Havas Play UK’s Ross Taylor had a great time on the Oasis reunion tour. It got him thinking about the band’s role in shaping the wider culture.
Like 90,000 others, I went to the Oasis gig on Friday. It was magic. I left with the overwhelming feeling that I had been to a football match, not a gig. And that wasn’t just the fact that it was hosted at Wembley, it ran much deeper. So I did what I always do: overthought it, picked it apart, and analyzed the hell out of it.
And what I realized is this: Oasis didn’t just build a fanbase, they fast-tracked and hacked the code to fandom.
Let’s start at the beginning, with an uncomfortable human truth: most people aren’t making independent choices, they’re programmed by society to fit in, so they chose which crowd to follow. And in a world wired for belonging, that’s not weakness, it’s strategy.
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Fitting in is survival.
That’s why people wear the merch, chant the songs, and march in step with thousands of others to an Oasis gig. It’s not just about the music. It’s about identity, safety, and the relief of not having to think too hard about exactly who you are.
Oasis cracked this code better than most. They didn’t just build a fanbase, they built a tribe. And they built it using the most powerful blueprint Britain has ever known: football culture.
Think about it.
The Gallagher brothers didn’t arrive on the scene as polished pop stars. They swaggered in like football hooligans with guitars. Parkas, pissed-off expressions, and a working-class confidence that could shut down a street and start a fight in a pub. And people ate it up – because it felt familiar. Oasis gave music fans the same tribal identity that football gives its followers: loyalty, rivalry, chaos, belonging with a monumental dollop of emotion.
Even the music was engineered for it. Oasis songs aren’t technically complex, they’re emotionally massive, but we aren’t dealing with lyrical gymnastics. Every track sounds like it was designed to be shouted across a stadium, not whispered into your headphones.
‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’ isn’t just a song, it’s a chant. A football anthem disguised as Britpop. You don’t just sing along; you shout along, you join in. And that’s the point.
Fandom, at its core, isn’t about taste. It’s about tribe. It gives people a secure framework, a ready-made identity they can slip into that helps them actively express who they are. You’re not just Ross, or Jade, or Tom any more. You’re an Oasis fan. You wear the merch. You know the lyrics. You stand in the rain with 90,000 others screaming “Live Forever” with arms outstretched like a pilgrimage. And in that moment, you do live forever, or at least feel like you matter more for three glorious minutes.
And why does it work so well?
Because most people at their core are terrified of being alone in their opinions. Being a fan gives you protection – it’s a social shield. Chanting ‘Wonderwall’ in a crowd feels powerful. Singing it alone in your bedroom feels cringe. That’s why people flock to bands like Oasis. It’s music with a built-in army. No thinking required. Just sing loud, wear the shirt, and follow the chant.
It’s easy to scoff at that. But look around, politics, fashion, even wellness trends operate the same way. Individuality is a myth most people can’t afford. And Oasis knew that. They didn’t try to be everything to everyone. They built a world and let people choose whether they were in or out. That’s the same binary that football clubs use. You’re either with us or against us. Red or blue. North or South. Blur or Oasis.
So, when people say, “Oasis changed music,” they’re missing the bigger picture. Oasis didn’t just change music; they hacked a cultural identity crisis. They gave people an easy way to belong. Loudly. Proudly. In a way that felt masculine, emotional, and a little bit dangerous. That’s why the legacy endures. Not because they were technically the best band in the world, but because they made the crowd feel like they were.
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Oasis wasn’t just a band. It was a uniform. A crest. A cause. And like all great tribes, it let people access their emotions and scream things they were too scared to say alone.
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