The Masterplan

You know those scenes in movies where there’s a huge sudden explosion and the people on the periphery of it throw their eyes wide as their hair blows from the sudden bubble of energy? That was me, wearing a knockoff 1994-1995 Manchester City jersey, as Liam and Noel Gallagher blasted “Hello” at the start of their fourth reunion show in Manchester.

I felt myself struggling to take in what I was seeing. My mind wandered intermittently during the first couple of songs in the way it does when I dissociate when something becomes too intense for me to handle. I brought myself back to the place where I was standing — in my Sambas.

In ways that are both impressive and embarrassing, Oasis has long ranked near the top of “things I know about.” I know the lore, I know the songs, I spent a year of mild insomnia watching their Maine Road performances on YouTube. I understood why they were incredibly popular. I understood why they became incredibly uncool. I knew the cultural weight of what I was seeing.

But the first thought my mind was able to surface after about 15 minutes of watching Oasis revive themselves in front of my eyes was this: “I get it, now. I understand the Oasis thing.”

It wasn’t that I thought I didn’t understand it before. In reality, my friend Jack from London told me that the perception from England is that Americans don’t “get” Oasis beyond their radio hits. “You know they’re not just the ‘Wonderwall’ band,” he told me. The locals were baffled, too. One very drunk Mancunian looked at me and my friends one night and said: “Fucking ‘ell. You all came to Manchester from America to see England’s national band?”

(Note: The rest of this essay contains setlist details. I know many of you are attempting to avoid those spoilers, so come back after they play your city.)