More than with most other rock bands, an Oasis concert is a truly communal, collective event. It’s about the crowd every bit as much as it’s about the band. In this way, the atmosphere inside the Arena (electric but not oppressive, enthusiastically good-natured, no pushing and shoving, smiles everywhere, with everybody leaving enough room to leap around) reminds me slightly of a large dance event. It also reminds me that, as much as they might be a classic rock band, Oasis still have roots in that whole acid house / Madchester / baggy / rave phenomenon. It’s there in the egalitarianism, the universality, and the sense of hedonistic immortality that runs through much of the older material.
So this isn’t really the sort of event which lends itself to musing on the finer nuances of the band’s musicianship. Which, considering the rather sludgy acoustic of Nottingham Arena, is a good thing. But if you really want to know, the playing is fine: solid, if unspectacular. It gets the job done. It doesn’t take liberties with the original recorded versions. It doesn’t try anything too new or too flash. It goes chug-a-chug chug chug, chug-a-chug chug chug. Or it goes der-der-DER-der, der-der-DER-der. It steals classic rock licks, quite shamelessly, and it doesn’t care who knows it.
Oasis as the new Status Quo, then? Quo-asis? Oh, undeniably. But, you know, so what?
We get a little bit over an hour and a half, including encores. The set mixes stuff from the first two albums with healthy dollops of the new material on Heathen Chemistry. The new stuff stands up remarkably well, and goes down a storm – particularly a terrific version of The Hindu Times, early on in the main set. You realise that Heathen Chemistry really is the band’s long-awaited “comeback” album, even if they can never quite hope to re-capture the glory days of 1994-1997. Significantly, not one single song from Be Here Now is played, and there is only one selection (Go Let It Out) from Standing On The Shoulder Of Giants. Oasis know full well when they Had It, and when they Lost It, and when they Got It Back Again. No point pretending otherwise.
Highlights? The obvious stuff, really. Cigarettes And Alcohol, Acquiesce and (of course!) my all-time favourite: Don’t Look Back In Anger, which raises the roof. Plus the final encore: a rip-roaring, passionate rendition of The Who’s My Generation, played to the accompaniment of flashing Union Jacks and Mod target signs on the gigantic screens which tower above the band’s heads. Of all the rock singers I can think of, no-one could be better suited for this song than Liam Gallagher. He was simply born to sing it. He gives it his all, in what for me is his best, most committed, most gloriously snotty and attitude-ridden performance of the night. He might be a coarse twat, but he doesn’t half make a bloody good rock star. And at the end of the day, that’s all I really care about.
Omissions? There are several. Whatever, Roll With It, All Around The World, Champagne Supernova and most especially, Wonderwall – which is instead piped through the speakers as the audience file out. A good proportion linger behind to sing along with it anyway. Hey, who needs the band? We’re gonna live forever!
troubled diva 