Manchester has been electric for days – the sun is shining, the city’s innumerable boozers are overflowing with revellers, and Oasis are back. Finally, Oasis are back. There is something about Oasis that you can’t put your finger on: they’re not as musically interesting as The Stone Roses, they lack the genuine hurt and heart of Joy Division or The Smiths, their brand of ‘cool’ is fairly mainstream these days, they don’t have the cult like subversiveness of The Fal – and yet, it’s been like a national holiday in Manchester.
Walking around town is a pleasure right now – the place is quite literally buzzing. Oasis t-shirts are everywhere, bucket hats and sunglasses are on every other person, tram stops around the place have been rebranded with an Oasis touch, and Liam Gallagher is even the announcer on trams leading up to Heaton Park. Fans have been sitting in the surrounds of Heaton Park to absorb the atmosphere and soak up the Oasis vibes, regardless of having a golden ticket.
Now I’m, if nothing, a gonzo journalist. So on Saturday night, I grabbed a handful of cans, a pack of smokes and made my way to Heaton Park. There were thousands bustling about – Richard Ashcroft was just starting up as I arrived at the park, and I quickly joined a group of ticketless revellers with camping chairs and cans. Each gate we got to was locked down. The fun of Friday night on the hill had spread like wildfire online, and the number of people without a ticket trying to steal a glimpse has increased tenfold.
Security are turning people away from every entrance, though several are jumping onto electrical boxes in order to jib the wall and get as close as possible. My own group of hopefuls decided to skirt around the edges of Heaton Park in hopes of finding an unmanned gate – about 30 minutes of traipsing (and a couple of cans) we eventually walk up a long bridal path before a man on a bike, wearing a bucket hat and smoking a cig told us “gate 1 is round that corner, and there’s no cunt blocking it.”
We’d walked so far around the park that we couldn’t hear Ashcroft any longer. As we traversed the hills up to the main part of Heaton Park, the final strains of ‘Bittersweet Symphony’ were blown our way on the breeze. We met with other people, each of whom had found some way of circumnavigating the security for a glimpse of the Gallaghers – the atmosphere was jubilant, people were sharing cans, cigarettes, joints and more. It was a stunning and vitally important moment of community. Oasis may not be the most technical or the world’s finest musicians, but their songs are universally and unequivocally loved in this city.
The sheer number of people jumping fences and dashing from event security shows you how vital this band are to so many in the city. Not only that, but there was very little belief that Oasis would actually be back. Our spot, on an adjacent hill to the Gallagher Hill, was perfect: drenched in sun, with a small glimpse of the stage, and we could hear everything. Who needs a ticket? Not Manchester.
