How to dress like a Britpop frontman.

Has it really been two decades since the release of the Britpop-defining juggernaut that was The Verve’s Urban Hymns? It must be, because here comes the full-bore 20th-anniversary wallow-fest reissue of that album, which we’re more than happy, if not obliged, to call seminal, in a deluxe five – five! – CD version, along with a pictorial memoir from the photographer Mr Chris Floyd, who was embedded with the band throughout their mid-1990s imperial phase, documenting their highs, lows, jaunts, japes and – most importantly – singular style. Like their best songs, The Verve’s look took elements from the classic mod-casual Britpop livery – the Clarks Wallabees, the funnel-neck parkas – but added a healthy dollop of rave, psychedelia and even 1970s Laurel Canyon stylings to create… well, can we say a bittersweet sartorial symphony? Looks like we just did, and the irrefutable evidence, garnered from Mr Floyd’s book, is laid out below.

“I’m stood here naked/Smiling, I feel no disgrace/With who I am,” sang Mr Richard Ashcroft on the band’s 1997 hit “Lucky Man”. Clothed, he had even more reason to feel invincible, breaking out of the Britpop straitjacket with a perennial troubadour look: black T-shirt, soft flannel shirt and an ever-present pair of smoky aviators. Nicknamed “Mad Richard” by the press after claiming that he could fly, no one could accuse him of remaining earthbound, at least in a sartorial sense.

At the height of their fame, Mr Ashcroft likened being in The Verve to joining the coolest gang. And who could deny that he, along with Messrs Nick McCabe, Simon Jones and Peter Salisbury, nailed the sworn-to-fun, loyal-to-none look with their matching Schwinn cruiser bikes and artfully dishevelled coifs, cords and tees? Mr Ashcroft had to go one better, of course, with a colour-blocked V-neck so deep it’s practically a navel-grazer.

In the unforgettable video for “Bittersweet Symphony” Mr Ashcroft strides down a crowded London street, insouciantly jostling anyone with the temerity to get in his way. Here, he recreates that scene in New York – minus the pesky pedestrians, admittedly, but still with lashings of ’tude, exemplified by his imperviousness to the exhortations of the street signage, and the nonchalant brio of his roomy field jacket, a good two decades before the whole oversized thing went mainstream.

“Confidence is a preference for the habitual voyeur of what is known as…” Yes, of course we’re aware that it was Blur who did “Parklife”, but Mr Ashcroft outdoes Mr Damon Albarn at his own game – Richmond Parklife, in this instance – by opting for a classic rock star downtime outfit of soft leather jacket, untucked shirt, louche jeans and, yes, Clarks Wallabees. Looks like the black lab has caught the scent of Mr Albarn’s tweed cap and cor-blimey trousers.

The Verve weren’t named randomly. Even when sinking into what looks like a yoga chair pose, in bare feet, on a stage that resembles a barely converted barn, Mr Ashcroft showed plenty of elan in a stripy knitted polo, a pair of demi-flares and a beatific look that said, “The drugs may not have worked. In fact, The Verve’s moment in the sun lasted barely longer than the most fleeting of highs, but you know you’ll see my face again.”

The Verve: Photographs By Chris Floyd (Reel Art Press) is out now

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