: “Tell me where I am going – Tell me why I’m bound – Tear the pages open – Turn the world around.”

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Listening to The La’s now feels like discovering a lost chapter of Britpop’s origin story. It’s more than just music — it’s memory, myth, and meaning. And for me, it’s a connection to a friend, a time, and a sound that still echoes.

Keep Listening
Some albums never really leave you. You might move on for a while, but eventually something pulls you back.

The La’s are part of Deep Cuts — personal stories about the albums and artists we keep coming back to.
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Take Care of the Records You Love
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It’s happening. This August, Oasis are storming Rogers Stadium in Toronto. With 50,000 fans packed in, it’ll feel like the Second Coming of rock 'n' roll. Even crazier? It’s the first time the Gallagher brothers will share a stage in more than 15 years. Their last Toronto performance was way back in 2008. Now, I’ll be there—surrounded by 50,000 voices singing in unison.

Sure, I can’t wait to hear Wonderwall, Champagne Supernova, and Don’t Look Back in Anger with the crowd. But for me, everything started with Definitely Maybe.

Released in 1994, that debut album was pure swagger. I’m listening to my original CD right now—the one I bought at Cheapies in downtown Hamilton. It’s been 31 years, and it still outshines most of what’s in rotation today. Rock 'n' Roll Star, Live Forever, Supersonic, Slide Away—these weren’t just tracks. They were statements. The record bottled the manic energy and raw ambition of five lads who believed they were the best band in the world—and made you believe it too.

Recording it wasn’t easy. Their first attempt was a mess, unable to capture their live edge. The result? A thin, lifeless sound—except for Slide Away. They scrapped everything and went back in with grit, no filters, and total conviction. That hunger shaped the album’s power.

Back in 1991, Oasis were still called The Rain. Liam walked in, renamed them—reportedly inspired by an Inspiral Carpets tour poster—and just like that, something clicked. Small world: Noel was actually a roadie for the Carpets. He joined Oasis on one condition—complete creative control. The rest is history. Noel’s vault of songs became the soul of Definitely Maybe.

Their rise was fast and loud. Pub gigs to stadiums in a blink. Messy, chaotic, full of attitude—it was everything rock should be.

Lately, I’ve been diving into Oasis: What’s the Story by Ian Robertson. It’s wild. Robertson was right there, trying to stop the band from self-destructing while they exploded globally. The book is raw, funny, and fearless—like Oasis themselves.

Their Live ’25 Tour spans 41 shows across five continents from July to November, and every single date is sold out. UK and Ireland dates have already set the internet on fire. And if you’ve been listening like I have, you’ll know the lads sound better than ever.

I got my ticket as a gift—something I never imagined, especially after all the years of drama. Honestly, I thought the dream was dead.

But now it’s real. And it all started with Definitely Maybe. That debut wasn’t just good—it was legendary. The fastest-selling British debut at the time. Noel’s lyrics were sharp and fearless. Liam’s voice? Unmistakable. Together, they captured a moment—and sparked a movement.

Sure, Morning Glory might be their biggest seller, with songs that lit up the world and led to that iconic Knebworth show in ’96. But Definitely Maybe is the heartbeat. The blueprint. The raw roar of five lads with nothing to lose.

This August, I’ll be one of 1.1 million fans witnessing their return live in person. And when the lights go down and the first chord hits, I won’t just be at a concert.

I’ll be back at the start—where it all began.

Keep Listening
Some records stay with us for years. Others find us much later than they probably should. Explore more stories about the albums and artists we keep coming back to.
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Find Your Next Record
​The hunt is part of collecting. Explore ways to find records locally and online, from independent record stores to trusted sources for harder-to-find releases.
→ Find Your Next Record

If you’re building your setup, you can explore the full Vinyl Essentials guide covering turntables, cleaning, and accessories.

There are albums that define a moment, and then there are albums that reshape the entire soundscape. Electric by The Cult, released in 1987, was one of those pivotal records. I remember it clearly. In high school, musical tastes were sharply divided. Some were into synthpop, others into post-punk and indie. But Electric cut through all of that. It was everywhere, and it was undeniable.

At the time, Electric and Appetite for Destruction by Guns N’ Roses had both just come out. They felt like a revival of classic rock, but reimagined for a new generation. You could hear the DNA of Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, and AC/DC, but this wasn’t nostalgia. It was raw, modern, and full of fire. Rick Rubin’s production stripped away the excess and gave us something primal. Think Licensed to Ill by Beastie Boys—pure energy with no filler—and then crank it up with Billy Duffy’s guitar riffs that could split concrete.

Back then, Wild Flower, Lil’ Devil, and Love Removal Machine were on constant rotation on Toronto Rocks and MuchMusic. I had the Electric cassette and played it to death on my Walkman and boombox. Ian Astbury’s vocals were powerful, Billy Duffy’s guitar work was explosive, and Rubin’s minimalist production made it feel like the band was right there in the room with you.

It’s no surprise Electric made it into 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. I totally get it. I was lucky enough to find an original used copy from 1987, and spinning it on vinyl in 2025 was like rediscovering a long-lost adrenaline rush. The album is relentless. Listening to it feels like sprinting full blast from start to finish. It reminds me of Badmotorfinger by Soundgarden and Nevermind by Nirvana—albums that never let up.
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Electric marked a major shift for The Cult. They moved away from the gothic textures of Love (1985) and embraced stripped-down hard rock. But their evolution started even earlier, with Southern Death Cult and Death Cult, before they became simply The Cult. Rubin’s influence was crucial. Known for his work with Slayer and Beastie Boys, he pushed the band to scrap their original version of the album (Peace) and re-record it with a leaner, harder edge. That original version was later released in 2013 as Electric Peace, giving fans a glimpse into what might have been.

Here’s a cool piece of history. Before they became icons, Billy Duffy and Morrissey were part of the short-lived Manchester punk band The Nosebleeds in the late 1970s. Billy, already making waves, convinced a shy, bookish Morrissey to join as vocalist. They played a few gigs together, and it was enough to spark Morrissey’s interest in performing and songwriting. Their early connection is explored in the 2017 biopic England Is Mine, where Billy even helped shape the soundtrack.

Electric was shaped by the giants—AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Jimi Hendrix—and in turn, it influenced a new wave of rock. You can hear its impact in bands like Stone Temple Pilots, Alice in Chains, The Black Crowes, and Queens of the Stone Age. It also helped fuel the garage rock revival, with echoes in albums like Weezer’s Blue Album. Glam rock faded, and a leaner, meaner alternative was born. The Cult proved that British bands could not only compete in the American rock arena—they could innovate it.

Whether you’re revisiting Electric or hearing it for the first time, it’s more than an album. It’s a blast of pure rock energy. Plug in, turn it up, and let it rip.

Keep Listening
​Some records stay with us for years. Others find us much later than they probably should. Deep Cuts brings together personal stories about the albums and artists we keep coming back to.
→ Explore Deep Cuts
​
Take Care of the Records You Love
From cleaning and sleeves to storage and listening gear, explore the Vinyl Vibes guides for looking after your collection.
→ Explore Vinyl Essentials

If you’re building your setup, you can explore the full Vinyl Essentials guide covering turntables, cleaning, and accessories.