Was it worth the wait?
My first time hearing Oasis was the same as every kid in the ’90s. Three songs, ‘Champagne Supernova’, ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’, and ‘Wonderwall’. Whether it was on the radio or ABC’s ‘Rage’, Oasis was inescapable. At that time, I was headed towards my Allen Iverson phase (I would later buy a durag, but I’ll save that story for another time). Between the highlights of AI, I recall being struck by the catchy hooks, thick accents, and blunt-cut bangs. In the preceding years, Oasis would drift on and off my musical radar. I wasn’t interested enough to see them on their last Australian tour in 2005. By the time I was willing to fork up the money to go, they’d long disbanded. I had to settle on watching ‘Supersonic’ and ‘ Knebworth 1996’, waiting for a comeback that might never happen.
Well, it happened.
Unless you’ve been living under a ‘Blur’ shaped rock, you’re well aware that Oasis is back. After a sixteen-year hiatus, the prodigal sons of Britpop, Liam and Noel Gallagher, have put their grievances aside. In July, they embarked on the Oasis Live ’25 world tour. The brothers have been making their way from city to city, inviting millions of fans to dust off their Sambas and sing along exclusively through their noses. Even “half a world away” (I did that), it’s been hard not to get swept up in the hype machine. For the last five months, videos of pink-skinned men in their mid-forties openly weeping into Union Jacks have been circulating online. Recently, at their Seoul show, hundreds joined hands and skipped in a circle, as if worshipping an imaginary maypole.
Our anticipation started in October 2024. I’ll never forget logging into Ticketmaster at 10:00 am. I pride myself on being a well-planned guy. Seeing the notification reading that I was 18,000th in the queue made me pull at what little hair I have left. As a contingency plan, Chris, Rei, Tallis, and I had all logged in. Whoever got in first would buy the tickets. One for all, all for Oasis. I scurried to pick up my phone, messaging the group, hoping my panic wasn’t translating into my texts. At about 10:20 am, Tallis announced that he had gotten through and bought whatever was available. The initial excitement was met with the realisation that we had to wait thirteen whole months for the gig. We let our daydreams of singing ‘Live Forever’ off-key go into hibernation for the following year. That is, until last weekend.
As the clock ticked over to November 7th, the true wait began. We still had to get to Accor Stadium. If you’re familiar with attending anything at Olympic Park, you’ll know the level of planning required to simply arrive and leave. We came up with a brilliant idea to park at Lidcombe, grab a bite to eat, and then catch a train over. We met at the newly opened Dae Bak, where we ordered beer, soju, kimchi pancake, monkfish stew, and bossam. Every few minutes, we would recall our favourite Gallagher brothers story and clink glasses as if we were former members of the band. While the dinner ran smoothly, the giddyness of finally seeing Oasis began to bubble up in my gut. The wait was getting to me. With still a third of our meal left to eat, I announced “we have to go!”. Chris and Tallis swigged the last sips of their beers while Rei slammed a final shot of soju.
At about 6:45pm, we paid the bill and left. In my calculations, we’d arrive at Olympic Park just after 7:00 pm, giving us enough time to meet up for some agreed-upon pre-drinks with friends and check out some merch. Getting to the stairs up to Lidcombe station, we were greeted by a thin man selling bootleg Oasis caps and tees. With an authoritative voice that didn’t match his bean pole body, he declared, “Nothing over $20!”. We all had a little chuckle and briefly considered making a purchase. In retrospect, the fact that this man was selling knock-offs a whole suburb away should’ve been a sign of the enormity of the event we were utterly underprepared for. We tapped on and walked down the platform, entering a train that sat idly. The station attendants were trying to get as many people onboard as possible before leaving. Making small talk, we impatiently waited to get out of Lidcombe.
After five minutes that felt like forever, the train left. Standing in our sparsely populated carriage, we thought we’d slide straight into a drink, some merch, and then our seats. However, we still had more waiting ahead of us. Pulling into the station, Olympic Park was a sea of bucket hats and football jerseys. It was as if we’d walked into a Britpop cosplay convention where the winner would be crowned according to how many pieces of Adidas they were wearing. Every bar had a line of entry at least fifty deep, followed by another line to order a drink. We swiftly decided to ditch our pre-drink plans and head straight to the merch stalls. The selection available was a testament to the idea that if you slap an Oasis logo on anything, someone will want it (including us). Waiting in line, we all agreed to go full-on hooligan and get the baby blue football jersey. Unsurprisingly, they had sold out hours before. Not to walk away empty-handed, Rei bought an Adidas long-sleeve tee for $120, which she held up like a freshly killed buck.
With only one piece of merch and the growing urge to pee, we decided to head to our gate and join the line. Checking our tickets, our seats were located through Gate M, we were at Gate G. As we began to walk, Rei told us a fantasy she had when she was younger of a ‘Heathen Chemistry’ era Liam whisking her away. I laughed while silently pondering what I would do in the same situation. As we chatted, we passed food stands, more merchandise, and a woman wearing a sequin blazer with an Oasis T-shirt (easily the worst-dressed person in Sydney that night). We’d seemingly distracted ourselves as to just how far we’d been walking. By the time we’d realised that the line had no end in sight, we were three-quarters of the way around Accor Stadium. Our relaxed strolls turned into panicked jogs. By the time we joined the queue, we only had thirty-five minutes until showtime. I don’t really know how to describe what happened next. Just like the Gallaghers reuniting out of nowhere, the line came to life and carried us in. Somehow, we were seated with beers and empty bladders within twenty-five minutes. Before we could question what had just happened, the lights dimmed. The radiating words, “THIS IS NOT A DRILL” appeared across the screens. As a wave of cheers arose, the all-too-familiar drums of ‘Fucking In the Bushes’ began to slap.
The wait was over. Oasis took to the stage hand in hand. In just a few seconds, the world was spinning back on its axis. A decade and a half of tested faith was rewarded. Liam came out wearing a parka jacket, aviator sunglasses, and brandishing a tambourine like he’d stepped out of the 90s. Noel dressed a bit more age-appropriate, wearing a simple button shirt and tight jeans (do older guys think wearing slim-fitting jeans is youthful?). The brothers took their positions and jumped straight into ‘Hello’. Any fears about how they’d sound were instantly alleviated. They played with a joy that had been missing for a long time (some of those 2009 performances are
This show had been a long time coming for both my AI jersey-wearing inner child and my present-day, gouty-toe self. While I was watching the Gallaghers smash through one song after another, I couldn’t help but think about all the waiting, whether it was the decade-plus of uncertainty, buying the tickets a year ago, or navigating the sheer chaos of Olympic Park. The wait was worth it… but I just wanted more time to absorb it all. In one moment, Liam was regaling the crowd about an octopus that had spoken to him on his morning jog (I think); the next, Noel was strumming the opening chords to ‘Wonderwall’. It was almost as if my emotions couldn’t keep up with the band’s efficiency.
Leaving Accor Stadium, I was sure that I was done with Oasis. Catching the train back to Lidcombe, I felt a little empty. It was all over. Getting into my car, I scrolled through my recent Spotify searches, all of which were for Oasis. I opted for silence instead. I drove home with the windows down, letting the warm spring air blow against my skin made sticky by the breath of 80,000 fans. Cruising down Silverwater Rd, I caught myself tapping the car door, humming the melody of ‘Slide Away’. Who knows whether they’ll tour again, let alone release another record. It seems I’m willing to wait.
Lasanga/10