The Verve’s ascent is one of the most storied and volatile chapters in British music history. They began as psychedelic outsiders, weaving expansive, 'shoegaze' soundscapes that felt more like celestial explorations than traditional rock songs. Yet, through a turbulent cycle of creative friction, public breakups, and improbable reunions, they transformed into a global powerhouse, briefly holding the title of the world's biggest band. Their legacy is defined by this constant tension between chaos and transcendence, a journey that yielded a collection of the most soul-stirring anthems of the 1990s. Spanning from the raw energy of 'A Storm in Heaven' to the polished brilliance of 'Urban Hymns', here are my ten personal favourites.
The title track of the band’s second album is a haunting, gritty masterpiece that serves as the emotional heartbeat of the record. It captures the isolation and restlessness of Northern life, famously mirrored in the mutual respect between Richard Ashcroft and Noel Gallagher. While Ashcroft penned this track, Gallagher famously returned the sentiment by dedicating the Oasis song 'Cast No Shadow' to him, capturing Ashcroft’s thin, almost ghostly presence during this era. The lyrics "He's coming from that same old road / You know the one your folks don't know" serve as a bridge between two of the most iconic songwriters of the 1990s.
Musically, 'A Northern Soul' is the bridge between the band’s experimental past and their anthemic future. It is a sprawling, psychedelic journey that balances the chaos of "fighting on the street below" with a "river of sound," perfectly encapsulating the band's transition from shoegaze textures to more structured, soul-baring songwriting. The production is dense and swirling, reflecting the legendary, drug-fueled recording sessions at Loco Studios where the band pushed themselves to the brink of collapse to capture this specific lightning in a bottle.
Lyrically, the song is one of Ashcroft’s most raw and vulnerable moments. It feels semi-autobiographical, moving from the stark imagery of being "born in a rented room" to the desperate, chemical search for a cure for his "ills." When he cries out that he is "too busy staying alive," it sounds like a genuine plea for survival amidst the turbulence of the band’s rising fame and internal friction. It is a definitive anthem for the disaffected, proving that even in the "rented rooms" of Wigan, something grand and universal was being born.
Released in June 1995 as the second single from 'A Northern Soul', 'On Your Own' is a masterclass in melancholy. It represents a significant departure from the band’s earlier, more abstract jams, showcasing a newfound focus on melody and lyrical vulnerability. Musically, the track leans into the influence of The Smiths, utilising delicate major seventh chords to create a shimmering, bittersweet atmosphere. This connection is made even more explicit through the lyrics; the refrain "You come in on your own / and you leave on your own" serves as a direct, albeit bleaker, nod to the iconic line from 'How Soon Is Now?'.
The song is a stark exploration of existential loneliness. Ashcroft’s delivery is fragile yet defiant as he navigates the "obscene" nature of life and the desperate search for "someone who can fill the hole." It captures that specific mid-90s sense of isolation, the feeling of being surrounded by "friends on the road" and lovers, yet remaining fundamentally alone in one's own skin. The repetitive, haunting coda of "Lies / I've got to get rid of this hole inside" elevates the track from a simple ballad to a visceral cry for help.
'On Your Own' remains a fan favourite because it strips away the psychedelic bravado of the band's earlier work to reveal the raw human emotion underneath. It proved that The Verve didn't need a wall of feedback to be powerful; sometimes, a simple acoustic guitar and a devastatingly honest lyric were more than enough to stop listeners in their tracks.
It would also set the foundations for what would come later on 'Urban Hymns'.
While 'Urban Hymns' is largely remembered for its sweeping strings and acoustic vulnerability, 'The Rolling People' stands as a glorious anomaly, a six-minute thunderbolt that harks back to the band’s space-rock roots. It is a sonic collage that wears its influences proudly on its sleeve. The track brilliantly borrows the driving rhythmic DNA of 'The Four Horsemen' (1972) by Aphrodite's Child and the gritty groove of 'I Got a Thing, You Got a Thing, Everybody's Got a Thing' (1970) by Funkadelic. There are even echoes of the bluesy swagger found in Led Zeppelin’s 'Ramble On' and the apocalyptic tension of the Rolling Stones’ 'Gimme Shelter'.
However, what truly elevates the track is the return of Nick McCabe. Having famously sat out the early 'Urban Hymns' sessions, his late arrival to the studio breathed fire back into the record. His guitar work here is nothing short of predatory; he uses his signature palette of delays and reverbs (often sculpted through his trusty Alesis Quadraverb) not to create "shimmer," but to create a wall of industrial-strength psychedelia. Whether he’s unleashing jagged, wah-drenched riffs or spiralling into the feedback-heavy outro, McCabe’s presence turns what could have been a standard rock song into a sprawling, multi-layered epic.
Lyrically, Richard Ashcroft delivers the lines with a defiant snarl, moving away from the "bittersweet" introspection of the album’s singles and toward a more tribal, communal energy. It feels like a mission statement for the band and their fans—the "rolling people" who had stayed with them through the breakups and the chaos. It remains a high-water mark of their live sets, a reminder that at their core, The Verve were always a "river of sound" capable of sweeping everything else away.
Serving as the band’s debut single and the opening statement of their first album, 'A Storm in Heaven', 'Blue' remains one of the most vibrant examples of The Verve’s early "space-rock" identity. While many bands of the era were grounded in traditional indie-pop, 'Blue' was a declaration of widescreen ambition. It is built on a foundation of shimmering, liquid guitar lines from Nick McCabe, creating a sense of weightlessness that feels as though the music is physically expanding.
The song plays out like a fever dream committed to tape. With surreal imagery like being "conceived in a chrome dream" or a "crease in the shirt that this world wears," Richard Ashcroft invites the listener into a private, psychedelic universe. The "Blue" of the title is often interpreted as a personification of various forms of escapism, a character or a substance that offers a path out of "obscurity." Lines like "We could steal a car and listen to the stars" capture a youthful, reckless romanticism that became a hallmark of their early career.
Despite its ethereal sound, 'Blue' possesses a frantic, darker undercurrent, particularly in the desperate warning: "don't let them push you, don't let them destroy you." It reflects a band already wary of the outside world, clutching onto their internal chemistry with "brainblown eyes." As a first single, it was a masterclass in dynamics, shifting from a hypnotic groove into an explosive, soaring chorus that proved The Verve possessed an innate gift for melody even at their most experimental.
A standout moment from the monumental 'Urban Hymns', 'Space & Time' is an expansive ballad that perfectly captures the band’s mastery of the "epic." It is a song that feels inherently cinematic, built around a steady, driving beat and a vocal performance from Richard Ashcroft that balances weary resignation with a desperate need for connection. By this stage in their career, the sprawling, psychedelic jams of their youth had been distilled into potent, emotionally resonant songwriting capable of filling stadiums.
The track explores the heavy toll of human existence and the fragility of relationships. With the central observation, "There ain't no space and time / To keep our love alive," Ashcroft touches on the paradox of the modern experience, the feeling of being constantly rushed while searching for a moment of stillness to preserve what matters most. It is a song about the search for sanctuary, with the vulnerable plea, "I just can't make it alone," serving as the emotional anchor of the track.
Nick McCabe’s contribution here is subtle yet essential. Eschewing the aggressive feedback of their earlier work, he instead weaves intricate, melodic layers that provide the song with its literal sense of "space." His guitar work acts as a shimmering atmosphere that wraps around the acoustic core, proving that his chemistry with Ashcroft remained the band's greatest asset even as they moved toward a more polished, universal sound. 'Space & Time' remains a definitive example of The Verve’s ability to turn personal introspection into a grand, communal experience, ending with the hypnotic, repeated reminder: "We have existence and, it's all we share."
Released as the lead single for their second album, 'This Is Music' is perhaps the most definitive statement of intent in the band’s entire history. Its significance was later cemented when the band chose 'This Is Music' as the title for their career-spanning best-of collection, 'This Is Music: The Singles 92–98'. It is a high-octane, swaggering anthem that saw the band trading their earlier shoegaze haze for a sharp, aggressive, and undeniable rock-and-roll presence.
Fittingly, it was the very first song the band played during their legendary homecoming performance at Haigh Hall in 1998, setting a ferocious tone for what many consider their greatest live moment.
The opening verse remains one of the band’s most profound and iconic statements: "I stand accused just like you / For being born without a silver spoon / Stood at the top of a hill / Over my town I was found." It is a powerful acknowledgement of their working-class roots in Wigan, transforming a sense of social displacement into a badge of pride. Ashcroft’s lyrics capture a moment of spiritual awakening, moving away from the "shelf" and into the light, famously declaring that while "Jesus never saved me," music provided the salvation he needed.
The instrumentation on this track is nothing short of ferocious. Nick McCabe’s guitar work is legendary here; rather than the wash of reverb found on their debut, he provides a jagged, muscular riff that feels like it’s vibrating with kinetic energy. Combined with Simon Jones’ driving bassline and Peter Salisbury’s heavy, unrelenting drums, the song creates a "wall of sound" that is both disciplined and chaotic. It’s a track that demands to be heard at maximum volume, perfectly illustrating Ashcroft's closing sentiment: "Well music is my life / And loved by me."
If 'Urban Hymns' was the album that defined the late nineties, 'The Drugs Don't Work' was its emotional epicentre. Released in September 1997, the song famously reached number one just one day after the funeral of Princess Diana. In a week of unprecedented national mourning, the song’s profound sense of grief and resignation resonated with a public searching for a way to process loss, cementing it as one of the most culturally significant singles in British history.
Beyond its chart success, the track can be cited as the "final curtain call" for Britpop. By 1997, the genre’s initial optimism had given way to exhaustion and excess; 'The Drugs Don't Work' acted as a sombre, acoustic antidote to the loud, overblown production of Oasis’s 'Be Here Now'. While the rest of the scene was doubling down on volume, The Verve pivoted toward a devastatingly simple vulnerability. The opening lines, "All this talk of getting old / It's getting me down, my love / Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown", stripped away the swagger to reveal a raw, human fragility that was impossible to ignore
Though often interpreted through the lens of addiction, the song was primarily inspired by Richard Ashcroft’s experience watching his father struggle with illness. The central refrain, "Now the drugs don't work / They just make you worse," carries a weight that transcends substance use, touching on the helplessness of watching a loved one fade away. Backed by Nick McCabe’s subtle, weeping guitar textures and a mournful string arrangement, it remains a haunting masterpiece. It is the sound of a band finally reaching the summit, only to realise how cold the view can be.
Coming in at number three is 'Slide Away', the second single from their debut album and a song that perfectly captures the ethereal, sprawling magic of the band’s early years. While 'The Drugs Don't Work' found power in its simplicity, 'Slide Away' finds its strength in its atmosphere. It is a soaring piece of psychedelic rock that showcases the band at their most fluid and intuitive, before the pressures of global superstardom began to reshape their sound.
The track is a masterclass in texture, driven by Nick McCabe’s cascading, reverb-drenched guitar work that seems to mimic the very night sky Richard Ashcroft sings about.
The lyrics invite a sense of reckless abandonment, with the iconic invitation: "I was thinking maybe we could go outside / Let the night sky cool your foolish pride." It’s a song about the fleeting nature of youth and the "highs" that define it, urging the listener to "let go and slide away" from the constraints of reality.
What makes 'Slide Away' so enduring is its sense of momentum. It doesn’t just play; it travels. From the hypnotic opening to the explosive, feedback-heavy climax where Ashcroft repeatedly chants "burn away," the song feels like a physical journey. It remains a definitive example of why The Verve were so much more than just a Britpop band; they were architects of sound, capable of creating entire worlds within a five-minute track. For many long-term fans, this remains the purest distillation of the band's original vision.
All rise for the national anthem!
Released in 1997, 'Bittersweet Symphony' is one of those rare tracks that manages to capture the complexities of the human condition in just a few minutes of music. It is an unbelievable song that tackles hard-hitting truths, blending orchestral grandeur with alternative rock to create an instant classic that transcends genres. Behind the hypnotic strings, the pounding rhythm, and Richard Ashcroft’s haunting vocals lies a deeper story, a bittersweet one, fittingly enough, that echoes themes of struggle, resilience, and the relentless march of life.
At its core, the song explores the tension between hope and despair. The opening lyric, "‘Cause it’s a bitter-sweet symphony, this life," immediately sets the tone, acknowledging the universal experience of joy and sorrow coexisting. In the verses, Ashcroft laments the feeling of being trapped in a predetermined system, famously singing that "you're a slave to money, then you die."
This wasn't the first time the band had commented on these struggles; it was a theme they explored deeply on 'A Northern Soul' through songs like 'This Is Music' and 'On Your Own'. However, 'Bittersweet Symphony' and the album it anchors, 'Urban Hymns', elevated these observations to a whole new level.
The production, led by Martin "Youth" Glover, features that iconic string sample from Andrew Oldham's orchestral version of The Rolling Stones’ 'The Last Time'. These sweeping violins create a lush, melancholic soundscape that contrasts beautifully with the rock instrumentation. Ironically, this signature sound led to one of the most infamous legal battles in music history. Despite obtaining permission for the sample, the band was sued by Allen Klein, resulting in all royalties and credits being handed over to Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. It wasn't until 2019 that Jagger and Richards gracefully returned the rights to Ashcroft, finally acknowledging the song as his creation.
'Bittersweet Symphony' was the catalyst for the fading Britpop movement’s transition into something more profound. Unlike the celebratory, upbeat nature of early songs by Blur or Oasis, this track carried an existential weight. It turned The Verve into household names; they were no longer the indie cult band from Wigan, but arguably the biggest and most important band in Britain.
Taking the top spot is 'Lucky Man', the third single from 'Urban Hymns' and perhaps the most spiritually centred song in the band's discography. While much of The Verve’s work deals with the struggle to find one’s place in a chaotic world, 'Lucky Man' is the moment of arrival. It is a song of profound gratitude and self-acceptance, trading the existential dread of their earlier work for a sense of hard-won peace.
In an interview with BBC Radio 2, Richard Ashcroft revealed that the song was deeply inspired by his relationship with his wife, Kate Radley. He described it as capturing that shift in a relationship when you move beyond the initial "peacock dance" and begin to reveal your true, raw nature to one another. This intimacy is reflected in the lyrics: "Happiness, something in my own place / I'm stood here naked, I smile, and I feel no disgrace." It is a rare, vulnerable moment of a songwriter finding contentment within himself and his personal life, standing firm with "fire in my hands."
Musically, the song is a triumph of arrangement. It features a sweeping, majestic melody that feels both triumphant and grounded. The refrain, "How many corners do I have to turn? / How many times do I have to learn / All the love I have is in my mind?", serves as a reminder that fulfilment is often an internal journey rather than an external destination. The song builds into a soaring, rhythmic celebration, with the band locked into a groove that feels like a collective exhale.
'Lucky Man' earns the number one spot because it represents the ultimate resolution of The Verve’s journey. After the breakups, the legal battles, and the "bittersweet" realities of fame, this song stands as a testament to the power of love and the resilience of the human spirit. It is the perfect moment on a near- perfect album, a reminder that despite the "change in my liberty," having a love that "never dies" makes you the luckiest man in the world.
The Verve’s discography is a rare beast, a collection of music that feels both intimately personal and cosmically vast. Narrowing a legacy this significant down to just ten songs is an almost impossible task, and it inevitably means leaving behind monumental tracks like the heartbreaking 'History' or the timeless beauty of 'Sonnet'.
Ultimately, these songs represent the "twists and turns" of a band that was always too honest to stay together and too talented to stay apart. This talent was a collective alchemy; while Richard Ashcroft embarked on a successful solo career, for many of us, it doesn't come close to the heights of The Verve. Ashcroft often seems to forget that the band’s greatness wasn't just his doing; it was the combination of all members. Without Simon Jones’ bass, Peter Salisbury’s drums, and Nick McCabe’s "space-commander" guitar work, the music loses its celestial edge.
This is most evident in Ashcroft's solo sets today, which remain full of Verve songs that, while great, often feel stripped of the shimmering atmosphere only the full band could provide. The Verve was always greater than the sum of its parts, a "river of sound" that remains as vital today as it was thirty years ago.