‘This,” says Noel Gallagher, nodding towards my dictaphone, “is going to end in trouble. It always does.” Well, let’s hope so! An hour spent in Gallagher’s company is thrillingly unfiltered territory. “Interviews are an occupational hazard,” he says, settling down with a cup of tea. “But that’s because they’re such weird situations. You’re sat in a room with some guy from Stockholm who you’ve never met and he’s asking you about your mum. It’s fucking preposterous. Because the honest answer to that is: ‘What’s it got to do with you?’ But the smart answer is always: ‘I liked her until she gave birth to Liam.’”

Oh yes, Liam. There will be plenty more about the youngest Gallagher brother, some of it delivered with real venom now their relationship has sunk to its lowest point. Last month, Noel accused Liam of “intimidating women” after posting screenshots allegedly showing aggressive texts sent to Noel’s teenage daughter, Anaïs. And there will be plenty more on other subjects likely to land him in a spot of bother, too: including the rarely discussed benefits of global warming. “I’m walking around today in a T-shirt, and I’m thinking ...” Gallagher looks up to mock-assess the weather, fully aware he is about to send some Guardian readers berserk, “... it’s not even remotely chilly. Sure, it’ll be bad for my grandkids. But I’ve not met them yet. They might be a load of cunts, d’you know what I mean?”

But let’s start with the music, as Noel prepares to release This Is the Place, the second of three EPs planned for this year. It follows Black Star Dancing, his Nile Rodgers-approved disco single. That saw him throw away the shackles of the guitar-led sound that once dominated his career as it moved from incredible peaks – those glorious first Oasis albums, whose melodic euphoria led to generation-defining gigs at Knebworth in 1996 – to the troughs, in which the band became plodding and predictable, only to implode with a blazing backstage row before a gig in Paris in 2009.

Stormzy on stage at Glastonbury earlier this year, and Gallagher on stage at Maine Road in 1996. Composite: Yui Mok/PA; Patrick Ford/Redferns

Gallagher admits to being “set in my ways”, but it sounds like he is having fun writing music again. He credits the producer David Holmes – “one of the biggest musical influences in my life” – for getting him to ditch his favoured instrument and write in the studio. This Is the Place (the title is taken from Tony Walsh’s poem to Manchester, read aloud in Albert Square after the Manchester arena bombing) takes a space-rock journey through Ian Brown, Primal Scream and the Smiths, and it is almost frustrating it has taken him so long to get here. You wonder how things might have panned out if he had written more adventurous songs like these for Oasis back in the late 90s.

“Well, for a start, Liam wouldn’t fucking sing them,” he says. “Because he famously said to me one night [adopts parody of Liam’s voice]: ‘I don’t like quirky weird things ...’ and I was like: ‘Oh OK, well this is going to be fun then.’”

Gallagher says there is a new generation of Oasis fans that have come along following the 2016 documentary Supersonic – and they are not always open to his more experimental leanings, either. “I love winding them up,” he says. “I’d love to be in the room when they heard this [new EP] for the first time.” He has a knack for winding people up, and not just with his music. Lately, he has been enraging remainers – of which he is one – by saying: “There’s only one fucking thing worse than a fool who voted for Brexit, and that’s the rise of the cunts trying to get the vote overturned.”

“And people started calling me a Nazi!” he says. “I thought: ‘Really? A member of the Third Reich?’ Look, I think it’s ridiculous that we’re leaving. None of us were even qualified to vote. You ask a guy above a chippy in Bradford if we should leave Europe. ‘Yeah!’ But I still think if there’s a second referendum, as a nation, we’ll never recover. We have to come out because, no matter how ill-informed people were, you’re saying to them their vote doesn’t count. And its symptomatic of shutting people’s opinions down.”

Oasis were renowned for drunken debauchery, bust-ups and brawls, but what is often forgotten is the spirit of togetherness they fostered. While their Britpop rivals Blur examined the country’s condition with lofty detachment, Oasis were all about the collective experience. Noel says he has the Hacienda and rave culture to thank for it.

“Acid house changed my life,” he says. “You look at the words to those songs ... it’s all about unity, ‘us’, the whole communal thing. So when I started writing songs, instinctively, that’s how I did it. It was never about me, it was ‘you and me’. It was never ‘us versus them’ because there is no them! So when people go on about Oasis, they miss the point. It wasn’t about snarling and shouting and gobbing in the street. It was inclusive. That’s why so many people turned up to the gigs. And that’s why if I got up tomorrow morning and said: ‘Let’s do it’” – he clicks his fingers – “the world would change again. Because people never forget the way you made them feel.”

Can’t he just reunite the group and bring the country back together, then? He sighs. Despite his opinionated outbursts in the press, he is no more sure than any of us about how to get out of this mess. In fact, he seems genuinely curious about it all. “Do you think there should be a second referendum?” he asks at one point. Probably, I say, which is met with a sharp intake of breath. “Oooh, really? That’s just going to cause more division, though, innit?”

Noel is also slightly sheepish of the fact he didn’t bother voting. “Because, I thought, who would be stupid enough to change the way things are? But then I’m living in a massive house in Maida Vale [in north-west London]; why would I want to change the way things are?”

Despite all the division, Gallagher remains sanguine about the future. “That’s the great thing about nuclear bombs,” he says, introducing the subject of apocalypse with alarming cheer. “Ever since they’ve been invented, everyone’s been like: ‘Hang on a minute, are we going for it or what?’ We’re all fed this thing that the guy from North Korea is an insane lunatic. But he’s into basketball! How mad can he be? So we’ll be all right. As for beyond that, well ... fuck the grandkids – remember, they might be cunts. I’ve said it to my sons many times. They go: ‘Dad!’ but I tell them they don’t know who they’re gonna marry. She might be an idiot. Or he might be. We’re all modern men.”

Noel Gallagher with Anaïs: ‘When you’ve got a teenage daughter, you better get with it pretty quick.’ Photograph: Zak Hussein/Corbis via Getty

Does Noel feel modern? Over the years, he has developed something of a grumpy old man persona.

“I feel modern in some respects and old-fashioned in others.”

How does he feel about gender fluidity?

“What’s that?” he asks. “I know what gender I am – Mancunian.”

Would he describe himself as a feminist?

“Oh, absolutely. I didn’t realise until my wife told me I was and I said: ‘Really? Well, I’ve got to announce that to the world then.’ But definitely, I am. When you’ve got a teenage daughter, you better get with it pretty quick. She comes to my gigs with her teenage pals now and … it’s something else, believe me. They can talk to you, lucidly, without missing a beat, while texting someone in Ghana, while buying a pair of shoes and listening to music at the same time ... who invented these people?”

Gallagher is 52 now, but it seems Anaïs and his boys, Donovan and Sonny, are helping him keep up with the changing cultural landscape. Last month, on tour in the Netherlands, he turned on his hotel TV to watch Stormzy headlining Glastonbury and thought: “Oh, so that’s what my two lads are on about. Because they’ll be doing these dances in the kitchen when they’re getting ready for school and I’ll be thinking: ‘What’s a vossi bop?’ I didn’t realise it was to do with grime.”

Stormzy and Oasis are musically worlds apart, but both are products of working-class Britain, even if Stormzy’s union flag stab vest is a different beast to the one painted on Gallagher’s guitar for Oasis’s triumphant shows at Manchester City’s ground in 1996 – a symbol of Cool Britannia, an icon of a country shaking off years of Tory rule.

“It’s music as English as Pulp, or the Jam or the Kinks,” says Noel of grime in general. “And it’s their own language, which is a great thing that something born on council estates out of poverty and street culture has got to the main stage at Glastonbury. Now, if I’m a 52-year-old father of three living in Maida Vale, then he’s talking street jive to me. He’s talking about some guy stabbing him in the back when he was a kid – I’m not humming along to that! He is good, though, and Skepta is great. I remember seeing him at the Brits – just him under the spotlight, and thinking: ‘Wow, it’s fucking powerful, man.’”

In 2008, Gallagher was criticised for saying Jay-Z was the “wrong” act to headline Glastonbury (“Glastonbury has a tradition of guitar music,” he said. “I’m not having hip-hop at Glastonbury.”) Does he regret that now?

“That happened because I’d been away in the States for four months and some reporter told me Glastonbury had hip-hop on and hadn’t sold out. So, I was just like: ‘Oh well, hip-hop’s shit!’ That was it. Of course, your esteemed colleagues at the Guardian seemed to make a lot more of it than it was …”

So, it is all our fault then?

“Absolutely it’s your fault. Everything is your fault.”

There is, however, one person Gallagher thinks will always be wrong to appear at Glastonbury: Jeremy Corbyn, who received a rapturous reception when he delivered a speech there in 2017.

“I saw him walk onstage to ‘Oooh, Jeremy Corbyn’ and thought: ‘Really? For a start, your name’s Jeremy.’ I don’t trust him. I think that the bare requirement for a politician, particularly a leader, is to be forward-looking. When I watch the news, I just think that, for these people, the big picture is communism, right? And that’s not British.”

They are not communists, though.

“They fucking are! You’re not telling me the big picture is not to nationalise everything? Anyway, [Glastonbury] is where you go to get away from that shit. It’s not a political rally. We’re there to get high, and listen to music, and experience things we don’t get to do in our daily lives. Nobody wants to hear that at 2pm. And I’ve even seen Tory politicians there! Walking through in the middle of the night with a pint of white wine and you think: didn’t Margaret Thatcher try to shut this festival down?” He adopts the voice of a port-soaked Tory grandee: ‘Oh, weren’t the Stones just bladdy marvellous?’”

And just wait until we get to Liam’s recent solo performance at the festival. “I’d read somewhere that it was a headline set in the making, so I thought: ‘Fucking hell, better watch this,’” he says. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed for a man in my entire life. He’s pulled off the incredible magic trick of making those Oasis songs sound weedy and thin. And he looked like he was having the worst day of his life, walking around in what looks like a pair of my son’s pyjamas, shouting into a mic about some perceived injustice ... if you can’t sing ’em, don’t play ’em!”

Noel hasn’t seen Liam’s recent documentary, As it Was, although he plans to: “Because I’ve heard it’s hilarious.” The film is clearly a PR job for Liam’s side of the story, although it is an entertaining watch due to Liam’s onscreen charisma and the fact it shows a different side to the singer – one who displays self-doubt and admits to being lost after the breakup of Oasis. Noel isn’t the focus, but he is portrayed as aloof and uncaring, the brother who wasn’t there for Liam when he was struggling through his divorce from Nicole Appleton.

Noel with Liam and Paul ‘Bonehead’ Arthurs during an Oasis show in New York in 1994. Photograph: Steve Eichner/WireImage

Noel bursts out laughing when I bring this up: “I wasn’t there for him? Well, he wasn’t there for his wife either, was he?”

Noel’s tone changes dramatically when we talk about Liam. Most of his outrageous comments are said for a laugh, but when it comes to Liam he seems genuinely angry. What did he mean when he accused his brother of intimidating women?

“That’s not the first time he’s sent texts to my daughter, or left threatening phone calls on my wife’s answering machine. So when he’s threatening my wife via my teenage daughter, I’m thinking, you know, if you weren’t a rock star, if you were just an uncle who worked in a garage, you’d be getting a visit from the police. But because you’re a rockstar, wahey, you get away with that shit.”

Has this gone past the point of you two ever making up?

Noel nods: “Because I’ve got one fatal flaw in my otherwise perfect makeup as a human being, which is I don’t forgive people. Once you start texting my children – and his two sons have been going for her, too – and legitimise my wife being bullied on the internet, where she has to shut down Instagram accounts because of the vile shit being written about her and my daughter, then it ain’t happening.”

When did he last see Liam?

“At the Etihad Stadium when City won the league about three years ago. Whenever I see him, he’s actually very polite, and you can see in his eyes that he’s just about to piss his trousers. But then he comes up with these scenarios of when we meet, that only ever take place in his own head.” He puts on his Liam voice again: “Ah fuckin’ went over and flicked him in the ear and said: ‘Eh, fuckin’ ’ell, keep it dangerous, you cunt.’”

Has he heard Liam’s solo material?

“I don’t listen to the albums, because I can’t stand his voice. But I hear it on the radio.”

What does he think?

“I think it’s unsophisticated music. For unsophisticated people. Made by an unsophisticated man. Who’s giving unsophisticated orders to a load of songwriters who think they’re doing the Oasis thing. Which goes back to what I was saying before. You can turn the Marshall amp up to 12 all you want and do a bit of glam, but Oasis words were about including people, everyone in it together. And what I hear from him is just a load of bile ... angry nonsense.”

It is time to wrap up, but Gallagher’s still going.

“I reckon if I put my two sons in a room – one’s nine, one’s 11 – for about 45 minutes, they could probably muster up something better than that new single of his,” he says.

Is this all just a crafty way of hyping up a future Oasis reunion?

“I wish it was,” he laughs. “It boils down to, on a personal level, fuck him. But also, artistically, why do it again? You know, I was watching the news the other night and he was on there, threatening to break my jaw – live on the ITV news! Isn’t there a law against that? – and it’s about an Oasis reunion and he’s like: ‘Me bags are packed, mate.’ And I’m thinking: ‘Who are you expecting to call you? Me?’ Nobody wants to be in a band with him apart from a load of indie Championship players – journeymen, who are in it for all the crisps they can eat.”

It seems silly to ask whether Gallagher has anything else he would like to add. Because of course he does. He always does.

“Yeah,” he says, getting up and pointing again at my dictaphone: “Don’t quote me on any of that.”

This Is the Place is out today, taken from the EP of the same name, which will be released on 27 September

Photographed at The Trafalgar St. James. Grooming by Amy Brandon