The great wait is over: we have seen Oasis

Cardiff (Wales)There are days when your mouth gets heated, and that was one of them. "Kid, if these morons come back, we'll go no matter what," we said, looking into each other's eyes. Then, we solemnized the moment by clasping hands. More than ten years after that promise, the first rumors began that the Gallagher brothers were considering making peace and that Oasis would return to the stage. "It's all smoke and mirrors, Canals. Don't pay attention. We'll never see them again," but the conversations between us always ended the same: "If these morons come back, we'll go no matter what."

And the time had come. On August 27, 2024 (almost exactly sixteen years after their split), the sun rose and Oasis announced their return: "The guns have fallen silent... the great wait is over," the statement read. It was the end of 16 years of arguments, fights, and differing artistic visions sweetened by the bad company of cocaine and the endless battle of egos.

The call was instant. "Whatever" was "whatever" because a promise is a promise. Seventeen concerts between the UK and Ireland. Goal: two tickets. So on August 31st, early in the morning as they say, we ignored life and sat down with four electronic devices each (a computer and three phones for Xavi, and two computers and two phones for Oriol). We dived into the mud of virtual queues, registrations, validation codes, and the heist of dynamic pricing to beat the shit out of each other (virtual, eh, in this world everything is virtual now) with fans, jackpots, scalpers, and nostalgic people like us. D-Day, H-hour. So, let's get to work. We shot at everything that moved. Manchester, Edinburgh, Cardiff, London, Dublin; it was absolutely all the same to us. From then on, "whatever" was followed by "wherever." Seventeen concerts, well, seventeen virtual queues per person. Crazy. Little by little, the staggering numbers of people ahead of us began to diminish. "Xavi, I'm 20,000 from Manchester and 25,000 from Cardiff." "Put it together, 100,000 in London is my best position."

The August heatwave was pressing down, people were splashing around in the pool, and we were standing in virtual queues, trying to spare a few pounds on a promise. "Kid, check Twitter" (it'll never be X for us, sorry Mr. Musk). There were already tickets on the black market, and we weren't even under five thousand. Sometimes you miss the transparency of the queues on Gran Via-Aribau from the 1980s.

After three hours of swearing at everyone while standing, the topic started to move on. "Xavi, I'm five hundred miles from Manchester," crossing my fingers that the Wi-Fi wouldn't fail or that I'd get a "sold out" accompanied by a closed fist and the middle finger firmly in the air. But no. "Kid, I'm going to Manchester." And when, finally, you have the promised land before you and your credit card is about to stop shaking, the seven plagues of Egypt fall upon you and the ticket sales system only allows... the last one? Come on, man, no way! virtual queue. In almost four hours after staring at screens, the magic phrase arrived "Xavi, we're going to Cardiff." There were fourteen million applications for the one million four hundred thousand tickets on sale and we got two.

'Wonderwall' in full swing

Ten months later, on Saturday 5th July we landed in Bristol, train in Cardiff, walk through the centre, some combs with Wonderwall at the top of our lungs (we'll take the exact number to our graves) and headed to the Principality Stadium to see this pair of morons play their band. Because let's face it, they're morons. But they're our favorite morons, and we forgive them. For both of us, Oasis represents the explosion of a vital moment, the soundtrack to the transition from adolescence to adulthood; those years when you have the world to consume, a ton of dreams to fulfill, and a very large bottle of lilies in your hand. Over time, they fade away, and you realize that life isn't the bed of roses you had imagined, but music is one of those things that makes the journey more pleasant. Arriving in 2025 with more wrinkles on our faces, a whiter roof, and a presbyopia that I can't even imagine, we're not ashamed of our 90s selves. And Saturday night was like going back. Liam Gallagher, Noel Gallagher, Paul Bonehead Arthurs, Gem Archer, Joey Waronker, Andy Bell, and the 74,000 people who accompanied us made it a great time. The atmosphere was incredible before, during, and after the concert (we're light years away from experiencing it like those people).

Twenty-four hours we'll remember forever. On Sunday, we landed in Barcelona, hoarse, exhausted, and with a terrible hangover, but immensely happy to have kept a promise that lasted more than ten years. Because promises must be kept. "However" and "wherever." The long wait is over. We've seen Oasis.

[Oriol Canals is the head of new business at ARA and the author of novels such as "No dormiràs." Xavier Linares is the financial and corporate director of ARA.]