“We were doing ‘Wonderwall’ at the time,” Nyarady says of the band he and Shepherd formed in their spare time some 20-odd years past their early days as musicians, “and it was like man, you really sound like Liam.” The spark escalated from there, and within a few months the pair had put together a solid lineup and began learning the catalog. Six years onward, they’ve found themselves returning to the United States for the second time on a three-date tour of the East Coast, seated across from me at the hallowed Great Scott on an autumn Thursday night. A well-received date at New York City’s Mercury Lounge in 2014 was motivation enough for Bowery Presents to ask them back to celebrate the 20th anniversary of Oasis’ Britpop-defining smash (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?, and the band naturally jumped at the chance. “We’ve always wanted to break into the U.S. and spread the good word,” Shepherd says, “on Oasis’ behalf obviously.” Shepherd and Nyarady approach their source material reverently. It doesn’t take long for a conversation with the duo to reveal a genuine affection for the music that extends far beyond the desire to strum “Wonderwall” that has possessed many an adolescent. They rattle off favorite B-sides and deep cuts and alternate versions and discuss Noel’s strengths as a songwriter with the ease and thoughtfulness of true diehards, and they take pride in making that a part of the act. “We’re gonna do [“Some Might Say” B-side] ‘Headshrinker’ tonight,” Shepherd tells me. “There’s Oasis cover bands in the U.K., none of them do ‘Headshrinker.’” Naturally, the band takes its actual performances just as seriously as the song selection. “We try to recreate, like literally recreate the experience,” Shepherd says, “so I actually try and recreate how Liam actually acts on stage.” Sometimes he almost does it too well. “A lot of the feedback we got after the first show was, ‘why is Dylan being such a dick?’ Nyarady says later, referencing perplexed friends and family in the wake of Supersonic’s debut. “I’ll get up there and if you didn’t know me, you’d be like, he’s acting like a real asshole,” Shepherd adds. “Just like Liam Gallagher.”
Watching the quintet step on stage, the resemblance truly is uncanny. The look, from the clothes to Shepherd’s sunglasses and tambourine, is just right, and his detached, despondent rockstar mannerisms are matched by the steely, Noel-esque glint in Nyarady’s eye. None of this would mean much of anything if the band didn’t deliver the goods sonically, but they nail the Oasis formula: muscular and soaring with just a slight twinge of psychedelia in their stride. And damned if Shepherd doesn’t have Liam’s distinctive yowl down pat. The turnout at Great Scott this night is not immense, but the band doesn’t seem to mind. As Shepherd matter-of-factly put it at the beginning of our conversation, “We’re not in this for the money.” They surely played to a more tightly-packed crowd for their sophomore showing at Mercury Lounge the following night (a gig that, in an ironic little Britpop Wars twist, could’ve served as an after-party for Blur’s big Madison Square Garden show), but one gets the sense that Shepherd and Nyarady are happy to share the music and the experience with whatever sized audience wants to listen. It’s this that makes a band like Supersonic such an admirable institution. There’s no cynicism here, no cash-grabbing tendencies; there’s five guys who love Oasis and want to share their connection with a particular strain of music with others who feel it too. Why dress up as a pair of feuding, millionaire rockstar brothers who are barely on speaking terms time and again? Because someone in that crowd is just as excited about hearing “Rockin’ Chair” as they are about playing it. They’re in pursuit of a feeling and a vibe. “It’s gonna be loud, it’s gonna be rockin’ and people are gonna be drinkin’,” Nyarady says, surveying the gig ahead. “Hopefully they’ll feel like they’re back in 1995.” • Ben Stas (Journalism/English)
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