As part of their massive comeback tour’s US leg, Oasis—fronted by brothers turned rivals turned friends once more, Liam and Noel Gallagher—popped into MetLife Stadium for a couple of ferociously 90s-scented gigs to cap off the summer the weekend before last.
From the salutatory opener to the champagne supernova of fireworks that lit up the sky upon the conclusion of their 25-song set's encore, everyone in attendance knew rock was rolling it back with a vengeance.
Creative collisions and petty party fouls heavily characterized their early days just as it definitely, maybe brought upon their healthy sabbatical, est. 2009. Noel told TV host Jonathan Ross he stormed out and quit because Liam threw fruit at him, and you know what? Classic Liam. Classic both of them.
Whether together or a part, Liam and Noel haven’t sounded this electric in Clapton knows when; perhaps signalling a clean-slated anew, the former sings “take me there” these days, and they both did just that because they neeeeeeeeeeed…
As for me, I really didn’t know I would be at Night 2 on Monday, September 1st, until I found myself a caged elephant glued to the groovy merch line. Here, I’d purchase—or rather, see my girlfriend purchase—my first ever bucket hat.
She bought it as a token of appreciation for her birthday gift (the tix), and was actually born the exact same day Oasis’ debut record was released. Thank you for the hat, Darling. And thank you for being born.
Pouncing on a pair of head-on, bloody-nose seats that fell to within reason in the days leading up to the show, I knew we were in for some major thrills.
For the latest Jersey travel, I brought with me the perfectly lingering comfort of a dayfire-lit cigar and not one, but two that-me espressos enjoyed at a low-key, high-vibes Labor Day barbecue. Thank you, Phil and Anna. Sorry about the fence and the slippers. You had to be there; I know I was.
While the passenger princess collects some pregame shut-eye, the responsibly vehicular alternative to wacky tobacky afterwash flowith through me. My eyes are ever on the road as a Spotify shuffle of the night’s set list transports me back to formative moments of my youth on the heels of yet another touchstone addition to the memory bank running out the clock on this, the final year of my 20s.
Shortly after Oasis split was the year we were Smith Haven mallrats.
There was one occasion where I marched off from my lot as the rebel unsupportive of troubling causes such as getting “Just Dew It” embroidered on our snapbacks or shoplifting for sport (anyone who says mob mentality is a myth must never have been 15).
I wandered into a Zumiez or Tilly’s outlet to buy a shirt—any shirt that would make a girl talk to me—with the money I made reffing dodgeball birthday parties. When I walked in, the store responded, “...here’s Wonderwall.”
Enchanting melodies reverberate off the wall to heal my claustro-sensitive and tomfoolery-repelling eardrums like Pym particle-shrunken masseuses contracted to replace Q-Tips on strike. Meanwhile, the music video is plastered upon their in-house TV, and it too shoots right through to my soul.
The one-shot of a round glasses-rocking Liam delivering one iconic line after the next? It made me recall my even earlier, even curlier-haired middle school self; he who was so self-embroiled, he’d be hard-pressed to accept somebody else was going through a prolonged phase wherein they thought they were John Lennon reincarnated.
Only to learn: this bloke—nay, these blokes—were capital ‘B’ Bad-arses. They were not just making a living and a killing off riffing upon—not ripping off—their boyhood-born Beatlemania, but forging an entire revolution from beds they and their merry band of misfits laid with an unfazed disposition and true knack for doing—not dewing—the things they said they would.
It was not long after the cold plunge down this Oasis rabbit hole commenced that I realized a song of theirs had already been sauntering around within my soul: “Stop Crying Your Heart Out,” as it climactically scored Ashton Kutcher’s underrated time travel psycho-thriller, “The Butterfly Effect” (2004), a seminal film for younger millennials with curative older brothers.
“Don’t Look Back in Anger” next carried me through the Sally-blind first half of my senior year of high school, while “Don’t Go Away” became an unexpected anthem of the final sprint. It came on the radio as my friend Chris and I drove away from the football field-held “Senior Countdown” on the last day of classes.
The lyrics could not have been more spot-on for the occasion. In the decade-plus since, Oasis fans the world over like myself had often shouted these same sentiments their way, hoping for some respite, or requiem—or both.
They really did need more time just to get things right.
Now that they have, I vow to take Liam’s word, and not their manager’s; at show’s end, he belted, “We’ll see you again.” Another tour, with more songs? A new album?
In any event, just tell me “when.” I’ll have the bucket hat plopped upon this Octopus’ garden-dome quicker than you can say TO-DAY. Y’nah what I mean?
It was a four-letter word (end to one epic) summer; so cool.