Richard III

This song opens like something detonating in a field — a distortion-soaked guitar figure that tumbles over itself with almost reckless momentum before the whole band crashes in with the force of a door being kicked off its hinges. Supergrass in this period were operating with a kind of manic joy that felt almost dangerous, and this track is one of their most kinetic expressions of it. The tempo is relentless, the drumming thunderous and slightly drunk-sounding in the best way, driving everything forward with a loose-limbed physicality. Gaz Coombes's voice here is in full-throated roar mode — there's a rawness to it, a teenager's howl that somehow sounds ancient at the same time, reaching back to early rock and roll and mod freakbeat while staying firmly planted in mid-90s Britain. The lyric operates as an almost absurdist character sketch, a portrait of masculine swagger drawn with enough exaggeration that it tips into something cartoonish and affectionate. This is Britpop with its sleeves rolled up, sweating through its shirt, not remotely interested in being cool. It's a song that physically compels movement — you feel it in your chest before your brain processes it. Best experienced at high volume with the windows down, or right before doing something you probably shouldn't.