Ask the person on the street who they think is the greatest band in the world and they'll probably say Coldplay or the Killers. If they're a little more daring they might suggest AC/DC or Ramones. But all these bands have something in common: they have one song. Not literally, because they have the decency to give them different names – but they are all essentially reworking the same musical idea over and over again.
It's not unfair to say that certain bands have taken the "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" maxim to heart and based entire careers on one good idea. Ramones, a band who understood what it meant to be a brand, are masters of this. Such was Johnny Ramone's unerring dedication to their visual and musical identity that he imposed strict codes, and any deviation from their sartorial and musical formula was strictly forbidden (which might explain Dee Dee Ramone's brief spell as tracksuit-wearing rapper Dee Dee King). Fortunately, the Ramones one song – you know, the one that begins "1,2,3,4!" – has no extended guitar solo and clocks in at around two minutes – is a belter.
The same goes for AC/DC, whose song about rock/rocking/rocking all night long has been stretched to a 35-year-long metaphor for sex. Just try substituting the word "rock" with "fuck" and see what happens. Exactly. Nothing. The song remains exactly the same, but in the best possible way.
Because, ultimately, we like familiarity; we want to know what we're getting. It's all about familiar signs and signifiers lighting the way through a world of chaos. Marxist theorist Theodor Adorno summed it up when he observed: "The familiarity of a piece is a surrogate for the quality ascribed to it. To like it is almost the same thing as to recognise it."
There's a reason why Coldplay are the biggest band in the world and it has nothing to do with musical innovation or winning personalities. It's because of that song with the piano bit, the surging chorus and the message about you and me and life and stuff. The one you recognise.
This familiarity is something Oasis understand and turn to their advantage. When you see them play you are not having your expectations of what constitutes a performance challenged. You are either submitting to entry-level rock thrills or you are in your thirties and reliving your teens.
Just like a magician who first makes a hankie, then a rabbit, then a woman disappear, there are lots of other successful b(r)ands who have recreated the same trick over and over, or at least continually re-presented it in recognisable forms: The Killers, Status Quo, Iron Maiden, the Prodigy, the Fall, Motörhead. The list goes on.
In financial terms, it's possibly the best move a band can make, to write one amazing song and run with it. And so long as people keep buying it, or are too blinded by fanatical loyalty to notice otherwise, they won't stop.
