Richard Ashcroft had a look. It wasn't just the cheekbones or the way he paced a stage like a caffeinated panther; it was the sheer, unadulterated conviction that The Verve were the most important band on the planet. For a brief window in the late nineties, they actually were. If you grew up in the UK or kept an eye on the charts in 1997, you couldn't escape "Bittersweet Symphony." It was everywhere. It soundtracked every sunset, every breakup, and every cinematic walk down a busy street. But the story of the band is way messier than that one massive hit suggests.
They were basically a psych-rock band that got trapped in a pop star’s body.
Most people think of them as a Britpop act. Honestly, that’s a bit of a disservice. While Oasis was singing about sunshine and cigarettes, The Verve—initially just "Verve" before a legal spat with the jazz label forced the "The"—were making sprawling, reverb-drenched soundscapes that owed more to Pink Floyd and Can than the Beatles. They were loud. They were chaotic. They broke up and got back together so many times it was hard to keep track.
The Chaos Before the Glory
Before Urban Hymns conquered the world, there was A Storm in Heaven. If you haven't heard it, go back. It’s a hazy, beautiful mess of a record. Nick McCabe is the secret weapon here. While Ashcroft was the face, McCabe was the texture. He didn't play guitar like a normal human; he created these swirling clouds of sound that felt like they were coming from another dimension.
They weren't exactly "radio friendly" back then.
Success was slow. They toured the States on Lollapalooza in '94 and basically collapsed under the weight of their own excesses. Ashcroft ended up in the hospital with dehydration. Pete Salisbury, Simon Jones, and the rest were just trying to hold the wheels on. It’s a miracle they survived long enough to record A Northern Soul. That album is darker, heavier, and features "History," a song so devastating it basically predicted the band’s first proper breakup.
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When they split in 1995, it felt final. Ashcroft told the press that he’d "given his life to the band" and had nothing left. But, as we know with The Verve, nothing is ever truly over.
The Bittersweet Reality of Urban Hymns
By 1997, Ashcroft had written a batch of songs that were too good to ignore. He realized he needed McCabe back to make them work. The result was Urban Hymns. It sold over 10 million copies. It won Brit Awards. It made them superstars.
But then there was the legal nightmare.
You know the story: "Bittersweet Symphony" sampled a five-second orchestral clip from a Rolling Stones cover by the Andrew Oldham Orchestra. Even though The Verve had cleared the sample, Allen Klein (the notorious business manager) sued, claiming they used too much. In a move that still feels incredibly harsh, the band lost 100% of the royalties. For over two decades, Richard Ashcroft didn't see a dime from his biggest hit. Mick Jagger and Keith Richards were credited as the writers.
It wasn't until 2019 that Jagger and Richards finally signed over their rights to the song. Decades of lost revenue, just like that. "A legal scam," Ashcroft called it. He wasn't wrong.
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Why They Keep Falling Apart
Why couldn't they just stay together and enjoy the ride? It's the classic rock and roll trope: creative tension. Ashcroft and McCabe are like oil and water. One wants to write massive anthems for stadiums; the other wants to get lost in a ten-minute feedback loop.
- Urban Hymns was the peak, but the tour was a disaster.
- McCabe quit again in 1998.
- The band officially folded in 1999.
Then, out of nowhere in 2007, they returned. They released Forth, which actually had some great moments like "Love is Noise." It topped the UK charts. They headlined Glastonbury. And then? They broke up again in 2009. Silence ever since.
People ask if they'll come back for the "nostalgia circuit." With Oasis reuniting in 2025, the pressure is on. But The Verve feels different. There’s a jagged edge to their history that makes a reunion feel less like a payday and more like a volatile chemistry experiment. Ashcroft has a successful solo career, and McCabe has his own experimental projects. They don't need each other, which is exactly why the music they made together was so combustible.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Sound
The biggest misconception is that they are a "one-hit wonder" band in the US. Sure, "Bittersweet Symphony" is the titan, but "The Lucky Ones" and "Sonnet" are masterclasses in songwriting. They captured a specific mood of the late 90s—a sort of spiritual yearning mixed with the grime of everyday life in Northern England.
They weren't "lad rock."
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There was a vulnerability in Ashcroft’s lyrics that separated them from the bravado of their peers. When he sings "I'm a million different people from one day to the next" in "Bittersweet Symphony," he isn't just being poetic. He’s talking about the fragmentation of identity in a world that demands you be just one thing.
Essential Tracks You Need to Revisit
- "Slide Away": The debut single. Pure energy.
- "This Is Music": A reminder that they could absolutely rip your head off with a riff.
- "The Drugs Don't Work": Written before his father passed away, but forever associated with that grief. It’s one of the few songs that can actually stop a room.
- "Blue": From the early days. It sounds like drowning in velvet.
The production on their records, especially by Owen Morris and later John Leckie, was dense. It wasn't the clean, sterile sound of modern digital recordings. It was tape-saturated and warm. You can hear the room. You can hear the tension.
The Legacy of The Verve in 2026
Looking back from today's perspective, The Verve represents the last gasp of the "monoculture." They were a band that everyone knew. In an era of fragmented streaming and niche genres, it’s hard to imagine a guitar band having that kind of universal impact again.
They influenced everyone from Coldplay to The Temper Trap, though rarely did those bands capture the same sense of danger. The Verve felt like they could implode at any second—and usually, they did.
Their story is a warning about the music industry's predatory nature and a testament to the power of artistic stubbornness. They never quite fit the Britpop mold because they were too weird, too spaced out, and too honest.
Actionable Insights for Music Fans
If you're looking to dive deeper into the world of The Verve or understand why their sound is still relevant, here is how to actually engage with their catalog:
- Listen to 'A Storm in Heaven' on headphones. To understand Nick McCabe's genius, you need to hear the layers. It’s a 3D experience that doesn't work on a phone speaker.
- Watch their 1998 Glastonbury headline set. It captures a band at the absolute height of their powers, right before the wheels fell off. You can see the friction between the members on stage.
- Compare the Andrew Oldham Orchestra version of "The Last Time" to "Bittersweet Symphony." You’ll see just how much the band added—it wasn't just a "rip-off"; it was a total reimagining that created an entirely new emotional resonance.
- Check out Richard Ashcroft's solo debut 'Alone with Everybody'. It carries much of the Urban Hymns DNA but shows what happens when he has total control.
The Verve wasn't just a band; they were a mood. They were the sound of the comedown after the party, the long walk home, and the realization that life is, well, bittersweet. They didn't leave behind a massive discography, but what they did leave behind is nearly perfect. Stop thinking of them as a 90s relic and start listening to them as the experimental pioneers they actually were.