You know what they say: if you remember Britpop, you weren’t there. Specifically, you probably weren’t in the United Kingdom in the 1990s, when a sudden surge of youthful national pride, guitar-based rejection of American grunge, and various Gallaghers seized the airwaves.
For a musical movement that lasted only as long as the cocaine was good and people in America could fake a bad Mancunian accent, Britpop still produced an amazing number of classic songs. We’re ranking the top 50, and no one can prove we don’t have a Union Jack draped across our shoulders right now. (Listen to the playlist while you read the article.)
50. Saint Etienne “You’re in a Bad Way”
Saint Etienne predates, encompasses, transcends, and has outlasted Britpop, so we’re starting with them. This song is so British it makes you want to colonize something, but in a good, non-genocidal way.
https://open.spotify.com/track/2hBc9RKPN7UjlFxffkIFmq?si=57816095d795487d
49. Babybird “You’re Gorgeous”
You’re going to want to write this down: Britpop is sleazy as fuck. Although there are a bunch of songs about love and drugs and loving drugs, there’s also a whole bunch of immaculately produced pop songs about being a sleazy photographer who tries to fuck models. This is one of them.
48. The Beautiful South “Old Red Eyes Is Back”
The Beautiful South was a spinoff of the Housemartins and shared that band’s fondness for kitchen-sink stories about incredibly English losers. This one’s about a drunk.
https://open.spotify.com/track/3OihaYrnoyEhhTzauuIbQr?si=d03db3a770844a4a
47. Travis “Why Does It Always Rain On Me?”
Right now, some nerd is enraged because the gorgeously tragic “Why Does It Always Rain On Me” is clearly a post-Britpop song, not an actual Britpop song, even though Travis’ early work was Britpop, but there’s a difference. Shut the fuck up, nerd.
46. Longpigs “She Said”
Longpigs never really blew up like many of its Britpop peers, but they did manage one raggedly anthemic bile-spit of a song about self-loathing, like all great bands. Enjoy.
45. The Boo Radleys “Wake Up Boo!”
Songwriter Martin Carr says he spent a year writing the horn-driven melody and tight harmonies of “Wake Up Boo!” so it must suck that it’s only at #45. Still, it’s on the list, so, good job, Martin. It’s way better than any song we’ve ever written.
44. The Divine Comedy “Everybody Knows (But You)”
The Divine Comedy’s Neil Hannon has basically been cosplaying as Scott Walker since the early 1990s, but, fortunately, he can mostly pull it off. Scott would be proud of a lyric like “So now you’re my only friend/ I told the passers-by/ I made a small boy cry.”
https://open.spotify.com/track/7DfMPDm8qrKdEswaHZ1CWG?si=2852bc36220e443d
43. Bis “Kandy Pop”
And on the punkier side of Britpop, we have Bis with “Kandy Pop,” a song that makes you feel like you’re having a panic attack at a party full of loud weirdos, but, you know, in a fun way.
https://open.spotify.com/track/4A1pb9GnPwjQj3Y4I0Ztwp?si=dbbbd8d3a455427e
42. Suede “Animal Nitrate”
Let’s get one thing straight: Suede is going to show on this list more than once, and we’re not going to do any of this bullshit “London Suede” thing because some shithead lounge singer got a judge to agree with him. Anyway, this is a banger.
41. Kenickie “Punka”
Courtney Love called Kenickie “a big, raw-boned bunch of fucking sex,” and we have to admit it, she got it right this time. Call and response backing vocals, dense, fuzzy guitars, and Lauren Laverne’s thick-ass Sunderland accent? Yes, please.
https://open.spotify.com/track/50bTg9wkiLujadce2a9yQp?si=6ff269b9e4044432
40. The Bluetones “Slight Return”
What do you get when you mix Peter Buck’s famously jangling guitars with Belle and Sebastian’s winsome, yearning sensibilities? The Bluetones’ “Slight Return,” a seriously underrated piece of Britpop history.
39. Echobelly “Great Things”
In “Great Things,” Sonya Madan sings, “I want to do great things / I don’t want to compromise / I want to know what love is / I want to know everything.” If that doesn’t touch some part of your long-gone teenage soul, we don’t know what to tell you.
38. Gene “Olympian”
Gene has a bit of a reputation for being The Smiths wannabes, and it’s hard to make an argument against that. But you can listen to the melancholy, delicate “Olympian” without Morrissey guilt, so have at it.
37. James “Say Something”
The band James reportedly tried to hold back emotions on the Brian Eno-produced “Say Something,” which is pretty incredible considering we’re holding back tears right now. Remember this song next time you have a bad fight with your partner and need to feel even worse.
https://open.spotify.com/track/7MMbYOpnyQU4CzPqK7Tu2x?si=b72dbb32a24548ab
36. The Stone Roses “Tightrope”
After producing the best debut album ever made, the Stone Roses took years for a follow-up that made everyone mad, sad, and disappointed. Give “The Second Coming” another try sometime because the chant-along, Neil Young-like “Tightrope” practically redeems the whole thing.
35. The Auteurs “Starstruck”
Luke Haines of the Auteurs doesn’t like being lumped in with Britpop and talks a lot of shit about all the other bands, which is pretty much the most Britpop thing you can do, other than this guitar-driven, eerily pretty piece of musical spite.
34. Sleeper “Inbetweener”
Every single part of “Inbetweener” could be the hook of a lesser song, from the snotty verse by singer Louise Wener to the suddenly yearning, epic chorus to the putdowns of the outro. Wait, do we like it when hot singers insult us?
https://open.spotify.com/track/4GoqaAdOZqS1lyYODRwxlO?si=afa350c597944085
33. Suede “Trash”
Suede didn’t break out in the US like some of their peers, but Brett Anderson and the rest of the band had a lock on huge, self-pitying anthems years before anyone else in the scene. He’s called it a celebration of the band and their fans, and that’s just kind of nice in addition to being a fucking singalong.
32. Supergrass “Alright”
The music video for the absurdly cheery, piano-driven “Alright” made Supergrass look like such goofballs that Steven Spielberg offered to make them a Monkees-style TV show. They turned him down, but you get why he would.
https://open.spotify.com/track/5xC8uOesnn0udeXAYlAnoY?si=d3df6a92814b4e02
31. Pulp “Mis-Shapes”
“Mis-Shapes” is basically Pulp frontman Jarvis Cocker’s call to arms for all the weirdos out there, a rallying cry for all the misfits and oddballs. Naturally, it was adopted by the very lunkheads he was railing against, but that’s because it’s just too good of a song.
https://open.spotify.com/track/7IgHTB9VMPwziPobbBbgfq?si=62001008f54049f1
30. Elastica “Vaseline”
Pounding drums. Clanking, robotic guitars and an industrial hiss. Singer Justine Frischmann’s too-cool vocals talking about…glue? Then a ridiculously catchy “LA LA LA” kicks in, and you’ve got a perfect song in just one minute and twenty seconds.


I guess I’d put this on if I was an 8-year-old ring bearer, but my nephew Walter already has that job and that kid bites real hard. He had the nerve to tell Randie that I was smoking cigarettes in the her bathroom during Thanksgiving dinner last year, I wasn’t smoking. I was snorting pills.
Not sure what’s going on here, but this album is where Pat’s hair loss becomes really obvious. Well, mine’s falling out too and I think it’s probably because when I was 18 I tried dipping a joint in Nair to see what would happen. Anyway, I don’t want to bring any more attention to that. Especially with a weird print t-shirt and a pair of Sketchers.
This is the only album cover Mikey Welsh appears on and he looks SO uncomfortable. Almost like his mom dressed him for the shoot and he fought her on it the whole time. If a guy who previously played in a band called Left Nut can’t rock a fit with confidence, I have no chance at all.
It’s hard to tell what’s going on in this picture, but whatever it is, it makes me anxious. He looks like an off-duty cop that wants to beat the shit out of someone trying to shoplift a trinket from a store on the boardwalk. Hard pass.
It’s almost as if the band realized Shriner looked way too tough to play in Weezer, and honestly, anyone that signs up for one cardio kickboxing class is probably too tough to play in Weezer. This forced them to dress Scott up like an awkward 7th grader to compensate. Well, last time I went to a gym they called the cops on my for drinking the hand soap.
This one just screams “It’s laundry day and I’m out of quarters.” I get that drummers need to dress comfortably but that shirt is very see-through. Last time I wore a see-through shirt my parents saw my “Fuck Me Raw” tattoo on my back and wrote me out of the will.
Remember when Wile E. Coyote would be chasing the roadrunner and he’d set up an elaborate trap involving a bucket of tar, but end up getting the tar poured all over him, then just stand there looking defeated? That’s what Rivers looks like here. Not the vibe I’m going for.
This guy is way too handsome to play in a dorky band like Weezer and he knows it. He can probably wear a Wegman’s bag and make it look like high fashion. The military jacket with the strappy things on the shoulders is a little too Franz Ferdinand for my taste, though.
This one’s giving off serious “what did you think of my improv show” energy. Maybe my cousins from West Virginia would think I’m cool and artsy, but they’d most likely have a lot of (correct) assumptions about my sexuality.
Once again, it’s hard to tell what’s happening here, but his posture is oozing with pretty boy confidence so I’ll trust that the fit is a homerun. If only I had his lion’s mane of hair and not something akin to Bill Murray in Scrooged.
Randie LOVED to dress me up in girl’s clothes when I was little, so maybe I’ll beat her to the punch with this one and roll up looking cuter than the maid of honor. What could possibly go wrong?
This one’s giving me “we just had a night of great sex and I’m making us pancakes” energy and not quite wedding material. If only I could make the disheveled look as endearing as Matt Sharp does. I honestly can’t remember the last time I had sex. I know I cried a lot, and my wallet got stolen.
This strikes me as a young, hip college professor that definitely hooks up with his students. At some point I’d have to pull out my pocket watch and declare that I’m late for my Burroughs book club meeting.
Not gonna lie, showing up to a family function looking like a deep background actor in “Road Warrior” would be delightfully antisocial. Might need to employ a fog machine. Strong contender, but the wedding is in August and I sweat more than doctors think is humanly possible.
Maybe my wedding gift to Randie will be flashbacks of the time I learned how to play “Basket Case” and would terrorize her by playing it at full blast at all hours of the night. But I pawned my guitar a few years back to get my nipples pierced. Then I pawned my amp to pay for medications to cure the infection I ended up getting. Keep your nipple piercings clean people.
It would be easy to dismiss the only Belke-less SNFU album for that fact alone, and that’s probably what we’re doing. Still thrashing and tight ‘til Tuesday, the guitars are missing the brothers’ radioactive/mutant quality, much easier to notice when it’s gone. The late Mr. Chi Pig is belting out his cutesy horror lyrics nearly as well as ever and, coming out of a rough period of addiction and homelessness, that’s a more impressive miracle than getting a crowd to make really tiny fish sandwiches or healing some jerk with leprosy. Let’s hope he gets resurrected faster than this other guy.
Geography dictates that there are countless similarities between Vancouver and Seattle. Trees and mountains are everywhere, it won’t stop raining, and hard drugs could feasibly be elected Mayor. This is a very Vancouver album – green and grimy and soaking wet and Bif Naked is here – except for the song that takes place in Virginia with Lorena Bobbitt cutting her husband’s cheating doodle off. That’s cool, but it’s a 3,000-mile jump in location. Was no one paying attention to continuity?
There weren’t many SNFU shows without “Reality is a Ride on the Bus” or “Painful Reminder” in the setlist, and there are other gems on this album too – but when an emergency rehab stint a few days into recording sidelines your producer, you may lose some of the sonic intensity you were hoping would be your top cherry. The blazing Belke attack is somewhat neutered, and that snare drum is bordering on Snapcase. Chi is, as always, a suitably jovial/disturbing host.
Fresh off of pretty much inventing melodic hardcore, these freaks are already fucking with the formula. “What if Jerry Lee Lewis was Darby Crash?” seems to be the seed of “The Devil’s Voice,” while “I Forget” sounds as if AC/DC had their first show at the 9:30 Club. The only problem here is the blatant lie in the title – you had at least one grandparent who both cursed a blue streak and could easily snatch up a rainbow trout with their bare hands.
Leading off with an ad for their new venture as futon salesmen, SNFU are all business on this record. Sure, for this band a G.I. Joe coming to life and raging with murderous penis envy is all in a day’s work, and laying the groundwork for the entire future of skate punk is something you can just do whenever you feel like it. Seriously, go out to your garage right now and try it. Just watch out for that old box of action figures.
One of those “instant classics,” a term so overused it lost all meaning until it was brought back to life by the writing of this article. This instant classic hits the ground not only running but already chasing down prey – it’s speedy, it’s thrashy, it’s gnarly, it’s… catchy?! Sure is, and we can still hear the influence of this album today. Also noteworthy is that this band is from Edmonton, which until now we thought was a fictional city like Metropolis or Saskatoon.
The mid-’90s were a pivotal time for SNFU. Punk records were finally sounding like they were made in a real studio with real engineers, which was good because at the time they were selling an absurd amount of them while writing the catchiest shit ever. This was also a time when science was the closest they’d ever gotten to figuring out what the fuck is happening on any of the band’s album covers. Looking at them for an extended period is discouraged, you’d have a better chance of staying sane if you were taking care of a remote mountain hotel for the winter.
At the time of its release, many had forgotten about SNFU or assumed they had petered out the way bands do. Unexpectedly, after eight long silent years, they unleash this blast of speed, riffage, and absurdity that tears through town like a tornado. The playing is sphincter-tight and Chi Pig is in top form on both the page and the mic. When those burners are firing, they can go places that no one else can. If we have the guts, they’re happy to take us along for the ride.