The biggest gig ever held in Irvine was undoubtedy the 2 nights OASIS played at Irvine Beach Park on the nights of the 14th and 15th of July, 1995, when they were the hottest act in rock. Yes, hard to believe now, but it was even something of a high point for Oasis, "Better than fookin' Glastonbury, Noel said. Keith Cameron's excellent review for Sounds gives you the flavour of those two electric nights.
TIDAL RAVE
It's a nice problem to have, but a problem nonetheless. What's more, it's one OASIS have had coming for some time. Sooner or later, the insane momentum of the past 18 months would inevitably culminate in a single event into which every last twitch of emotion was invested, each last ounce of inspiration poured, all available words said, and teardrops shed. Leaving... what? Is this all there is? How far can too far go? For God's sake WHERE NOW?!
It happened in Irvine. Under a huge, star-flecked, blue canvas Saturday sky on the West Coast of Scotland, Oasis and their flock reached that fantastic precipice. After one of the most breathtakingly emphatic celebrations of primal rock instinct you could ever hope to experience, the stage empties and the closing drones off "I Am the Walrus" drift among us like cinders from a beacon.
Tradition dictates that it's game over, that this is all there is, but, as if willed by some collective conviction to the contrary, no one moves an inch. Cheers melt into chants of "Oasis! Oasis!..."
Then, it happens: "Hey Jude" comes over the PA as clear and loud and true as anything that had gone before. Obviously, everyone sings it, word for word, na-na-na-na for na-na-na- bloody-na. And yes, it's sheer magic. Strangers are smiling, friends are embracing, while lovers are frankly losing it in a big way. In different circumstances this might all seem wildly (and quite rightly) embarrassing, but here, with 6000 individuals possessed of the conviction of lemmings as they topple over the edge, there is no room for doubt.
True, Oasis have never promised any more or less than this, a singed-eyebrows glimpse of rock's holy grail, but to see them deliver so comprehensively must have confounded the few doubting Thomas's present. What it did for the hordes of disciples was little short off an epiphany.
Proof of that comes as the lights finally come up and the satiated masses shuffle for the tent flaps: from their midst issues a wobbly but heartfelt chorus of "Live Forever."
An exceptional event, then, and one that touches the band as deeply as anyone. Noel Gallagher emerges into the backstage paddock exuding the gritted teeth euphoria of a victorious prize-fighter or the man who snatched the last minute winner at Wembley. Liam meanwhile, had appeared atypically energised throughout the set forsaking his this-is-my-bit-of-stage-and-I'm-sticking-to-it plan of campaign and making several forays out front to indulge in a bit of mutual shadow boxing; less "Come and have a go," more "Come on! Come on! THIS IS F___ING BRILLIANT, INNIT?! At other points he is even moved to accompany his vocals with what appears to be a fidgety hand-jive.
It's no wonder. All manner of crazed shenanigans are unfolding before him, as kids mount the ten-foot protective structures built around the main tent supports, and others shin up the perimeter poles and proceed to frog madly while suspended upside down.
"Ey, you're giving me the shakes," he says as proceedings quiver to their preordained climax, "I'm feeling just like Elvis." A crazy situation, no less. For their part, Bonehead and Guigsy do their stuff with quiet aplomb, apparently sparking off the surefooted rhythm manoeuvres now provided by Alan White.
By comparison, Friday's show had been merely great. The band played the same songs the sound was huge, loud, and crystal clear, and a Big Top's worth of sweaty Scottish youth forgot the damp weather and went crackers. It was, for the record, far better than Glastonbury.
"Fookin' better than Glastonbury, this," declaimed Liam, with feeling. "Not a long-haired person in sight!" But the very fact that Oasis can veer from the ordinary to the inspired - and cover all points between - during the course of three gigs in which the bare essentials of what they do remain pretty much similar is a mark of a band in league with rock's spirit world. And when the gods are smiling upon them, hell, you'd believe anything is possible.
So the opening "Acquiesce" sets a tone, forging a communal bond, a celebration of shared experience. "We need each other! We believe in one another!" This is rave's mania methodology transposed to the trad rock n' roll arena, as young men who, on another day in a different place would most likely be kicking the shit out of each other, fall on their knees and worship in the name of the here and now.
"Supersonic" is stretched and dwelled upon to the brink of common sense, then "Hello" steams through like an adrenalized hailstorm. Liam bellows "It's good to be back, good to be back, hello..." with equal reserves of disdain and sincerity, while any time Noel isn't punching the air he's laughing his head off or asking us if we fancy meeting here again next year (yeessss!).
And it's not hard to see their fraternal point. The echo in Gallagher interplay as "Some Might Say" surfs on to some rarely glimpsed far horizon has the deportment of such supreme confidence that the ensuing "Roll With It" almost sounds modest by comparison. Almost. Tonight, the next Oasis single is serviced with throwaway glee, its drop-dead genius swagger entirely self-evident.
'Cos if you want subtlety there's "Slide Away" ("for all the girls"), the optimum moment for Liam to flaunt the precise rudeness of his pipes at present, and for Noel to crank out some ever more sorrowful variations on what has hitherto been widely acknowledged as his finest five minutes.
That is, until "Don't Look Back in Anger" is unveiled come the dawn of "Morning Glory." This new tune is bound to cause dissent within the jury. Cut from a similarly damp-eyed cloth, it features Noel on solo yearnsome vocals - Liam takes the opportunity for a tea break - and some particularly beguiling six-string heart lassos. That "Live Forever" follows is simply too much; even the stoniest-faced among the security guards are noted twitching suspiciously.
So how to explain it all? Hours later, composure fully regained in the bar of Ayr's Caledonian Hotel, Noel agrees that CAST were a sterling warm-up before confirming that for "Don't Look Back in Anger," at least, he'd enjoyed the benefit of divine intervention: for that song and that song alone he'd been using one of George Harrison's personalised spectrums. Holding it up, he turns it round to reveal the legend 'While my guitar gently weeps.'
Which does seem as good an explanation as any. It only remains to suggest that Oasis make devotional rock n' roll stripped of the messianic bullshit, true believers who don't spoil a caper by pretending music can be expected to take you anywhere other than out of wherever this place happens to be at the time.
In this case it was Irvine, and we're all coming back next year. Some time after its initial fanfare, and at the hands of a different group of wandering preachers, this seemed as close to a Second Coming as anyone could have thought possible.
Keith Cameron
Sounds
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