Oasis gigs will be Taylor Swift’s Eras tour for middle-aged straight men

Giant speaker stacks draped in Union flags, everyone in Ben Sherman, unstoppable, beered-up pogo-ing… and not a single friendship bracelet in sight. Can you imagine what next summer’s stadium tour will actually be like?

For too long now, fortysomething straight white blokes have watched as the girls had all the fun. Off they all went, the world over, to see Taylor Swift packing out stadiums with girls and gays and good vibes.

“It’s so wholesome!” they said. “I felt so safe!” they said. “It was so full of joy!” they said. “GIRLHOOD!” they screamed! They swapped friendship bracelets, they bought sequined jumpsuits with frills. They beglittered their faces. They looked into the affordability of pink cowboy boots. They booked a babysitter. They cried their eyeliner off.

But what of the fortysomething straight white bloke? What of him? When does he get his turn?

Some of these men haven’t known the platonic touch of another bloke’s feather cut since the Roses reunion collapsed. When will he get to cry on his friend’s shoulder to a favourite song, or hug a stranger while he holds a lighter in the air? He tried last year, with Blur and Pulp, but they’re both a bit… suspect.

Thank heavens, then, for Oasis – back from the grave, giving straight white blokes their own version of the Eras tour.

As with Taylor Swift, there’ll be career-spanning greatest hits stretching all the way from 1994 to, roughly, 1997. There will be towers of amplifiers with Union flags draped across them. There’ll be giant screens on which that clip of Dave Grohl implying that Tay Tay doesn’t play live will play on rotation, to massive cheers. There’ll be spectacular costume changes as Liam sweats through his Ben Sherman and swaps it out for a different coloured Ben Sherman.

Every anthem will be met with a roar. “Everyone stand up for this one!” Noel will say. “Oof!” will come the collective reply as 50,000 backs and knees creak in unison. A deafening cheer will rise, not because of the opening chord of a favourite hit, but because someone in the bar dropped their £8.99 pint of warm Budweiser over his new Kickers.

No friendship bracelets for this lot – they will write “MAD FER IT” on Rizlas and pass them around. “OO ARE YA! OO ARE YA!” they will chant in between songs. Someone will blow up a condom and scrawl “LIVE FOREVER!” across it in Sharpie, before bopping it out into the sea of bucket hats.

Of course, it’s not just the fortysomething super-lads who are here. Lots of people love Oasis. They’ve got a huge following among Gen Z, who are mercifully free of the cultural context of the band and simply enjoy their music. Social media has already christened her “21-year-old Chloe from Stockport, who she just wants to hear ‘Wonderwall’ live”. You’ll be able to spot her and her ilk at the gig. There’ll be the ones constantly being asked to “name three of their albums, then”.

When the music starts, the cathartic release of “Rock ‘N’ Roll Star” will be met with a sudden and unstoppable urge to pogo that lasts about as long as everyone’s knees can cope (roughly the first chorus). “Live Forever” causes audible sobbing across the stadium, partly at the beauty of the moment, partly in frustration because no one can get enough signal to do an Instagram live. There’s an odd moment of simultaneous confusion when no one remembers that “The Hindu Times” was an Oasis number one that they used to know the words to.

During “Stand By Me” arms drape across the shoulders of strangers. Warmth and brotherhood erupts. The screens show Gareth Southgate missing a penalty at Euro ’96 and a moment’s silence rolls over the stadium. A gulp. A whimper. And release. Tears. Tears mingle with sweat. Tears splash into overpriced beer and stain cheeks. “Wonderwall” causes a moment of transcendence, and the chorus to “Don’t Look Back In Anger” temporarily rips away 30 years of hurt.

They are all 16 again; their lives ahead of them, with only long hot summer holidays and GCSE results on the horizon. There is not a care in the world.

And then it’s over. And in the queue for the train home arms unlink and tears are dried. Before someone throws the first punch. D’you know what I mean?