Why British Bands Are Best At Being Big

As Coldplay embark on the next stage of their march towards global domination, Neil McCormick argues that they represent the latest in a long tradition of British groups who, when it comes to stadium rock, have got the Americans licked

It was announced this week that Coldplay are to take the coveted Saturday night headline spot at this year's Glastonbury festival on June 25, the scene of their widely acknowledged crowd-swaying triumph in 2000. Earlier the same month, on June 6, Coldplay will release their third album, X&Y. The cover artwork is currently being unveiled in a street poster campaign a segment at a time. A single, Speed of Sound, will be played for the first time by radio stations on Monday.

There is enormous anticipation within the music business about Coldplay's return to the fray. Their 2002 album, A Rush of Blood to the Head, had worldwide sales of 9.8 million, but their record company, Parlophone, predicts that the new album will beat that. There is a sense that Coldplay are poised on the edge of greatness, with the chance to become the first genuine rock superstars of the 21st century, capable of filling stadiums around the world. And what is more, they are British.I say this not out of some misguided patriotism, but because their Britishness matters. American pop culture may dominate the worldwide media, but when it comes to truly universal rock music, British bands are still in a league of their own, superior to their American counterparts in almost every respect.

This thought occurred to me during a concert by Velvet Revolver, a high-energy, perpetually riffing outfit whose album, Contraband, last year became the fastest-selling debut ever in the US. And it is not bad, if you like your music fast, loud and shallow. Their lead guitarist, Slash, is already something of a rock legend, formerly of American stadium rockers Guns N' Roses, a late '80s glam-punk band of screeching hysteria and frenzied soloing who, in retrospect, look like the last gasp of dinosaur bombast before grunge and Britpop brought rock back down to earth. On stage at the mid-sized Hammersmith Apollo in west London (Velvet Revolver not being nearly as popular on this side of the Atlantic), Slash dedicated a song to "the greatest American rock group of all time". The band he had in mind were… Aerosmith.

Is that really the best America can do? Aerosmith's claim to such a title is fairly compelling. They are America's longest-running rock soap opera, having played together for 35 years, notched up hits across four decades, survived drugs and debauchery on a gargantuan scale and sold tens of millions of records in the process. They have a great frontman in Steve Tyler, a gifted lead guitarist in Joe Perry, they write catchy songs and they have all the licks and all the right moves… but no art, and precious little heart. Aerosmith are essentially a showband, light entertainment with heavy guitars. They are often compared to the Rolling Stones but their debt to Britain's own longest-running rock opera is all too evident, and all too superficial. Where is their Sympathy for the Devil? Where is their Paint It, Black? Aerosmith's most well-known global hit is the bubblegum pop-rock of Walk This Way, in a version popularised by rappers Run-DMC.

If we are talking greatness, surely we should be searching for something richer and more vital than that? When we look at the great universal British groups, the ones whose music resonates in every corner of the globe, they have soul, spirit and art in abundance. The Stones, the Who, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, U2 (not strictly British, but an Irish band signed to a British record company with two members born in the UK) and, more recently, Oasis and Radiohead. These are bands whose success was built on musical principles of passion and substance. What is the best America can offer? Fast guitar licks, big light shows, tight trousers and blow-dried hair.

The history of rock can be viewed as a kind of cultural interplay between the US and the UK, with fantastic bands from both sides of the pond influencing and interacting with one another, often with an impact far outreaching their sales. But I don't wish to debate the relative merits of groups such as the Byrds, the Doors, the Velvet Underground, the Ramones, Talking Heads, Faith No More and Nine Inch Nails (from the US) and the Kinks, the Sex Pistols, the Clash, Joy Division, Echo and the Bunnymen, the Smiths and Blur (from the UK). I love and admire them all. But I want to address something more wide-reaching than what most groups - no matter how distinctive and inspirational - have to offer. I am talking about universality, striking a chord that reverberates around the planet, singing the songs that make the whole world sing along, selling in multi-millions over an extended period of time. I am talking, essentially, about stadium rock.

There are some who consider the term stadium rock abusive - shameless populism with all the artistic compromises that implies. Rock is undoubtedly at its best when it has an edge - but on those occasions when bands reach the point of mass appeal while retaining musical integrity, I think we witness something truly extraordinary unfold, music that speaks to something deep within its audience, invoking a spirit of communal experience almost primeval in its power. Sometimes bigger really is better, because the intensity of the experience, rather than being diluted, is magnified.

"If you invite 60,000 people to a stadium, you had better do something that people can not only hear but can also see, and that kind of scale of ambition to produce big music in a big live context is not easy," says U2's manager, Paul McGuinness. With the new and creatively revamped Wembley Stadium due to open next year, giving Britain its own state-of-the-art stadium venue, there is some thought being given to the question of which acts have the pulling power to perform there. "You have to have the music, you have to have the demand, and you have to be innovative and creative about the physical circumstances of your performance," says McGuinness. "Right now, probably only Paul McCartney, the Rolling Stones and U2 can do it. It's a very short list."

"There have probably been not more than 20 real big stadium acts in rock history, which is not a lot," says Harvey Goldsmith, the legendary British concert promoter. "All the artists that break through to that level have a magic about them that is hard to describe. There are two things they need: anthemic songs and incredible stage presence. The edge of the stage is a huge barrier. In any venue, no matter what size, you've got to be able to hit the guys at the back. If you don't get to them, it's not working. To do that in a space that holds 50,000 to 70,000 people takes something really special."

Goldsmith cites the Stones, Pink Floyd, the Who and Queen as the greatest stadium bands ever. "Queen had all the anthems, they had production values, and Freddie Mercury had soul, too, which is something that's often overlooked. It's a two-way process, playing live, the audience reacting to the band and the band on stage reacting to the audience, and somehow he always managed to keep that interplay going."

We are not talking about solo artists here, which I regard as a special case. In solo terms, the US may be ahead of the UK. They can boast Elvis, Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen as undisputable universal greats. We have Paul, Elton and Rod. I am restricting myself to the case of the rock band, the unique chemistry conjured by a group of individuals playing guitars, bass and drums. And, to my mind, the greatest rock bands of all time are British.

The Beatles were the first stadium band, although their tiny amplifiers (designed for clubs) could not compete with the volume of screams at Shea Stadium in 1965. The Stones, the Who, Pink Floyd and Genesis all took it further, finding a way to use those vast spaces. "The British bands had great production values, they brought a lot of ideas from the art world and theatre into their shows," says Goldsmith. "In the early days, the big American bands just went out and played. They came up as big draws on the live circuit in America and saw stadiums as an extension of that. They picked up on the production thing later and went to town on it, which is where Kiss come in."

Kiss: a bunch of men in lurid make-up sticking their tongues out and playing heavy metal power-pop with stupid lyrics. They were the biggest-selling American rock band of the mid-'70s. In the UK, we had Led Zeppelin, a phenomenal blues and folk-based hard rock outfit whose records still resonate today. "When you become part of the mass consciousness, your currency changes - whatever your original intentions were," says former Zeppelin vocalist Robert Plant. "I think we are now considered some stalwart of British rock, which doesn't take into account the variety and colours created by that group. Zeppelin were never a middle of the road band, we were really quite fearsome, but we took the imagination of a lot of people with us. We were always striking out for higher ground and it was always based on musical integrity."

British rock comes out of art schools and universities. It is music of ideas, with originality and vision often admired above musicianship. It is forged in the glare of the merciless British music press. In a small country, with a limited live circuit and almost claustrophobic media, bands have to be very strong to survive, and very brilliant to flourish. US rock, by contrast, is forged on the road. In a huge country with an enormous population, American bands tour relentlessly, learning their skills in front of live audiences. It can result in very high levels of musical ability, but it is also a recipe for creating highly accomplished, road warrior showbands who pander to the lowest common denominator. American bands tend to have a whole set of cover versions at their fingertips. British bands, on the other hand, sometimes appear to be struggling just to play their own set. But this may actually work in their favour. As The Edge, guitarist with U2, explains: "U2 are the worst bar band in the world. The reason we developed the unique style that we have is because that was the only way forward, it was the approach that suited our rather schizophrenic and uneven talents."

In the '80s, U2 began their ascent to becoming the greatest, most passionate and innovative stadium rock band of our times. During the same period, America gave us Bon Jovi, jumped-up bar-room rock with big hair. In the '90s, things took on a slightly different complexion. Britain gave us Oasis and Radiohead but they were easily matched by the best America had to offer. REM had their moment at the top of the pile with albums as soulful and inventive as any in rock's canon, although, for all their gifts, there is a quirkiness to the band that has not sustained them on the stadium frontline.

And then along came Nirvana, who, for raw passion, addictive hooks and global resonance, can surely lay some claim of their own to the title of greatest American rock band of all time. Yet their career was cut short so dramatically, their place in rock's canon essentially comes down to one universally loved album, Nevermind, and the almost mythical impact created by Kurt Cobain's suicide (which puts him in the elite company of Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix, all-time greats who never got to fulfil their potential). Instead, the most enduring American stadium band of the '90s turned out to be funk-rock outfit the Red Hot Chilli Peppers, a band formerly given to performing naked but for strategically-placed socks.

And it is those notorious socks, perhaps, that define the gulf between the great British and American rock bands. Clearly, for the Chilli Peppers, size matters. They are about spectacle and entertainment and not much more besides. The great British bands all have something beneath the surface, something that resonates deeply with their listeners. These are bands whose greatness would not be in doubt, no matter how many people tuned in. As Plant said of Led Zeppelin, they were striking for higher ground. It is the world of difference between wearing your heart on your sleeve and knitted footwear on your member.

Source: Telegraph