Reunion: Oasis are back – and with full force

“Hello, said it’s good to be back”, the chorus of their first song, promptly at 8:15 p.m. on Friday evening, it is the natural beginning of a supernatural evening, the matter-of-factness of a band that has not understood itself for long enough.

Oasis are back, kicking off their first tour in 16 years in the covered Principality Stadium in Cardiff, Wales, in front of 60,000 people who already considered themselves lucky to have gotten tickets at all and who now hope to be made even happier. They made the teenage Gallagher brothers promise to be back, for each other and for everyone. And, to their own surprise, they are not disappointed.

Just a reminder, in case anyone isn't aware of the gap in the two musicians' CVs: Liam, now 52, ​​and Noel Gallagher, 58, from Manchester, gave the world Britpop when they founded their band in 1991 and took it away again when they disbanded in 2009. After that, they went their own way, still working together, just without each other: solo careers with decent songs, complemented live by the wonderful classics from the Oasis era. All good. But not perfect. Until now.

The second song is called "Acquiesce," and they sing "Because we need each other / We believe in one another." The brothers (alongside the other musicians standing in the shadows and in front of a screen displaying pleasant but ephemeral collages and patterns, whatever) play one hit after another together. Everything is familiar, yet everything takes on a new meaning.

In terms of effort, Oasis' comeback cannot be compared to that of a boxer who has to train for months to get into shape. Remembering how they played the songs together is their only preparation for the gigs, and that might be a touching experience for many other bands. But for the brothers it is a traumatizing one. The long break was preceded by a brotherly love-hate relationship played out in the world's biggest arenas. It happens in the best of families, and even more so in ordinary ones. But as pop history shows, the spectrum of love and hate is considerably broader in a world full of fame and glory and art and consumerism and guilt and the stage than under ordinary circumstances. Others can discreetly avoid each other. A band would have to publicly break up for that to happen.

Today, only good news: Peter Doherty is alive, seems extremely happy, has a little daughter, a huge dog, and a new album. And it's fantastic, too. An encounter.

"Some might say" and "Cigarettes and Alcohol," long-missed melodies, a penalty for any average party band. But Englishmen and penalty kicks? Yes, yes, it works. Liam's voice holds up, Noel's guitar holds up, too. The audience slowly begins to wonder if they've only imagined this long pause.

In August 2009, the band split up after a dispute culminated in Liam attacking his brother, allegedly swinging a guitar like an axe. Noel left the band, the remaining dates of the tour were canceled, and a joint return was ruled out. Last year, they announced they would try again. Prices of up to 355 pounds for a standing-room ticket scared off the celebrated working class, but there were still plenty willing to pay enough. Megalomaniac Manchester capitalism.

If they had given interviews about the upcoming tour, Noel, with his grumpy desire to provoke, and Liam, with his childish compulsion to do so, would surely have described the plans as the greatest comeback since Jesus.

The atmosphere in Cardiff during the day feels more like a finale than a beginning. Jerseys, bucket hats, beer vests. All day Friday, the fans who've traveled to the Welsh capital have been drinking themselves to death in the name of the brothers, self-destruction through external influences. Shortly before, the British government presented its ten-year plan for the overhaul of the National Health Service, but perhaps it should have waited until this particular summer. The twelve concerts in the United Kingdom alone, with hundreds of thousands of drinking Oasis fans, could significantly influence the statistical basis.

"Whatever" and "Rock 'n' Roll Star"—the bliss in the stadium becomes almost kitsch, at least in the stands. In the restrooms, drunks who find the line too long pee in the sinks. No time to waste. Enough wasted already.

16 years is a long time; a lot has happened, even out there. In 2009, Barack Obama had just become US President, Great Britain was still in the EU, and the country still had a Queen. Manchester City wasn't yet a successful club, and Thomas Tuchel, now England's national team coach, became coach of Mainz 05 that summer and was still eating sugar.

Noel Gallagher recently criticized the Glastonbury Festival as being too woke

Which is also true: Back then, the world was at the beginning of a social shift toward a gentler, more decent, more mindful, more diverse, and less sugary world. It may be a coincidence that the wide-legged, shirt-sleeved, loud-mouthed professional insulters are now blustering back into the spotlight, but it fits with the general turning back of the clock. Noel Gallagher recently criticized the Glastonbury Festival for being too woke. But he still has feelings.

He sings a longer part in the middle of the set, "Talk Tonight" and "Half the World Away." Bliss in the audience, tears, "Little by Little," fraternization. Crying for beer, that's what I recommend.

At a safety meeting for upcoming concerts, Edinburgh City Council spoke of "loud, middle-aged men" who displayed "a moderate to high level of intoxication." And at first glance, you can see these rough men in the stands. But by "Stand by Me," they've softened up. Their glassy eyes no longer reflect just their livers, but also their lives. An entire generation is looking in the rearview mirror; the individual yet collective coming-of-age film is playing backwards. Those present may not have directed their own biographies, but at least they chose the soundtrack themselves. The memories come back, of the days when “Wonderwall” still belonged to Britpop and not to music history, when “Don’t look back in Anger” was only played on the radio and not at weddings, when “Live Forever” was still a hit and not an anthem, when “Champagne Supernova” was only played late at parties and not too late at funerals: “But you and I, we live and die, the world’s still spinning round we don’t know why”.

It's the last song, after which there's a fleeting, acclaimed hug between the brothers, and the big question of whether the evening itself will be memorable is answered. Jesus.