Liam From Oasis Loves Shopping, Moisturiser And Meeting Fans - It's Noel Who's The Grumpy One

I was working with Oasis as a producer and ideas man on their sixth album. Liam and Noel were working separately on their own songs and I was assigned to Liam, the charismatic frontman.

It was one lunchtime, very early on in our relationship, that he told me, out of the blue: 'Me and our kid never speak. Never.'

'So how do you get things done?' I asked. He told me the management sorted out all the arrangements.

'In fact, I've only been round our kid's gaff once,' he said. 'I hardly know him. We're so different.'

I looked around the table to gauge the sentiment. Nobody was saying a thing.

Having worked before with brothers in a band, I knew that this must be rubbish. I simply shrugged, said 'OK' and left it at that.

Right answer. A friend of the Gallaghers told me later that Noel and Liam often say this to team members, just to see if they will criticise the absent brother behind his back. It's a test.

'Fall for it and the chances are you'll be frozen out,' I was told.

My music career began when I signed a music publishing deal aged 14. At 19, I released my debut album on Virgin and since then I have worked with many successful bands on both sides of the Atlantic in a variety of roles, from playing keyboards and percussion to songwriting and production.

In 2002, after All Saints broke up, Nicole and Natalie Appleton made an album called Everything's Eventual which featured a cover of my song M.W.A.

When they performed it for an MTV Special being shot at the Brixton Academy, they invited me along. Nicole was Liam's partner and the mother of his young son Gene.

'Liam would like to meet you after the show,' she told me.

I knew all about Oasis, of course. Who didn't? They were one of the most successful and critically acclaimed British rock bands for years, but the Gallagher brothers - Liam and his older sibling Noel - who led them trailed havoc and chaos in their wake.

They were fiercely loyal to each other but also seemed to be constantly feuding. Woe betide anyone who fell foul of them.

They were rarely out of the headlines because of their wild antics.

However, after the brilliant start to their career, the last couple of albums had faltered.

I knew their next was the final one of the band's five-album deal with Sony. It was a make-or-break album. If it tanked, so would their ability to negotiate a decent position for themselves for the next decade of their career.

In the industry, a whispering campaign was in full swing. Oasis had 'lost their edge'. They were 'too rich' to make great rock records. The future of the band was on a knife-edge.

So it was with some trepidation that I rapped on the Appletons' dressing-room door on the evening of their MTV show.

Heidi from SugaBabes opened the door and a bank of cigarette smoke rolled out into the corridor.

Through the fug I could just about make out a room full of people. Liam was in the far corner holding court with a couple of acolytes.

Taller than I thought he would be, he wore a dapper navy pea coat, cords and, of course, the trademark tinted round glasses; very Lennonesque. Both he and Noel were Beatles fanatics. Nic introduced me.

'Hi Pete, man. That's a top tune, that M.W.A. Mad,' he enthused. 'Mega. Top,' he added.

From the off, we got on famously and we spent most of the evening talking shop. Liam sang me parts of his new songs. I suggested some production ideas.

He asked if I would go to the studio and try some of them out. They were looking for someone to collaborate with, he said.

Oasis were a famously tight unit so I wondered aloud how that would work.

'We put on white coats, like scientists,' grinned Liam. 'Walk about with clipboards writing down all the settings you use. Take all your ideas and move on.'

I liked his brazenness. As a jobbing producer/songwriter, people pay me to assist them in creating their artistic vision. If Liam or anyone else wanted to write down my methods, that was fine by me - so long as they were paying. A date was set.

Oasis had a long-term lease on Wheeler End, a wonderful facility in Buckinghamshire. It is a magnificent coach house, set in eight acres with accommodation for band and crew, with a studio attached.

My plan was to rehearse a version of The Beatles' Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except Me And My Monkey. This would give everyone - apart from Noel, who wasn't there - the opportunity to see if we could work together.

On arrival in the studio, I plonked myself down in the high-backed, faux leather swivel chair in front of the mixing desk.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Jan 'Stan' Kybert, the engineer. 'I wouldn't let Noel ever catch you sitting in that chair,' he warned. 'He'll fire you.'

'Don't kid a kidder,' I joked, but Stan wasn't laughing. 'Liam, am I right or am I right?' he said.

Both Liam and Oasis's guitarist Colin 'Gem' Archer nodded. I assumed they were winding me up.

We had fun messing about with the Beatles number and the following week Liam invited my girlfriend Bella and me to see him perform with Noel at a charity concert at the Royal Albert Hall.

The gig went well until Richard Ashcroft, playing an acoustic version of The Drugs Don't Work, forgot the words.

Liam sauntered on to the stage to riotous applause and sang the song faultlessly. 'That was great,' said Bella, as he walked off the stage, smiling.

'Thanks, love,' he said. 'I had to do it last year too, 'cos he forgot the f****** words then as well.'

He introduced me to Noel, smartly dressed in a blue suit and button-down plaid shirt. We chatted for about 20 geeky minutes about his extensive collection of microphones and vintage studio equipment.

I got the feeling he was weighing me up. Apparently this was the first time he had considered a collaborative recommendation from Liam.

I passed the test. Ignition, Oasis's management, called a couple of days later and outlined what was required of me.

I was to help Liam record his songs at Wheeler End, while Noel would work separately in London. I was to assist Liam's development as a songwriter - previously Noel had been the creative heart of the band - and generally, as Liam put it: 'Sprinkle some of that mad s*** that you do on our stuff.'

It was made clear that once the band was ready, I would hand over the reins to another production outfit that would conjure up the final product from the demos that Noel and I had produced.

A week later, on a sunny spring day in 2003, I met Liam and Gem at Paddington Station.

I was surprised that Liam was happy to travel on public transport, with all the other passengers gawping at him.

Just because he was the singer in Oasis, he explained, didn't mean he was going to take limos everywhere 'like a f****** ponce'. He liked going about his life like any normal person, 'because that's what I am'.

'It's weird,' he said, 'but when I'm hung over I like talking to people. Signing autographs, having me picture taken with fans is mega - especially when I've had a mad one the night before.'

However, while he was more than happy to indulge fans, he loathed the paparazzi.

'It's one thing talking to people but another when some git with a telephoto lens comes and sticks it in my son's face, when I'm pushing his pram,' he said.

'I mean, the guy has a telephoto f****** lens. Why can't he f*** off down the street and take a picture from there?' I couldn't fault his logic.

Once at Wheeler End, we got down to work straight away. Liam played about a dozen of his songs and we picked a shortlist to start working on.

Over the next few months we tried out a lot of sonic ideas: playing riffs over Liam's songs, learning to play them backwards, reversing the tape. The guys liked these new ways of doing things.

The first time we recorded Liam's vocals, I was alarmed. It sounded as though someone was mutilating a bull. Gem noted my concern.

'Don't worry,' he said. 'It's always like this for the first 20 minutes and then he'll get it.'

Sure enough, after 20 minutes we heard the transformation. It was as if someone had thrown a switch.

In terms of direction, Liam responded to four simple commands: higher/ lower, louder/quieter. Because he inhabits the songs, he doesn't require loads of technical direction. He would nail it in a couple of takes.

One afternoon Liam described the difference between him and Noel. He picked up a pack of cards. 'Imagine our kid and me are playing cards, poker, OK? This is me . . . waaayhaaay!' Assuming an expression of doe-eyed openness, he spread his cards and turned them towards me.

'But our kid, right, he does this.' Liam did a hilarious impression of a suspicious, narrow-eyed Noel clasping his cards close to his chest.

'That's him, he doesn't trust anyone, the miserable b*****. That's how we're different. I love everyone but our kid ... '

I cut him off, not wanting to be drawn into the sibling rivalry that seemed to lie at the heart of their relationship. 'The tension of opposites,' I said. 'If you were both the same, the band wouldn't work.'

'Exactly,' Liam replied. Then, as an afterthought: 'But he's still a funny one, our kid.'

Once in a while we would take the morning off and go into the nearest town, Marlow. Liam loves to shop.

On one occasion, two white-haired old ladies tottered up to Liam. 'Hello, dear, which one are you then?' asked one, sweetly. 'The one that effs and blinds and smashes things up, or the nice one?'

This tickled Liam. 'I'm the nice one, love.'

'Would you mind signing this for my grandson?' she asked, proffering a copy of the local newspaper.

Liam was charm personified. He laughed, he joked, he signed everything, chatting happily all the while, about the grandson, the weather, the shocking shortcomings of various local trading establishments.

'Hang on a minute, love,' he said. 'You've got a camera there. Hey, Pete, take a photo of us, will you?'

I got the shot of the wild man of rock, beaming broadly, arms around two adoring new fans.

When they finally ambled off - Ooh, isn't he lovely?' - I looked at Liam, grinning.

'What?' he said. 'I couldn't let them go just signing a scrappy newspaper, could I? I mean anyone could've autographed that, any local scally.'

Then there was the chair incident that happened when Noel came to see how we were getting on. He had promised to come before but hadn't shown up and I could see Liam, who was keen to show his brother how well he was doing, was irritated.

However, another date was set and on the allotted morning I was sitting in the producer's chair working the mixing desk. Liam, Gem and Stan were all in the studio.

Noel and Oasis manager Marcus Russell were due at 11am and there was tension in the air. How was it that Liam, 'our kid', was completing his songs and recording them to a standard that surpassed previous Wheeler End recordings? Noel had to find out.

At 11.20am we heard car wheels crunching over the drive. Noel and Marcus walked in. Noel smiled and said: 'Just carry on. Let's hear what you're up to.'

Then all conversation stopped and the temperature of the room dropped. I looked up. All eyes were on me. There was nowhere for Noel to sit - because I was on his special chair.

I'd forgotten Stan's dire warning. Marcus was glaring at me. Gem looked away. Stan suddenly found something deeply interesting on the computer screen.

When the ground failed to open up and swallow me, I slowly got up and left the studio to go to the bathroom. Outside the studio I found a three-legged milking stool and carried it inside.

Sure enough, Noel was sitting in the 'special chair', nodding his head in time with the music.

I gingerly placed the stool next to him and crumpled my 6ft 3in frame on to it. I was now sitting way below everyone's sightline. Each time a new song was ready for Noel to hear, I reached my arms above my head up to the desk to work the controls. Noel didn't bat an eyelid.

After we finished listening to the new songs, Marcus asked me some pertinent questions, which I answered, still hunched up on this tiny stool like a naughty schoolboy. Finally, Marcus stood and said: 'Well done, boys.'

I stood and Noel shook my hand and said 'Mega,' and left. 'Mega' is Noel-speak for 'Excellent work, chaps, I'm very pleased.' After that Liam's confidence seemed to rocket.

The next time Noel came, I made sure I left the chair empty. 'Aren't you going to sit down?' Noel asked, pointing to 'his' chair.

'No, I'm fine.' 'Really,' he said. 'It's cool.' He didn't fire me.

Indeed, on another occasion, when Noel asked what I thought of the songs we had recorded so far, I told him the truth. I told him that I didn't hear any singles, I didn't hear any of those era-defining anthems that the band were known for.

He glared at me. Here comes an argument, I thought.

'You're the only c*** around here that tells me the truth,' he finally said to me, while looking pointedly at Liam.

'Write some more songs,' I said. 'Yeah,' said Noel with resignation.

In September we went to Wheeler End to finish Liam's songs. This would be the last recording session.

The mood had changed, as had the weather. After a brilliant summer, it now rained continuously.

The first piece of information I was given upon arriving at Wheeler End was that Whitey (drummer Alan White) was gone.

Noel was there while we worked. The more he was around, the more my role diminished. It was a smooth takeover leaving everyone happy. 'We had a great time this summer, didn't we?' said Liam one day on the phone.

We certainly did. I'd spent nine months with the band and Liam had revealed himself to be a gentleman. Considerate, funny and amenable at all times. A joy to be with.

It would be another 18 months before the track list for what was to become Don't Believe The Truth was finalised. There were many more recording sessions in New York and Los Angeles.

This was Oasis's most difficult album to make, a rite-of-passage album marking the transition from youth to maturity as a band.

It was released in May 2005 to great critical acclaim and went on to sell around six million copies worldwide. I hope their new album, Dig Out Your Soul, does even better.

• Dig Out Your Soul will be released by Big Brother on October 6.

She flashed her knickers - and he fled

Liam and I were in Marlow one day when we walked past a pretty Anglo-African girl. She ran after Liam and asked for his autograph, which he gave her.

A few minutes later we bumped into her again. 'Oh, hi,' she said, affecting surprise.

Every few minutes after that we'd see her scurrying up the opposite side of the street, only to reappear in front of us.

Then, cornering us, she did a Marilyn Monroe. It was a windy day and she was wearing a skirt that she artfully allowed to billow up, exposing a microscopic G-string and a fine pair of legs. She stood there gazing longingly at Liam.

'Time to split,' he said, and we made good our escape.

It was the general consensus that Nic had calmed Liam down and I never saw him so much as look at another woman. He and Nic seemed a perfect match.

During a break in the Oasis recording sessions, I produced an Appletons track at a London studio. Liam turned up with his children. He seemed an excellent dad, tactile and gentle but firm.

He sat patiently in the studio for hours with Nic while I put the song together.

We taped Liam to the ceiling

I wouldn't say that the night we taped Liam to the ceiling was wholly typical of my summer with Oasis, but it is one of my fondest memories.

We were larking about in the Wheeler End studio after another hard day's recording, and it is fair to say that drink had been taken by most of those present. There was Liam; Alan 'Whitey' White, the drummer; Jason, the technician; Stan, the engineer; and myself.

For reasons that escape me now, we grabbed Liam, hoisted him up to the beam running the length of the studio and bound him to it with gaffer tape. He hung there like some sort of monstrous cocoon while we laughed until we were almost sick.

The conversation that followed went like this: 'How long shall we leave him up there? All night?'

'Do you think he's safe?' 'Yeah, that tape is pretty strong.' Meanwhile Liam wasn't making a sound. 'He's awfully quiet up there.'

'Come on, we'd better cut him down,' declared Jason after a while.

It proved to be a lot harder unravelling him than it was putting him up there. Once he was down, Liam looked at us, waited a beat and said: 'I really enjoyed that.'

I'm a dodgy geezer, he's a metrosexual

When my girlfriend Bella arrived at Wheeler End one day carrying loads of presents for me, Liam wished me a happy birthday.

I explained that as I was born on December 24, my parents celebrated my 'half-birthday' in June, so my birthday and Christmas did not just blend into one. Liam found this hilarious.

'Here, Gem, you heard this? It's Pete's "half-birthday". He's always on the make, a right dodgy geezer. He's a bloody Scouser. It's a Scouse birthday.'

He took 15 of us out to dinner to celebrate what he insisted on calling my 'Scouse birthday'.

For Liam's son Gene's birthday, which was only a few weeks after mine, I called Nic to find out what to get him.

'Gene loves trucks and cars,' she told me. And if I wanted to give Liam a present? 'There's a Space NK in Marlow, get him something from there.'

So, the hard man of rock moisturises, I thought. I bought him a gift bag. Enough goodies for any closet metrosexual.

Source: www.mailonsunday.co.uk

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