“H… Hi, I don’t suppose you’ve got any unused guestlist tickets going?”
“Erm, no. Sorry”
“Ah, okay… Not even for four good-looking people like us?”
“What?”
“Don’t worry.”
It was the 3rd of August, and four of us were feeling the overbearing weight of missing out on Oasis tickets.
About fifteen minutes before our shit attempt at sourcing our ‘guestlist’ tickets, we’d shamefully done some manifesting dance rituals at the Boxpark down the road. It went a bit like this.
Run on the spot to increase your energy levels and say out loud what you want. Sounds easy enough, right? It’s been fairly successful in the past, to be honest. We performed it at Glastonbury earlier this year.
“I am so grateful for our four hospitality tickets for Glastonbury.”
Result: Glastonbury jail.
I think we needed to be more specific. Maybe they’re coming in 2027?
Anyway, it was time to try it for Oasis.
Mike stepped up first.
“I am so grateful for our tickets to the golden square for the music view with my friends”
For gods sake, man.
Attempt one was down the drain. The other attempts were okay.
Nothing worked, though. So we called it a day, had four pints nearby, and nearly got unnecessarily caught in the crowds leaving after the show.
Their final Wembley dates in September were our last hope.
A hope that was becoming more of a dream we have as children. Until the 18th of September, when Laura got an email with a code for some last-minute, production release tickets.
On that glorious day, we secured four standing tickets.
The manifesting worked.
I can’t wait to see what the golden square is.
Olympic Way, the road that leads to Wembley Stadium, feels more magical when you actually have a ticket. It’s a feeling you imagine sharing with the plebeians of Ancient Rome descending onto the Colosseum.
We took a walk slightly out of the area to find a local boozer, The Green Man, that was hosting an Oasis pre-party with pints £1 cheaper than Boxpark; also a feeling you imagine sharing with the plebeians of Ancient Rome.
After squeezing in enough pints to be rowdy, but not too many that we have to keep pissing into a pint cup and yeeting it towards the people in the golden circle (just kidding), we marched back down to Wembley Stadium.
My jaw dropped again. What a venue.
And the magic didn’t stop.
I can only describe walking down the stairs onto the pitch as being in a mountain range. It felt impossible that something of this scale had been made by humans. You feel insignificant, yet part of this behemoth consciousness.
We worked our way into the middle and waited amongst the deafening hum of 90,000 people yapping.
Then, just like someone lit a fuse for a 500-shot firework box, the clatter of Fuckin’ In The Bushes ruffled everyone into action with no turning back.
A high-octane exhibit of their noisiest pre-2000s songs.
It was less of a traditional comeback and more of a resurgence of the ’90s zeitgeist. An answer to people’s prayers for a band that slaps the apathy out of them.
From start to finish, it was sing-along, dance around, madness. Everything you’d dream of in a gig, but often under-delivered. There was no need for any pyrotechnics or a godlike projection of Liam singing in the clouds, although the production was next-level and they certainly did help.
People were there for raw exhilaration packaged up into a distorted guitar, a characteristic nasal voice and a ruckus set of drums, ready to be raptured by the ‘90s rock ‘n’ roll gods.
Finally being in the thick of it confirms all this mania; a second didn’t go by where I wasn’t thinking, “Isn’t this fucking amazing?”
The optimism exuded beyond the 90 minutes they performed each night. I’ve never seen so many fans in merch, my house-DJ brother now owns the limited edition Definitely Maybe vinyl and the lyrics to Slide Away as a poster on his wall, and I’ve been walking around the house for months shouting, “Who wants it?!” holding an air guitar like I’m invincible. It’s infectious and it’s brilliant.
The audience played their part in making it so unforgettable. It’s something you don’t really notice until you witness an amazing show: the attentiveness of everyone. There was no talking over the top because they were either too busy singing along or just completely captivated.
From fans, I’ve heard that it was great because it transported them back to the past, but as someone who never got the chance to see them, it was a portal to the future. Proof that rock hasn’t died, it’s just taken a trip to the mountains to find peace when it should have just been down the local getting tanked.
It didn’t disappoint because it couldn’t.
Since the shows were announced, it’s never really been about them. It’s been about this feeling that’s been sitting dormant and only made evident now. A permission to unapologetically like rock ‘n’ roll. And I can’t see it dying.
After all, Liam did sign off with “See you next year”.
Mad for it.
