The masterplan: Alexis Petridis on his dream Oasis tour setlist

The Guardian

a day ago

From the title to the chorus's apparent declaration of fraternal loyalty – 'we need each other' – Acquiesce seems the ideal opener for a reformed Oasis. But given that Noel's always insisted it's not about fraternal loyalty, it probably won't be …
… and instead, this is surely the favourite to open the set. An act of yearning, cocky manifestation that doesn't make a lot of sense when sung by someone who's actually been a rock'n'roll star for the last 30-something years, but never mind.
Dense, snarling, its minimal lyrics alternately drugged-out and puzzling ('Tomorrow never knows what it doesn't know too soon' – you what, mate?), Morning Glory is both distilled essence of Oasis and a song built to cause crowds to erupt.
The sound of a band who arrived more or less fully formed (so much so that a demo ended up as their debut single); nonsensical lyrics you could – if you so desired – interpret as a rallying call, delivered in a come-and-have-a-go sneer; a wall of noisy guitars.
If you wonder why Oasis's appeal has become pan-generational, consider this: if you were a 21st-century teenager brought up in a world of TikTok wellness influencers, wouldn't a song literally called Cigarettes and Alcohol hold a certain appeal?
The one song from Be Here Now that seems to have ascended to full anthem status. It keeps turning up in TV ads because its chorus is the perfect accompaniment to suggest a product is linked to family or community.
Time for a wistful, Noel-sung acoustic interlude. If it happens IRL, this melancholy iteration of early Oasis's overarching lyrical theme – a desire to escape your home town and past, tempered by doubt as to whether that's ever possible – is a dead cert.
Probably too miserable to get a look in, but never mind. A weary meditation spurred by one of the Gallaghers' umpteen theoretically career-ending bust-ups, and evidence of Noel's (understandably) oft-overlooked sensitive side.
To venture once more into the realms of fantasy – and given the apparently shaky fraternal entente behind the reformation – this downbeat and surprisingly excellent 2000 B-side would make a perfect mood-puncturing interlude: 'Let's all make believe that … we like each other'.
The great outlier among Oasis's early singles, but great nonetheless. Its stoned chug and the Happy Mondays-esque surrealism of its lyrics were a path Oasis never really ventured down again.
Unlikely to elbow any big hits out of the way on the setlist, but one can hope: a warm Kinks-y paean to everyday life and community, with a faint hint of Gallagher snark thrown in.
Another example of how fantastic purple-period Oasis's B-sides were, The Masterplan is an epic, its surge from melancholy acoustic intro to air-punching chorus an instant hit of euphoria.
If we have to have something from the last 10 years of Oasis's career – and let's assume we do – it's probably going to be the perennial musical accompaniment to England getting knocked out of sporting contests …
… but it might be better if it were this potent, motorik-powered 2008 single – rare evidence that Oasis didn't always consider the concept of musical development to be something to be avoided at all costs.
A huge comeback gig probably isn't the place to suggest people reconsider the value of Be Here Now-era Oasis, but if they wanted to, this B-side would be the place to start. Infinitely better than 90% of that album, but apparently deemed too breezy (read: enjoyable) for inclusion.
There may be fractionally more famous Oasis anthems, but is there one better than Slide Away? Maybe not: the chorus melody is one of the finest Noel ever devised, the build-up to it is magnificent.
Bonehead initially refused to believe Noel had actually written Live Forever, the perfect expression of the yearning/exhilarating dynamic at the heart of Oasis's best songs. The bullish arms-around-your-mates jubilation of its title is tempered by its faint undercurrent of uncertainty: all those 'maybe's.
Fairly obviously.
More than any other Oasis track, Don't Look Back in Anger seems to have embedded itself in the fabric of British life: see the famous, spontaneous outbreak of it in the wake of the Manchester Arena bombing.
At Knebworth in 1996, the Stone Roses' John Squire appeared on stage playing guitar during Champagne Supernova, but in truth it doesn't need a star guest to make it seem climactic. Weary but warm, elegiac but anthemic, it may be the best thing Oasis ever recorded.