@Derek Cooper

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In the ‘90s, Take That were Britain's boy-band kings; their smooth harmonies on tracks like the crystalline “Back for Good” and heartfelt spin on R&B-leaning pop left audiences swooning, while Gary Barlow's sensitive ballads played off the wild antics of Robbie Williams. Through lineup changes and following a nearly decade-long hiatus, Take That remained true to sparkling pop. Their commitment resonated with listeners, who embraced the majestically optimistic “Greatest Day” as eagerly as they had the peppy disco-redux track “Relight My Fire” years prior.

Neil Diamond has bridged the gap between sophisticated singer/songwriter and razzle-dazzle showman for more than half a century. The native New Yorker ditched college for Tin Pan Alley, and honed his skills penning hits in the legendary Brill Building before becoming a solo sensation. In soft rock anthems and silky-smooth ballads, Diamond straddles the line between sacred and profane (the exuberant, candy-coated soul of “I'm a Believer”; the existential, string-laced “I Am…I Said”). With singles like “Sweet Caroline”, he's proven that the finest pop tunes can be as inspiring as hymns.

Some bands spend years chasing stardom, while others seem to will it into existence. That was certainly the case with Manchester’s Oasis, who named the first track on their debut album, <i>Definitely Maybe</i>, “Rock ’n’ Roll Star” as if stardom was preordained. Arriving at the peak of alt-rock, Oasis’ 1994 debut countered the introspective angst of grunge with a bird-flipping retort that combined the melodicism of The Beatles, the swagger of T. Rex, the sneer of the Sex Pistols and the danceable grooves of The Stone Roses. The result: sleazy anthems such as “Cigarettes & Alcohol” and “Supersonic” and celebratory tunes like “Live Forever”. The group’s sound—and the tension between songwriter Noel Gallagher and his brash vocalist brother, Liam—evoked the sibling drama of The Kinks. <i>Definitely Maybe</i> debuted at No. 1 on the UK charts, casting Oasis as the bad boys of Britpop, a role they embraced with their tabloid spats with Blur. But 1995’s follow-up, <i>(What’s the Story) Morning Glory?</i>, made them a global phenomenon thanks to karaoke-ready sing-alongs like “Wonderwall”, “Champagne Supernova” and “Don’t Look Back in Anger”. The Gallaghers’ ever-fraught relationship would sink Oasis in 2009, but in 2024, they announced a reunion tour for the following year, sharing on social media, “The guns have fallen silent. The stars have aligned.”

Given the image of him as a smiling, joint-smoking peacenik that has proliferated since his death in 1981, it’s easy to forget just how angry Bob Marley was. His music spoke to colonialism (“War”), poverty (“Concrete Jungle”), the necessity of achieving political agency (“Get Up, Stand Up”) and the challenge of exercising it (“Burnin’ and Lootin’”) with a righteousness and frustration that made him as much a figurehead to punk rock as to the reggae he helped export to the world. Marley formed The Wailers with Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer in his late teens, thickening from cheerful R&B-based ska to the more rhythmically substantive sound of reggae. His music had a dialogic relationship with a variety of Black styles beyond reggae, including funk (“I Shot the Sheriff"), soul (“No Woman, No Cry”, “Redemption Song”) and even disco (“Could You Be Loved”, “Exodus”). Even as he settled into smoother, pop-oriented sounds, he retained an urgency and sense of struggle that inspired generations of artists to recognise that music, while great for entertainment, can also be the delivery system for something bigger.