Is it any WUUNNDAAAAHHHH!!!!

“Bound with all the weight of all the words he tried to say…”

I know the feeling. Finally an Oasis show to blog. I don’t even know where to begin…

Begin at the beginning, I suppose.

What is it that keeps a relationship going? Is it personality, as Sickboy so eloquently put it in Trainspotting? Is it trust, respect, admiration, obsession, faith, love, or simply sheer bloody-mindedness? The later, definitely. Maybe?

It’s been almost ten years to the day that (What's The Story) Morning Glory? was recorded. In the parlance of on Liam Gallagher, “That’s a long fookin’ time, in't it?” A long time, indeed. In that time, bands have come and gone. Fall out of fashion, fall in again. Make no mistake, I have a long-standing, often torturous relationship with the Gallagher brothers. If Definitely Maybe dug a shallow grave for Grunge then Morning Glory? nailed the coffin shut. I haven’t bought a Pearl Jam record since Versus, fact! (Record Collection ED: er, you bought Vitology as well – SFB#1 Get the fook out me review) I still can’t entirely wrap my head around the fact that it has been ten years since Glory. I still measure my highs and lows against the yard stick that was 1995. I’m not the man I was ten years ago and neither are Oasis. However, two things remain constant: the Gallagher brothers will brawl and beatle away at music and I will continue to shell out unconscionable amounts of money see them do it. (Continuity ED: Contradicting previous rants against unconscionable ticket prices.) My faith is unshakable in the clan Gallagher.

With four Union Jacks stamped on my Lancashire Bomber – okay, okay my concert-going satchel - was there any doubt that I would pony up* almost 30 quid for last night’s premier whistle stop on the Gallagher Brothers Magical Mystery Travelling Oasis Revue tour? Hardly.

So the four Concert-teers (yours truly, A-Ranger and Wibling Rivalry Banger Sisters: MmmBop and Ali-G) ventured forth to yon Amphitheatre on the lake. I’ve been going to club shows for so long that I’d forgotten how much I love that ‘Exhibition Stadium’ feel you get at big shows. Parents to busy fretting about the effects of pot smoke and foul mouthed rock stars on their children to notice their kids cursing and smoking pot. Said kids passing out during Jet - not that you could really blame them. Good Samaritans hydrating said passed out teen, out of their own pocket no less. It's that whole Who Reunion XXIV at the CNE vibe.

I’ve come to realize that Oasis represent everything I love and hate about music. The highest highs and the lowest lows, all a part of life’s rich tapestry. Love: Working class heroes, proper rock star attitude and antics, “We mean it, man! It’s mega.” Hate: Over produced soulless cokehead music, drawing a crowd of jocks and frat boys that would have made life hell for geeks like me in high school. I almost feel like I’m behind enemy lines standing in line for the bogs. Well except for the guy who kept shouting “Paul Weller”, waiting for a urinal. “Mate, it’s lost on this crowd.” The atmosphere inside the bogs drains the nostalgia away faster than my bladder. The horrors are not fit for retelling here, dear readers.

How such a seasoned concert goer like your humble narrator could so tragically underestimate the duration of the set change over is frankly beyond me. Of course I’m in the beer line when the tattoo of "F**kin’ in the Bushes" drum beat calls us forth. I collect my two vats of Scouse Piss (Canadian) and fly back to my seats without spilling a drop, a professional to the end. Liam stalks around stage like the King Monkey he is, having long since dethroned Ian “Stone Roses” Brown. His short leather jacket does little to hide the pot belly he has developed. (Clearly enjoying Betty’s hotpot a little too often.) I’m prepared for Liam’s audience baiting-behaviour but he is positively genial. Well, as genial as he ever gets. His voice is as strong as ever, the Silk Cuts must be treating him well. Noel's face is betraying his age and the strain of minding our kid. The years of battling and chasing songs down blind alleys lends a subtext to his set. This month’s MOJO alludes to Liam’s attitude being born from the fact that he never struggled. He moved out of his mum’s flat into Knebworth while Noel toiled in obscurity for years. You know he’s been on the brink of a life of quiet desperation. Now that he’s made it, no knobhead brother is going to take it away from him. To that end, he’s stacked his band with the sort of musicians that can keep his dream alive. Gem and Andy have reputable fringes and Brit Rock pedigrees that are above reproach. The Oasis Mk II V.3 is rounded out - a Ringo ate my baby** - by Zach Starkey on drums. Is Stella far behind?

This may be Toronto where our audiences stand stock still like the concert-zombies Blow Up but this is clearly a 905 crowd. They don’t care for the big smoke’s airs and graces and they shake their asses in defiance of us. You don’t have to shout “PLAY THE HIT” tonight. Lyla induces mad fits of what I can only describe as Uncle-Dancing. Pints a loft for Morning Glory? Cigarettes and Alcohol, thank you very much. Champagne Supernova gets me a bit misty over friends who have come and gone (Travel ED: cheers Maz and Laz, God speed you back when you grow weary of your adventures and home beckons). Maybe I should get away for the summer. Again, I’m in the bogs for my personal favourite, Live Forever. Cursed vats of over priced lager. Encore with Don’t Look Back in Anger. I AM SUPER FANBOY #1 and I couldn’t ask for more. I’m sorry but I have put my life in the hands of a rock and roll band and I don’t care if they throw it all away. As long as they continue to make me feel this way.

Spliffs may have be passed tonight, but torches certainly were not. Younger bands will have to try and pry it from Liam’s cold dead hand. I’ve never been all that reflective about my obsession, it’s a sort of relationship, with Oasis. They don’t lend themselves to introspection. And yet, “I’ll confess all of my sins after several large gins.”*** Blowasis have soundtracked my life. Definitely Maybe‘s unbridled arrogance showed me it was okay, nay, essential to believe in yourself. It introduced me to swagger. "Don’t Look Back In Anger" carried me through some dark times. Be Here Now and Standing on the Shoulder of Giants taught me to brazen it out - a skill that would served me well as I, in true Gallagher fashion, strutted past lairy lads waiting in line for the bogs. But I never gave up on them. For every clanging title and half-arsed single there was a chorus that struck a chord. I wouldn’t say the last two records are a return to form so much as Noel and Liam rediscovering their strengths and finding the love, for the music that is. Tonight, I feel my devotion has been rewarded.

It all ends with a cover of the Who’s "My Generation". I’m drunk and more than a little maudlin. Is it really all over? Should I drive to Detroit to see it all again? Will it feel the same? Will there be another time? What have I done with the last ten years of my life? Maybe I should just move on. Take up golf or summat, like grown ups. Should I, by heck! Yep, sheer bloody mindedness it is.

As I face the setting sun, do I cast a shadow? I don’t know about that, but I’m determined to live forever.

* Much respect to G-Unit for flexin’ the Amex and getting us the pre-pre-sale hook up.
** Bon-mot by A-Ranger, cheers babe.
*** Cheers Pete Libertine, I couldn’t have said it better myself.

  ¶ 5:29 PM