Way back in the 1900s, long before it became a meme, “Wonderwall” was a brand new song. It was also a sensation: in the fall of 1995, I simply did not ride to soccer practice or TCBY without hearing it on my beloved, elemental 96X.

Years later, incontinent asshole Ryan Adams covered “Wonderwall” on the sometimes-pretty-always-tedious Love Is Hell. And I swear to god this happened, though collective memory’s been (willfully) ethered: I heard “this is so much better than the original” about a billion times after its release.

In what will be a Vault trend, I like and don’t like many things about these old essays. But my 2009 point holds (stronger?) in 2026. Substitute “self-definition” with “personal brand,” "fragmentation of pop culture" with "death of monoculture," "iTunes” with "Spotify," and "lifestyle" with "vibes, bro" et al. We’re just further down the same Derp Road.

From January 22, 2009

When "Wonderwall" broke in America (fall of 1995), I was a 7th grader with grungeheavy tendencies. I loved Nirvana, I loved Pearl Jam, I loved Soundgarden. Because I didn't make these distinctions yet, I also loved Green Day, and (alright, FINE) The Offspring. I was twelve, and I wanted to rock.

With "Wonderwall," Noel Gallagher took Oasis’s anthemic rock formula into ballad territory, crafting an indelible 90’s smash. The song is at once hopeful and angry, redemptive and sad, occasionally remorseful, characteristically oblique, always gorgeous. It does a lot in a little space, and one reason for its popularity is the power and dynamism of its melody.

So when Ryan Adams covered "Wonderwall" on 2004's Love Is Hell (self-described as "suicide music"), stripped it down, sulked it up, and gained placement on trendy TV shows and movies, I heard in bars everywhere, "Thish version is so much better than the original."

To be fair, Adams' cover is sung beautifully. He’s a wildly overrated songwriter but equally underrated singer. As a listen, this installment of “suicide music” is palpably sad. Success! You might like the sound of his voice (cool, I do too). You might like the intimacy of the recording. You might even be in the mood for "suicide music." You might like just listening to this cover. On dull and colorless February mornings, I get it.

But the things that made "Wonderwall" a great, layered song are absent from Adams' version (save that late, indispensable piano melody). The slow-marching, determined backbeat is gone. The haunting, wistful string arrangement is gone. The defiance and regret of the pre-chorus is gone, as is the hard, determined punctuation of "like to say to you." The (maybe doomed) hope of the chorus is gone. That original dynamic melody is now nearly monotone and certainly monochrome. Only vibe remains.

I know what you're thinking: "Of course the cover is different from the original. What's the point of doing the song the same way?" The key is in the difference. Hendrix's reinvention of "All Along the Watchtower" gave the song new dimensions; it expanded the song's meaning. Ryan Adams' cover of "Wonderwall" gave the song fewer dimensions; it diminished the song's meaning.

So why have I heard 10,000 times that this cover is “well, actually” better than the original? Because these folks are not talking about music; they're talking about themselves. 1990s Songs, meet 2000s Lifestyle Music.

Because of the fragmentation of pop culture, people now experience music as an extension to and reflection of their own lifestyle. It's easier than ever to curate our own bubble, so we do. Opinions and taste then develop based on self-definition. For example, if the "deep" kids like Bright Eyes, and Casper LaRue self-identifies as deep, then he likes Bright Eyes. If it is the opinion of East Nashville hipsters in Three Crow this very minute that the "Wonderwall" cover is better than the original (and Beatrix McGoo is an EN hipster), then "Omigod, this version is so much better than the original!"

This is lifestyle music, and it's about you. It's about how you want to come across in a conversation, or a group you consider yourself a part of, or the type of recommendations that iTunes will now give you. It's about practically anything but the song itself. Folks like a song because of what liking that song says about them. They like a band because they identify with the group of people who also like that band.

If you liked the original "Wonderwall," you (consciously or not) liked it for reasons connected to its own musicality: the broad appeal of its melody, its range, its depiction of ambivalence. And while you may continue to enjoy it for nostalgic or sentimental reasons, its accomplishments as a piece of music exist independent from an audience of any size.

If you like the "Wonderwall" cover better than the "Wonderwall" original, you self-identify as contrarian, sad, and “too smart” for something undeniable and ubiquitous.

Please, by all means, like what you like! Meanwhile, Casper, I'm switching barstools.