Cigarettes and Singapore

I was half-expecting this: I wasn't excited.

It's hard to beat the mad, mad high of a rock festival. With Bangkok 100 still resonating in my head, I wasn't about to get worked up over another concert anytime soon, even if it was Oasis.

While at work, I found myself wishing I could go home to a nice, quiet evening of rest and recuperation. But no, I had a $160 ticket in hand, and was bound to complete the rock 'n' roll week of my life--a week bookended by this gig and the Franz Ferdinand one last Thursday. The journey to the indoor stadium was predictably filled with a sense of deja vu: sitting in a cab, lining up at the premier entrance, walking past the security counters and into the cavernous venue--all this I had done just a week ago. Then there was Oasis' stage setup--giant velvet curtains, a wall of Marshall amps, christmas lights and a psychedelic piano--just as it was in Bangkok.

Lo and behold, even the audience was the same.


With its princely admission fee, I hardly expected the front section of the venue to be packed. But it was, and boy was it packed with crazy people. Even before the lights went down, the crowd was so dense that I didn't have enough room to bend my elbow and scratch my nose. When the pre-recorded intro of "Fuckin' in the Bushes" blasted out of the speakers, the entire floor bobbed in sync, simply because our bodies were that tightly packed together.






When Liam Gallagher finally stepped up to the mike, all hell broke loose.








All through the opening salvo of "Turn Up the Sun", "Lyla", "Bring it on Down" and "Morning Glory", my friends and I lurched from one side to the next, pummelled at all angles by waves of human force. One of my friends gave up quickly and pushed backwards into a calmer part of the crowd. I sallied forth undaunted, even though I was focusing more on maintaining my precarious balance than actually watching the band. Now don't get me wrong. The vast majority of people I know hate this kind of concert experience, and with good reason. On the contrary, I LOVE IT...the rush from it is intense. There's something perversely exciting about the being part of a huge crowd that expands and contracts like a muscle with a mind of its own. There's something exhilirating about staggering helplessly for metres, locked at the shoulder with dozens around you, not knowing when and if you're all going to fall together. It was Bangkok all over again, and who would've expected it so soon?


Of course, such fun is good is small doses, because it is very draining. Thank goodness, then, for Noel's slow set of "The Importance of Being Idle" and "The Masterplan", which lulled everyone into a gentle sway. More breathing space opened up during "Live Forever" when Liam tossed his tambourine into the audience, causing an almighty scuffle just to my right. About a dozen arms shot up before a slightly deranged Englishman seized the instrument and bulldozed a gaping escape route, which I happily occupied. The man then doubled over, using beserker strength to cling to his souvenir despite several others trying to wrest it from him. He repeatedly let out blood-curdling cries of "IT'S MINE!" and fought on for what seemed like an hour, eventually grunting "it's broken...it's broken!" and holding the damaged toy up triumphantly.


Despite such an enthusiastic reception from their audience, Oasis were characteristically detached. Liam's entire performance was made with his one and only singing stance: hands behind the back, right leg forward, body leaning to the right and mouth turned upwards to the microphone. Gem Archer and Andy Bell, while providing tight, polished rhythms, were non-entities on stage.
Banter was sparse, and whatever little Liam said was rendered incomprehensible by his thick Mancunian accent and the infamously murky sound of the indoor stadium. He introduced fewer songs than he did in Bangkok--perhaps only "Acquiesce" and "Wonderwall", the latter of which was "for all the ladies". He hardly deigned to acknowledge his audience, though once during "Cigarettes and Alcohol", I swear he sang "all I need are cigarettes and" before pausing, surveying the moshpit and completing the line with a spoken "Singapore".


But one could hardly fault Oasis for a lack of showmanship. With a larger-than-life frontman, godsized choruses and generation-defining tunes such as "Champagne Supernova" and "Don't Look Back in Anger", they only needed to turn the volume up to 11 and let the music do the talking.


And yet, as the show closed with The Who's "My Generation", Oasis executed the oldest trick in the rock 'n' roll performer's handbook: pulling a fan onstage. After completing his vocal duties, Liam scanned the front row, pointed to a buxom lass and nodded repeatedly to his bouncers. A quick boost and the girl was onstage embracing the stern frontman. She backed off awkwardly, hands clasped over her mouth in stunned adoration. She made several faux kowtows to the band, who continued playing a raging outro as Liam sauntered about the stage. The singer then handed the girl his tambourine and prompted her to lead the crowd into the song's final bars. This she did with great aplomb, pogo-ing like she wanted to shake her tits off, urging the audience to clap to the beat.