It’s 2009 and I’m distinctly cold and uncomfortable standing in rainy Heaton Park and waiting for Oasis (late as always) to get on stage. The Gallagher brothers, Noel and Liam, are probably having another argument as relations sour further within the band which will shortly after split. The defining moment of this concert so far, where I’m edged so far back I can’t see a thing apart from the back of a soggy bucket hat, involves dodging flying (thankfully plastic) bottles of wee sent from the front somewhere where the keenest of concert goers have been drinking beer for hours. A cheer goes up as one poor victim takes a direct hit despite ducking, then curses loudly and surfaces covered in urine but still smiling. Tickets go on sale at 9am on Saturday, August 31. They will be available via Ticketmaster and Gigs and Tours with fans recommended to register to avoid disappointment. (Affiliate link) I shiver in my sensible raincoat, feeling my age, no longer the 20-something who reviewed Oasis’ first single ‘Supersonic’ as music correspondent for my university magazine back in the day. Luckily my review of that particular 7-inch single (sent free by PR) in ‘94 was pretty positive but then I was a northerner at university down south and living off the cool vibes emanating from Manchester. I spent my return visits up north to visit Afflecks Palace and rifle through 12 inch records at nearby Eastern Bloc wearing my 22-inch bottom flared jeans and tight boat neck tops with Doc Marten shoes and wishing I was brave or talented enough to join a proper band. When I arrived back on campus down south with new indie and piano house dance vinyl clutched under my arm, the student DJs begged me for a borrow. But for me Oasis were late to the party. At the point I graduated university they lacked the cool factor of Blur or Ride or The Charlatans, latecomers to the drug-fuelled Madchester/Britpop phenomenon which began with the iconic heydays of Factory Records, the Hacienda, Tony Wilson, The Happy Mondays, Stone Roses and to some extent, James. It was in August 1995 the infamous Blur/Oasis chart battle occurred. Blur won the battle with Country House but later Oasis - who’s just had their first number one single Some Might Say and were hoping to topple Blur with Roll with it - won the war. But as Oasis rode the indie wave their anthemic singles - and first album Definitely Maybe - became indisputably the sound of Manchester. It helped that the four band members were actually from the working class echelons of the city and not pretenders. The Charlatans (more specifically Tim Burgess) were my first love but they were really from posh Cheshire - and Blur were southerners. So when I returned from my extensive travels in my 20s it was Oasis who were the indie kings here in UK and previous champs Blur edged out in then epic battles of the charts. Over in Australia, where I’d been working, no-one had heard of Blur. Oasis later came to represent a Manchester fighting back internationally. When the city was still in the throes of rebuilding itself after the IRA bomb in 1996 on Corporation Street, people were frightened and Manchester known for an edge or working class desperation and building work. But the continuing popularisation of ‘Madchester’, with it’s origins in the late 80s changed all that and Oasis became the face of the city worldwide and northern attitudes edgy and cool. Manchester rose from the ashes literally and metaphorically and was no longer just known for Manchester United and the bomb but for a cultural movement. The ‘baggy’ styles but with bucket hats, unapologetic logos and sportswear, even a hunched relaxed floor gazing stance for ease of dance, were as identifiable as the music and the empowering northern attitude. Something about Oasis represented this and defied the generations. They may not be the favourite of music purists but that undefinable formula of attitude, experience and catchy singalong anthems has ensured they have been passed on through the generations. If anything, as they reunite now after years of feuding, rumours, touring separately and incomprehensible social media barbs (Liam) By 2009, as I shivered in Heaton Park, and the band headed towards its acrimonious split, the magic was wavering but the songs just as relevant as we headed toward a new decade. As the first bars of Wonderwall rolled across the waiting crowd an outbreak of joy broke out - every person knew every word - from the Madchester originals rocking their full ‘baggy’ to their children who were by then full indoctrinated. And now they are definitely, maybe, back and it is guaranteed they will sell out - despite the wee. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.
