Jeff Jarrett traveled from his home in St. Louis to see the kickoff of the Oasis Live ’25 tour in Cardiff, Wales, in July, then to Chicago’s Soldier Field in August. But, for him, no Oasis gig will ever match the early-September night in Pasadena, California, where he saw his favorite band alongside his six-year-old son, Wolf, for the first time.
“It was an evening that was as lovely — and as loud — as I hoped it would be,” says Jarrett, 44, a booking agent and artist manager, who proudly recalls watching his son receive first-bumps and high-fives from those seated around them. “When Wolf was singing ‘Acquiesce,’ I laughed like Mr. Burns in The Simpsons: ‘My son loves Oasis. The plan is working.’”
Fathers and sons. Dads and daughters. Dads and their dads. Husbands, boyfriends, best buddies. Former college roommates, current college roommates. And none of them behaved badly — at least not from what I observed over Labor Day weekend at the first of two MetLife Stadium shows in New Jersey. Dare I say, I was impressed, moved, and, yes, surprised by all of the positive masculinity. Seemingly everywhere I went, there were happy, sensitive, emotional, and chivalrous men. At the merch stand; at the tequila bar. Even in the parking lot, where one jovial gentleman was handing out beers to passersby and inviting them to watch Sunday football on the big-screen TV he’d positioned on a folding table.
“So much hugging, kissing, weeping among dudes, and not one bro tussle in the three shows I’ve been to,” Bob Ferguson, a New Jersey Gen X’er who heads up musician outreach for Oxfam, texted me after the Labor Day show at MetLife. (He also caught the two reunion shows in Toronto — Oasis’ first stop on this tour in North America.) “I’ve never seen so many solo dads with kids at a rock show, singing together like it’s the most natural family outing to be on the floor of a football stadium shouting out ‘I’m a rock & roll star!’ I love that the unlikely lads of Oasis might be causing some amazing social civility!”
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Civility was never the Brothers Gallagher’s strong suit. Rudeness was their reputation, and in the Nineties and 2000s, it was on full display in interviews (where they’d walk out mid-conversation, say something offensive, or mock the journalists) and at their own concerts (where Liam was known to spit beer at the audience). Older brother Noel was fond of throwing barbs at fellow musicians: Phil Collins was “a middle-of-the-road baldie,” Robbie Williams “the fat dancer from Take That,” and on and on. When INXS frontman Michael Hutchence presented Oasis a BRIT Award in 1996, Noel started his acceptance speech with “Has-beens shouldn’t be presenting awards …”
The Gallaghers infamously and very publicly insulted each other too. After the band broke up in 2009, Liam spent years poking Noel on Twitter, labeling him “a potato” and “a sad little dwarf,” while Noel described Liam as “the angriest man you’ll ever meet. He’s like a man with a fork in a world of soup.”
Now, 16 years after Noel ended Oasis in Paris — reportedly following a physical altercation backstage, during which Liam wielded a guitar like an ax — the brothers have made a point of starting each show by walking out onstage with their arms around each other. Hugs and kisses abound.
Does time heal old wounds and soften even the hardest and naughtiest of rock stars? Some might say staging a comeback tour that stands to pull in a reported $1.6 billion helps. But Paul Adams, 54 — born and raised in Manchester, England, just like Noel and Liam — offers a little armchair psychology on the dynamic between the Gallaghers. “You have to understand, northern men are about as passionate as they come,” he says. “When you fall out with somebody in the north of England, it becomes part of your identity. It’s the clothes that you wear.… But it’s all bravado. The second their audience was removed, both of those men were filled with regret at this relationship that had seemingly ended, to the point where they probably don’t even remember why, but there was always a longing for reconciliation. So we can be cynical about the brothers coming out arm in arm, but actually, they need it.”
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Jason Singer — a.k.a. Nashville-based singer-songwriter Michigander, who points to Oasis as “one of the reasons I make music” — thinks their fans need the reconciling too. “These shows are taking people back to a time when we weren’t so polarized as a society,” says Singer, 33, who saw one of the Chicago shows.
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At my seat at MetLife, I made the acquaintance of those around me. They included two lifelong mates who generally ignored the band onstage in favor of singing nearly every lyric to each other. Nearby was a guy who was there with his fiancée and her parents. He’d specially chosen this night, this concert, for his first meeting with his future in-laws (a brilliant move, since the white-haired, older couple seemed to be Oasis superfans).
To my right were two brothers from the Bronx, Frank, 34, and Joseph, 27. I met the former when he asked if we could link arms to do the Poznań, a fan-favorite moment during “Cigarettes and Alcohol,” when Liam asks the audience to turn their backs to the stage and jump up and down.
As with many of the fans I met that night, this wasn’t their first Oasis concert. Frank, a construction tradesman like his brother, said he’d never been overseas before, but when the announcement came that the group was reuniting and beginning the tour in the U.K., Joseph “texted me like crazy: ‘We have to go!’ When we were kids, my brother got into them because I was into them. Their music brought us a lot closer. They’re brothers, we’re brothers.”
When tickets went on sale for the U.K. dates, the two stayed up all night in New York and eventually scored a pair for one of the seven sold-out London dates this past July and August at Wembley Stadium.
“We get there and see everyone in Oasis gear, and I’m already feeling emotional,” says Frank. “Then the lights go down and the first notes of the intro hit, and I’m arm in arm with my brother, taking it all in. I look around and everyone was there with their families, their friends. Everyone’s feeling the same sentiment: togetherness, community. Then they come on, Liam and Noel holding hands.… I just lost it. I mean, tears!”
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“I cried, like, four times,” Singer says, recalling his experience at the Soldier Field show. “It was the best night of my life. I’ve gotten to see some crazy, cool shows, but this topped it. I genuinely cannot stop thinking about it. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I’ve seen a lot of people saying this is the Eras Tour for white dudes. I don’t know how anyone would go about replicating it.”
Impossible, sniffs Adams: “There’s nobody that can now re-form that’s ever going to beat it. It’s almost certainly the most successful reunion tour ever at this point. And the band sound better than they ever have. It’s working-class music underpinned with ambition and seeing beauty in the ordinary. Noel’s songs of hope, friendship, and joy, combined with his ability to write gorgeously sad chord progressions and hymns as sung by his brother, are needed now more than ever. Everything is shit, so go and drink a beer, hug the people around you, sing the songs you know like the back of your hand, and believe that it’s all going to work out.”
