For the better part of the past decade, Oasis' critics have accused the Britrock titans of being stuck in the past. They are, we've been told, still milking their iconic first two albums, Definitely Maybe and (What's the Story) Morning Glory - unwilling to move in new directions, adopt new influences or change with the times.

Noel Gallagher would like those critics to know that they're right.

"Having instant success is just the best insurance in the world," the thinking man's Gallagher brother explained yesterday, in Toronto for tonight's sold-out show at the Molson Ampitheatre. "Because it means you can do what you want and you don't have to follow the next passing trend.

"We're in the midst of an '80s revival in England and nobody plays chords on their guitar any more. But we're lucky in a way. Because the first two albums were so massive, it meant we could kind of lock the door on our own little bubble and we were in there forever - which is where we want to be."

It's enough to make music snobs cringe. And back when Oasis was busy bottoming out with 2000's Standing on the Shoulder of Giants, a limp attempt to scale things back after 1997's bloated Be Here Now, such bravado would've been pegged as the reason behind the band's downward spiral.

Now, though, Noel, Liam and their three bandmates - none of whom were around at the start - might just be having the last laugh as those claims to timelessness become much more believable. Surprised reviewers, having long since written Oasis off, find themselves heaping at least guarded praise onto the band's sixth album, Don't Believe the Truth. Released two weeks ago, the disc has put Oasis back on the commercial map, at least compared to its previous two outings. And in the ever-hostile U.S. market, tickets for their forthcoming gigs are selling at a clip comparable to that of their heyday.

What exactly spawned the renewed interest is a bit of a mystery, although Noel attributes it in part to a new generation of fans discovering their early work and joining the long-time faithful. But there are signs of a creative revival on the band's part, spurred on by a newly collaborative spirit - a "natural wavelength," as guitarist Gem Archer calls it, despite the ever-present tensions that led Liam to storm off an Italian stage midway through a festival set last weekend.

Asked about those tensions, Noel refuses to get sucked into slagging his brother the way he once would have. "It couldn't be less interesting to the people in the band," he says of their relationship. "It would only be relevant if I were writing words and he was writing music or vice versa and it was like Keith and Mick. But Liam goes off and writes on his own ... and I go off and write on my own, so it's not like we're relying on each other."

That newly philosophical approach - as opposed to, say, quitting tours to protest his brother's tantrums, as Noel once did - is emblematic of the way the band has come to terms with what it is and what it'll never be. And having settled into a comfortable groove, albeit with the odd rocky patch, the Gallaghers have emerged as the improbable elder statesmen of a newly revitalized U.K. music scene. It's a role that Noel seems to savour - even if he's not always overly charitable in his assessments.

"These things tend to follow the well-worn path where three or four, or five or six, bands come out at the same time, and everybody proclaims it to be fantastic," he says. "Really, are you trying to tell me Bloc Party are any good? Are you trying to tell me that f---ing Franz Ferdinand are going to be around in three years time?"

"I mean, Kasabian are a f---ing good band, you know what I mean? But not one of these bands has made a bona fide great record. There's some good songs and they're all nice kids and I've met most of them. But until somebody puts out a debut album like Definitely Maybe, then they're just good bands who do good things. None of them are going to change the world."

On Coldplay, he's a bit more sympathetic - not just because of his friendship with Chris Martin, but because he sees parallels between that band today and his in 1997. "I don't envy the position they're in," he says, "because you know before you sit down to write a note that all these songs are going to be played in football stadiums ... So all these songs become really overblown and grandiose. I think that's where Coldplay are at now - you listen to one song and you're exhausted by the end of it."

It's Gallagher's assessment of the drug-addled, recently-defunct Libertines - probably the most culturally significant band among middle- and working- class Britons since his own - that brings him back to the secret behind Oasis' longevity.

"The whole soap opera surrounding the Libertines - it's all very dramatic that they wrote this album about the breakup of their relationship," he says. "But who's going to buy it in 10 years?

"When a kid picks up a copy of Definitely Maybe, it doesn't come attached with any drugs. It comes with those 11 songs on it. So people listening to it now - they're not aware of the f---ing hoopla that surrounded the band at the time. It's a good f---ing record and that's the end of it."