“I said, ‘I ain’t doing it for free’”: How Richard Ashcroft almost stole the show at the Oasis reunion

They supported The Verve back in 1994, right?

I heard [Oasis] and wanted them to support us. Then Definitely Maybe came out and they were pretty big almost instantaneously, and we, The Verve, would support them. I think Noel saw it as, “Well, I’ve got an opportunity to put these freaky psychedelic guys on.” I’m not sure he expected me to then go and write the songs I did. Two bands, two Transit vans, and a bit of a toilet tour of the UK. The likelihood of one of them doing really well is slim. The likelihood of two, and the songs that came out of that – it’s pretty amazing.

What do you make of the whole cultural moment the tour triggered this summer?

I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve never seen any city centres like that before those shows. I was in Cornwall yesterday and the day before; I’m walking down the street in a little village, and I’ve met four people who went to one of those shows. I met a young kid, he went to Wembley – he must have been 19 years old, all he wants to do is write his own songs. The people talking about the nostalgic elements are kind of missing out on how this will be the catalyst for some great music going forward.

Was it striking to see so many young people caught up in it?

I was fortunate enough to do a couple of shows with the [Rolling] Stones a few years ago. That was my first taste of a multi-generational audience, and it was amazing to see: three generations sat in a row, all singing along. So I had a suspicion this tour was going to be like that. It’s very easy when you’re younger to get real hung up on age. When you’re 17, 40 is ancient. But then you get to 39 and realise, “No, it ain’t!” Anything that breaks down barriers like that, I think it’s quite exciting.

Does playing old songs to new people imbue those songs with a new freshness and energy?

Yeah. If you’ve been lucky enough to write anything that comes under the banner of being “classic” or “timeless”, you will never grow out of it. You will only find new depth within it. A song like “Lucky Man”, it gets better as time goes on. As I’m doing it, I just imagine myself as a young person [in the crowd]. I’m trying to imagine someone looking up and thinking, “Oh man, I want to do this.” Because it’s not Beethoven; it’s just G, D and A. Anyone can learn those chords.

What about “Bitter Sweet Symphony”? For years, you received no royalties from it, due to legal action around it sampling an orchestral version of a Rolling Stones song. Then you got the rights back in 2019. Has playing it since then felt liberating?

I used to kind of enjoy the irony of it in the past. I used to think it was like one of the greatest pieces of Pop Art ever made: we’re going to say “you’re a slave to money then you die” in the first line, and then we’re going to lose all publishing [rights]. Since I’ve been paid the last few years from it, I’m getting a grip of how much money that tune would have earned over the years, which is phenomenal. But that’s another one, like “Lucky Man”, that just seems to gain a new momentum each year. I took a long time making that tune, and I did think, even before any of the legal shit happened, “Is this going to be some strange albatross on me for the rest of my career?” Because I’d hate to be a one-song guy. But the beauty is, my younger son a couple of years ago [was] like, “Wow, ‘Bitter Sweet’’s massive on TikTok.” As each generation discovers it, they fall in love with it. And the amount of amazing different versions of it, going right back to when A$AP Rocky rapped on it… it’s a blessing.