Back when the question was still vital, I hated Oasis, but for what I realise in hindsight were all the wrong (and, in my case, deeply classist) reasons1: that sneering, fuck-you attitude, seemingly utterly authentic, which was everything I’d been carefully brought up to think the absolute worst of.
So there’s a real “how the mighty have fallen” vibe to this statement released by, one presumes, the band’s newly-rebooted corporate PR machine, which makes even the geriatric Rolling Stones look lively and counter-cultural by comparison:
As for the well reported complaints many buyers had over the operation of Ticketmaster’s dynamic ticketing: it needs to be made clear that Oasis leave decisions on ticketing and pricing entirely to their promoters and management, and at no time had any awareness that dynamic pricing was going to be used. While prior meetings between promoters, Ticketmasterand the band’s management resulted in a positive ticket sale strategy, which would be a fair experience for fans, including dynamic ticketing to help keep general ticket prices down as well as reduce touting, the execution of the plan failed to meet expectations. All parties involved did their utmost to deliver the best possible fan experience, but due to the unprecedented demand this became impossible to achieve.
This is rock’n’roll, our kid.
As the years have passed, I’ve actually mellowed on Oasis quite a bit—not to the point that I ever sit and listen to them purposefully, mind you, but certainly to the point where hearing their stuff has that take-you-back-in-time effect.
I believe this to be something distinct from nostalgia. One is unavoidably marked by the culture of one’s coming-of-age: those are the songs and the tunes and the books and the shows that shape your expectations of their respective mediums, and of life more broadly. I am a creature of the mid-90s, without a doubt, but I have no desire to go back to them—perhaps because, unlike most of the serious nostalgists I know, I actually lived them fully at the time.
(You’ll have to forgive me for this, but: the difference is that I’m not looking back in anger.)
But really, the Oasis reunion has been the Chekov’s gun of Britpop ever since the wheels first came off—and, credit where it’s due, both brothers have stuck to their chosen personae like glue, following an implicit script just as carefully as their tunes once did. It was bound to happen; fate means little to us little people, but the famous are still caught up in it like the kings and queens of old.
How so? It’s for a slightly different question, perhaps, but this post from Paul Watson contains an answer that applies just as well:
Much of it is essentially about money though, specifically about the profit margins of large corporations in what’s called late-stage capitalism (although I’m starting to prefer the term “palliative capitalism” as it seems it can now only survive with the life support mechanism of the state socialising its losses).
Palliative capitalism, ladies and gents. Take a number, and start clicking.
- In my defence, I hated Blur with an equal fervor, identifying as I still did at that time as a metalhead as much as anything else. And honestly, given the choice of one or the other, nowadays I’d far rather sit down and listen to the Oasis back catalogue now than Blur’s. Sure, it’s a bit monotonous, but for all their status as icons of an era, Oasis songs sound like they could have been written any time between 1970 and 1997, while Blur’s—due to their restless variety, rather than in spite of it—are trapped in the same ersatz amber that will forever encase Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Don’t Forget Your Toothbrush. ↩︎
Leave a Reply