Oasis: the soul of working-class Britain

The sight of Oasis reuniting and taking to the stage after a 16-year hiatus has been a tonic for their millions of fans. It is even more significant for working-class Brits, with whom Oasis have always had a special connection. Noel and Liam Gallagher possess a swagger on stage that can only come from the terraced houses and cobbled streets of post-industrial Manchester, where they were brought up. If anything can provide some relief from over a decade of austerity and pessimism, it is seeing those two commanding a crowd.

But for Britain’s cultural elites, the return of Oasis has been viewed with horror. It is easy to see why: the Gallagher brothers love a drink, they shoot their mouths off, and they say the wrong things. In short, they are quintessentially working class. To the Glastonbury crowd, this is the very opposite of what musicians should be – namely, mouthpieces for their own woke, liberal outlooks. To them, musicians must be overtly political in the ‘right’ way. They must be a performative extension of their own identity politics.

For proof of this superior attitude, we need only look at the reaction of the Guardian to the news of the Oasis reunion in August. ‘Stop the celebrations – Oasis are the most damaging pop-cultural force in recent British history’, ran the headline. The band was criticised for their ‘prehistoric political views’, their ‘regressive’ music and – the clincher – being ‘the band of choice for flag-shaggers and Reform voters’. The elite condescension was basically dripping from the page.

The revival of Oasis has brought out the rampant class snobbery of the cultural establishment. The Gallaghers’ original sin is that they are white, working-class men loved mainly by other white, working-class men. And they do the kind of things working-class men have always done. They crack jokes, almost always at other people’s expense. They love to take the piss. Their other crime is to be somewhat small-c conservative, like many other working-class men, and indeed women.

Music has always been important to the British working class. Singing and dancing with our families in our front rooms – this is how we hear our own stories told back to us. Oasis come from this tradition, and it shows. In particular, the Gallaghers understand how working-class people express the harshness of their lives through music. Anyone who has been in a working-class pub in Skegness, Southend or Blackpool, when the karaoke is blaring, will know the unique significance of Oasis’s hits.

This could hardly be any more different from Kneecap or Bob Vylan, the current toast of the Glastonbury set. Rapping partly in Irish, Kneecap were always going to find it hard to connect with a large audience. Fortunately for the Belfast trio, they realised they could do this by showily demonising Israel. But would any of their songs ever be blaring out of a pub jukebox? Sung on a football terrace? Hardly.

There’s a reason why The Royle Family, one of the last proper working-class dramas from the late 1990s, chose Oasis’s ‘Half the World Away’ for its closing credits. Anyone who’s watched those episodes, taking in the mess and the warmth, the boredom and the laughter of the Royles’ front room, will know the ache that hits when those opening chords ring out. It’s not just a song, it’s a memory, a reminder of who we are – of how we get by through tough times and tiny joys alike. You hear those words and it’s like being handed a bit of hope, a nod that someone out there truly gets it.

You can’t give me the dreams that are mine anyway
You’re half the world away
Half the world away
Half the world away
I’ve been lost, I’ve been found
But I don’t feel down

Here lies the beauty and significance of Oasis. They make ordinary people feel seen, heard and – just for a few minutes – like they could be something more.

Lisa McKenzie is a working-class academic.