It’s been nearly two decades since Oasis last graced the Los Angeles area with a live performance, but you’d never know it from the fervor of the fans who packed the Rose Bowl for their Saturday night show, the first of two sold-out gigs over the weekend. In many ways, the scene looked like a high school reunion: kids who grew up in the 90s, now pushing middle age hard, but still clinging to their youthful dream of being “mad for it.” The crowd was a living, breathing testament to the undying devotion that Oasis commands—fans who’ve followed the band through jobs, kids, divorces, second mortgages, and the steady assault of adult responsibilities, all while still rocking silly bucket hats, oversized sweatsuits, and—most notably—Liam Gallagher’s ever-present sneer.
Yes, that sneer. The one that’s been a hallmark of Liam’s stage presence since ‘94. Not an ounce of warmth, just a permanent, pouting mask behind those dated signature ‘70s aviators. It’s hard to tell if he’s been channeling some obscure post-punk antihero or if his lips were just frozen in place, but the result was the same: an enigmatic, aloof figure scowling through the same half-dozen mid-tempo anthems that have defined Oasis’ catalog for years.
Who needs smiles when you’ve got songs like “Morning Glory” and “Live Forever” to supply all the nostalgia anyone could ever need?
Speaking of those songs, the setlist was a carefully curated trip down memory lane that balanced the band’s greatest hits with a few lesser-known gems. “Hello” kicked things off, and the crowd—mostly forty-somethings trying to ignore their creaky knees—sang along with an enthusiasm that bordered on manic. As Liam’s whiny vocals got swallowed up in the fuzzy drone of the band’s oft-recycled guitars, it was clear that Oasis has always been about one thing: relentless, thunderous mediocrity. And that’s a compliment. No band on earth has made more out of root chords and a steady, plodding beat.
The real spectacle, though, came in the form of the show’s staging. Massive screens flashed with colorful, hypnotic visuals that somehow made those ubiquitous drumbeats feel more epic, like watching a live-action acid trip on a giant screen while your brain slowly turned to mush. It’s the sort of production that distracts from the fact that the band’s musical palette hasn’t expanded since 1995, and that’s not a complaint. The fans gobbled up every moment—”Supersonic,” “Cigarettes & Alcohol,” (which rocked, by the way), and “Roll With It”—like candy. In fact, if there were an award for best fan behavior, these loyalists would take home the gold. Because while the music is an endless loop of major chords and plodding rhythms, it’s clear that for Oasis fans, it’s the idea of the band, the mythology of the Gallagher brothers, that keeps them coming back.
And let’s not forget the cheeky moment when they segued into a snippet of The Beatles’ “Octopus’s Garden” during “Whatever.” It was a playful nod to their influences, though, not surprisingly, the chord changes sounded eerily similar. Not that much of a musical reach.
When it came to the most iconic moments of the night, the encore was the real treat. “Don’t Look Back in Anger” drew a deafening sing-along, and “Wonderwall,” of course, was inevitable, evoking a collective wave of existential dread that felt oddly cathartic. But it was “Champagne Supernova” that left the crowd in a happy daze, as though the haze of nostalgia lifted everyone into a euphoric state of suspended time.
Despite Liam’s permanently angry face and silly “tough guy” stance, the brothers were well-behaved. The Manchester bickering was subdued, though it was hard to tell if Liam’s growls were even understandable through his thick accent. It didn’t matter. The crowd was ecstatic. For them, the Gallaghers are gods, and no amount of mediocre songwriting or overexposed riffs could ever change that.
Whatever you think of Oasis—rock’s most overrated band since Pink Floyd—there’s no denying their unwavering hold on a certain kind of fan. These are the kinds of people who’ll stand in the Rose Bowl for hours, enduring bucket hats and droning guitar solos, just to hear that one familiar riff, and remember a time when life was simpler. In rock and roll, that’s enough.
And as for Oasis? Well, they might not be innovating, but for this crowd—who drifted off into the parking lot like they were still in high school, but waiting for Uber instead of mom to drive them home—they were reverberating and reassuring.
