Rolling Stone magazine once quipped that grunge was what happened when the children of divorce got guitars in their hands. If you take this theory and tweak it, then one can reasonably conclude that Oasis is what happens when children who grow up in a house devoid of books decide to form a band. The bilge that’s been written about Britpop and the wallowing in 1990s nostalgia since the Gallagher brothers announced their reunion tour last year (it kicks off in Cardiff this Friday) is approaching fever pitch. Tatler even has one of Liam’s children on its cover.
You may have gleaned by now that I am not a fan. In fact, I’ve got Crosby, Stills & Nash on in the background to self-soothe while I write about the rising collective hysteria over perhaps the most average lead guitarist in history and a frontman whose greatest achievement is stretching the word ‘sunshine’ out to 27 syllables. Here’s a selection of the more daft, breathless and downright banal headlines from the past week: ‘Oasis mural made of bucket hats unveiled ahead of gigs’; ‘Mad for it! More tickets on the way for Edinburgh Oasis gigs’; ‘Principality Stadium confirms roof decision for Oasis Live 2025’; ‘Late-night trams will run for Oasis Heaton Park shows: all you need to know’.
Had, say, Led Zeppelin reformed – sadly about as likely as Liam displaying an iota of humility – I could understand the excitement. Ticketmaster could have done its worst with dynamic pricing and I would have spanked any money on a credit card to see them. But Oasis – Liam, Noel, that bloke called Bonehead and the other ones – produce music that has elevated mediocrity to hitherto unseen heights. There is not an ounce of nuance or even guile in their back catalogue; comparisons with the Beatles are facile and ludicrous. As a lyricist, Noel gives William McGonagall a run for his money – ‘Slowly walking down the hall/ Faster than a cannonball’. Sorry, what?
‘Roll With It’, ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’ (I do, actually) – it doesn’t matter which song you take, each one is the dirge of a football chant with none of the wit. Actually, any fan chanting ‘After all, you’re my Alan Ball’ to the tune of ‘Wonderwall’ could have been plucked from the crumbling home stand at Maine Road – back when Alan Ball took Man City down to the old Division One (younger readers: Man City used to be shite) – and stuck in front of a mic. No one would have noticed the difference.
I dug out footage from Oasis’s ‘legendary’ (more on the misuse of superlatives later) Knebworth concerts from 1996. Liam’s performance reminded me of George Best’s assessment of David Beckham: ‘He can’t kick a ball with his left foot, can’t head a ball, can’t tackle and he doesn’t score many goals. Apart from that, he’s all right.’
Oasis at Knebworth is particularly triggering for me. That summer I was at a party after my A-levels being chatted up by the local hottie. It was all going so well until he asked me… if I’d like to go with him to see Oasis at Knebworth the following week. Reader, it was like someone stuck a needle in my arm and sucked out all the desire. I don’t think we were familiar with the term ‘meet-cute’ in Ipswich in 1996, but this was the antithesis – a ‘meet-vomit’?
Oasis at Knebworth is particularly triggering for me
I do vividly remember the crushing disappointment (he was so good-looking) and acute sense of being cheated. If only I’d had the good fortune to have been born 30 years earlier, then my future husband might have asked me out with an invitation to see Jimi Hendrix at the Isle of Wight Festival.
So who are all these people who’ve coughed up nearly £400 to go to these reunion shows? There are some surprising punters. ‘Have you got your Oasis tickets?’ asked the beautician when I went for a regular waxing appointment last September. ‘I don’t really like them,’ she explained, ‘but so many clients asked if I was going, I thought I’d try and get tickets.’
We know that hysterical behaviour is contagious, viz the many cases of schoolgirl fainting fits, Gabriel Oak’s sheep going over the cliff in Far From the Madding Crowd etc – could this explain it? I like to think it’s a factor because the alternative – that people are deeply passionate about the band and think their music says something profound – is just so depressing.
The beautician is going with a friend to Manchester for the weekend. It’s 48 hours without childcare for her, so I do see the attraction – but you could send me a pre-paid Norland nanny for a year and I’d still decline. ‘They’re iconic, aren’t they,’ she says, and I smile politely while inwardly pulling Munch’s ‘The Scream’.
If Oasis are ‘iconic’ and those Knebworth gigs ‘legendary’, then I don’t know where this leaves, say, Woodstock, Hendrix at Monterey or Queen at Live Aid. They’re overused words these days and should incur a custodial sentence for misuse. I’ve trawled Reddit threads that laud Noel as a ‘genius’. But then, what does that leave you with to describe Jimmy Page – with whom Noel has, apparently, formed a friendship? Genius isn’t like secondary smoke; you can’t absorb it by being in the same room.
I asked a member of the younger generation what they think – in the form of my eldest son, who is 11 and teaching himself the guitar from the Yousician app. ‘Is there any Oasis on there?’ I ask him. ‘Yeah,’ he says, looking up for a moment. ‘But they’re a bit boring, aren’t they,’ and he goes back to James Hetfield’s thrash metal power chords tutorial.
Of course, there’s the faint hope that the Gallagher brothers might have one of their ‘legendary’ fallings-out, perhaps even a punch-up on stage – and it’s all off. Ironically, as the Oasis juggernaut rolls into town, elsewhere some genuine rock icons will be performing. This weekend, the Black Sabbath reunion at Villa Park is being livestreamed for the thousands who didn’t manage to get tickets. The week after, I’ll be in Hyde Park to watch Neil Young. It’s an overused term these days, but what utter legends they are…
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