There’s a lot of noise surrounding the Oasis reunion: the tickets, the feud, the peace, the setlist, the band. It’s everywhere.
My first memory of Oasis goes back to 1995. My father, who was working in the Middle East at the time, came home with a white CD. It was What’s the Story Morning Glory. I was 10 at the time, and he told me that that band was famous there, and that I might like it. I don’t know why, but I never even opened it. Sure, I listened to the singles on the radio, like everyone else. But that CD just sat there, untouched.
Years later, while cleaning my room, I found it again. I decided to finally open it and spent a good amount of time listening to it. At first, nothing really happened. Then “Morning Glory” (the tenth track) started playing, and that piece changed everything for me. It had such an impact that I named one of my guitars (my lovely Strat) “Champagne Supernova”
I haven’t followed Oasis closely over the years, but What’s the Story Morning Glory is one of the ten albums I’d take to a desert island. There’s something magical about it. Maybe it’s the band’s arrogance, their attitude, the hype. Maybe it’s the songs. Or maybe, it’s just what they represent—a generational scream, the soundtrack of many love stories, and countless summer nights spent with a guitar, singing “Wonderwall” and “Don’t Look Back in Anger” around a fire.
I only saw Oasis live once—their last show in Italy before the split, in Florence in 2009. It wasn’t the best concert of my life, but it was a great one. It’s hard not to enjoy a show that starts with “Rock ‘n’ Roll Star” and closes with “I Am the Walrus.”
I never thought I’d have to thank my lucky star so much. Usually, I’m the one who regrets missing out on seeing artists. There are so many I could have seen but didn’t. But that night, I was the lucky one. No more Italian concerts for them after that.
Since 2009, everything has changed—not just for the Gallagher family, but for the world. Think about smartphones, tech, people, everything. But family issues? They remain the same. Maybe that’s why we love (or hate) them so much.
As for the reunion, I haven’t bought a ticket yet.
As usual, I’ll procrastinate, wait until the last minute, check my schedule, and then, maybe, take a flight and decide to be as reckless as I was in my twenties.
Because sometimes, weird things happen. And I might find a spot at Wembley, with the sole aim of singing “Champagne Supernova” among a bunch of drunk fans.
At the end of the day, that’s what life is all about.
