How the Oasis Reunion Has Become 2025’s Most Wholesome Story

Don’t get me wrong, Oasis Live ‘25 still runs on a heavy dose of nostalgia, including a carefully planned setlist that doesn’t leave space for the crowd to think about the public struggles of the band’s later years or the occasional clunkers on their final albums. But it’s a nostalgia that lacks the accompanying patina of sadness that so often paints events like this with a bittersweet brush. Remember what we once had is the feeling these events most often inspire. Here, there is something more like wonder: Look at what we’ve gotten back. If this tour is proof of anything, it’s that forgiveness is possible. Divisions can heal. And what we once assumed to be irreparably broken can be reforged into something new. It’s difficult to imagine a more timely or necessary lesson for our current cultural moment. No wonder this reunion has become a phenomenon.

There is a certain kind of magic inherent in the idea of forgiveness. That probably goes double when considering a situation like the Gallaghers, whose many (many) crash-outs were so ugly and so very public. (Ask any long-time fan, including me, and they’ll probably tell you the fact that the brothers seem to be getting on again matters as much if not more to them than the existence of the tour itself.) One of the biggest cheers of the night in my section at East Rutherford broke out when Noel and Liam, both grinning, hugged for a long moment at the close of “Champagne Supernova,” as colorful fireworks exploded overhead. To crib some of Liam’s favorite descriptors, it felt spiritual. Celestial, even. A little bit like magic.

It is very easy to imagine a different version of this tour, one where Liam and Noel trot out from opposite sides of a stage, play the hits, and exit, collecting their presumably massive paychecks without a backward glance. But a big part of Oasis’s appeal, for both good and ill, has always been how honest they are. From slagging off musical rivals to beefing with each other, the Gallaghers have never been anything less than completely willing to wear the rawest, ugliest parts of both fame and family on their collective sleeves. If they weren’t feeling as sentimental and moved by all of this as we are, there’s no reason to think it wouldn’t be as obvious now as it was back then. Instead, the same happiness and enthusiasm that’s powering the massive crowds appears equally evident among the folks onstage, expressed in smiles, hugs, fist bumps, and unexpected laughter that’s now as much a part of the show as the pair’s harmonies. The result is a seemingly endless feedback loop of joy that unironically celebrates not just the songs so many have loved, but the apparent reconciliation of the men who made them.

It took an absurdly long time to get to this moment. Sixteen years—seventeen if you’re counting from the last time Oasis played a gig in North America—is an eternity, not just in the music industry but in real life, as well. Gen-X fans who eagerly lined up to buy (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? on release day thirty years ago (gulp) are now at the shows with their kids, and young millennials and Zoomers who weren’t even born when Definitely Maybe dropped are a significant portion of the tour’s crowds. Music itself has changed: Streaming has made the act of listening a more solitary, fragmented experience, dominated by algorithms rather than albums. Stadium shows are as much about sets and spectacle as the music that’s played during them, and real old school rock stars are vanishingly few and far between.

But Oasis has always been more subversive than most realize. From their unapologetic and oft-stated determination to become the biggest band in the world to their complete rejection of the moody, grunge vibes that were so popular when their first album hit shelves, they and their music have always had a certain kind of aspirational undercurrent. (Don’t ever tell either Gallagher I said this, but it’s hard to think of two people who are more romantic about the power of their chosen profession, in the end.) Rock and roll is supposed to be a good time, music is meant to lift people up, and there’s nothing so shitty in the world that a good tune can’t make it better. (Even, apparently, after almost two decades of estrangement.) Oasis has never forgotten that fact. And if we did…well. Thank goodness they’re back to remind us.

Lacy Baugher Milas writes about TV and Books at Paste Magazine, but loves nerding out about all sorts of pop culture. You can find her on Twitter and Bluesky at @LacyMB.