Oasis hits Toronto with nostalgia rock in wet and woeful Rogers Stadium
Of course when talking about Oasis's unlikely return to Toronto, the first thing you have to consider is the venue. Or rather, getting into and out of that venue: Rogers Stadium, the unwieldy, dubiously thought out, deeply controversial stage, may stand as the sole venue on earth equal to Oasis' own mercurial reputation.
The almost indignantly inaccessible location gives up the ghost early on, with a packed subway ride to nearly the end of the TTC's northbound line — after which still lies a hike long enough to draw a crowd of opportunistic entrepreneurs, peddling everything from water, to jerk chicken to rickshaw rides over hills and up and away to the far-off gates.
Inside, an overhead screen counts down the seconds until the show, giving physical presence to the unshakable, grinningly nervous feeling that something big is about to kick off. It's a sentiment opening act Cage The Elephant is the first to address, just minutes after a fight nearly breaks out in the merch tent.
"I'd ask you guys if you were excited, but I'm shitting myself already," lead singer Matt Shultz says to agreeing cheers. "So I know it's gonna be a party."
But of course that nervous energy is earned; bookies' odds that an explosive fight between bandmates Liam and Noel Gallagher will put a premature end to the ongoing reunion tour are generally put above one in four.
It's a fair assumption, as the exact same thing is what destroyed their position as the largest band in the world back in 2009 and kept them from performing together for 15 long years. When it comes to their mythos, the brothers' decades-long, occasionally violent feud may be rivalled only by the jingly fame of Wonderwall — and even there, anyone who's dared to pluck out those chords at a campfire (or more egregiously, at Guitar Center) knows the fury the band can ignite in unwilling audiences.
Which all makes their first North American tour stop in Toronto of all places all the more unlikely — as is the passionate fandom that surrounded them there. From bucket hat-laden stands to impromptu fan-led singalongs, the chokehold with which Oasis has managed to grip the world seemed oddly powerful. Especially for a band that last released a studio album when not only Obama, but Stephen Harper was still in office.
In terms of performing, there's little to fault. Leaning into the mic with his signature jacket-cloaked, off-kilter stance, Liam kicked off the night with Hello, before tilting into a blistering array of hits. F***** In the Bushes, Acquiesce and Morning Glory go by before he opts to deliver the first spoken address: a hard to parse story about some fellow Brit doubting Canada's ability to do the Poznan — a soccer celebration associated with the Manchester City team and now gleefully performed at the Gallaghers' reunion shows.
"What, are we gonna prove him wrong then or what?" he asked.
Windy weatherAnd fans do occasionally rise to the occasion, belting back Talk Tonight to Half the World Away in an interstitial concert-in-a-concert. But this is not the barn-burning experience of Taylor Swift or even The Weeknd. Though ostensibly sold out, unlike Coldplay's recent foray at Rogers it's easy to pick out wide swaths of empty concrete at the back of the floor, while blue seats peak out like patches of dead grass in the stands.
Which could have been from fans nervous of Rogers Stadium's perennial drawback: rain and wind began pelting fans midway through the show — a miserable callback to the weather that turned Chris Brown's recent showing into a sort of low-rent Woodstock. Likewise on Sunday, the songs continued even as persistent techs swept in to wipe off electric guitars and drenched fans huddled under leaky stairways, crowded around near tearful guest service attendants to clamour for $6 rain jackets — or simply ran for the exits long before the end.
"Sing football songs amongst yourselves," Noel quipped, before remarking that Canadians are known for something else. "F****g ice hockey and shit."
"Don't you just love it — a little bit of chaos when the weather comes," Liam followed Noel's observation with. "All that sunshine; it's not good for ya."
It is the closest thing to an interaction we get between the two for the entire night. And it is likely by design; like a 90s sitcom about feuding siblings, it appears almost as if the brothers have opted to lay a metaphorical strip of tape down the middle of the stage. You stay on your side, and I stay on mine. And we might just survive one another.
However safe that renders the tickets of expectant crowds in Chicago, L.A. or Mexico City, it does make for something of an anticlimactic resolution to all that hype.
Even between the occasionally caustic (but always funny) banter from Liam, the utterly professional division between the two leads to an end result that can best be described as workmanlike. Instead of brawling chaos, Oasis seems to have leaned into their name in their twilight years. Assuming that oasis was stuck somewhere in the middle of an exceedingly safe parking lot.
Which is an interesting turn for one of the last examples of true rock stars. To be fair, it's an energy they still carry onstage: evident every time Noel shreds through a D'You Know What I Mean? guitar solo or Liam performs with a devil-may-care, Mick Jagger swagger.
But its relevance, and the question of their longevity has perhaps begun to show: Whether nostalgia is enough for the two to skate by on, as the cool-factor of guitar rock theoretically continues to shrink. And especially as the hatred of millennial music reaches such a fever pitch, it is currently a serious debate whether Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zero's Home is somehow the worst song ever made.
At least that is the feeling until the encore. A cavalcade of the biggest hits that unite the still fairly packed stadium in arms over shoulders and lyrics recited in unison. From The Masterplan to Don't Look Back in Anger, to (finally) Wonderwall and a fireworks-capped Champagne Supernova, Oasis makes the argument for nostalgia expertly in the end.
Even now there's little else like singing the songs you all somehow know with thousands of people you don't. However bitter, detached or uninterested you were for the preceding two hours, the music and their potentially reluctant performance of it still has the power to make you feel, somehow, like everything might be OK.
And then you're spending an entire hour pushing your way out of the stadium's impossibly crowded exit, being herded like cattle through wet mud and wondering how any show could make this worth it.
cbc.ca
