In which we consider the tabloids’ strange relationship with indie rock, Kenickie’s brush with the Daily Star, Oasis as national soap opera, the NME’s war on alleged prog, and whether making a song very long actually makes it progressive rock.

In which we consider Stereolab’s zero-out-of-ten kicking, the NME’s increasingly exhausted rockism, Blink-182’s inescapable rise and the death of selling out

In which we consider Creation Records’ increasingly desperate 1999 rescue plan, debut the Alan McGee Hubris Index, mourn Kula Shaker and Three Colours Red, ask why British bands could no longer crack America, and wonder why Melody Maker is considerably more invested in the Manic Street Preachers conquering the US than the band themselves.

Back from our summer hiatus, in which we consider the Spice Girls’ surprisingly R&B-heavy debut, R.E.M.’s $80 million record deal and the beginning of their commercial decline, and whether New Adventures in Hi-Fi really contained five hit singles.

In which Oasis attempt to sue the very idea of therapy, The Charlatans begin the long road from tragedy to Tellin' Stories, and Imperial Teen prove that some of 1996's best records simply disappeared in plain sight.

In which we make the case for Leatherface's magnificent Mush, PM Dawn quietly invent the future of hip hop, and Set Adrift on Memory Bliss turns out to have been decades ahead of its time.

In which Billy Bragg broadens Sexuality, De La Soul dismantle the Daisy Age, and Dire Straits become the week's most unexpected cultural punching bag.

In which we assess the competing narratives around Kurt Cobain's Rome overdose, uncover the NME and Melody Maker's very different relationships with Nirvana. Before losing ourselves in the smoke, strobes and revolutionary chaos of Scotland's legendary Pure club night, whilst mourning the loss of DJ and co-founder JD Twitch

In which we revisit Aphex Twin’s ambient masterpiece, examine Smashing Pumpkins’ brush with Top of the Pops censorship, marvel at Eddie Vedder’s dressing-room theatrics, uncover the strangest Britpop trivia imaginable, and wonder whether anyone really wanted a Beatles reunion without the hits.

In which Fatboy Slim attempts to convert indie kids to big beat, we rank the week’s albums by their 1997-ness, discover the limits of Seahorses discourse, celebrate The Wannadies, encounter Penthouse’s glorious filth, and crown Sukia’s porn-noir lounge-pop as the most 1997 record of them all