Westpoint Arena, Exeter

Sunday 14th September 1997

by Angus Batey

Alongside a picture of Liam, hands clasped behind back with tambourine.

THEY'RE GETTING BETTER [MAN!!]

It arrives in 21 articulated lorries. It directly employs upwards of 400 people. It is the cause of much celebration among the hoteliers, publicans and minicab firms of the locality. It is Oasis, and this, by their standards, is intimate.

The Westpoint Arena is a huge cowshed - literally; it was built to house the county's annual agricultural show, stuck in the middle of a park several miles from the city centre. A notice at the main gate informs anyone who turns up by mistake that today's car sale has been cancelled and, sadly, the fascinating Tow Well Caravan Manouevering weekend has already taken place.

On the face of it, Westpoint doesn't seem the ideal location for the homecoming of the biggest band in the land, but nobody who's made the journey seems unduly worried. And some have journeyed further than others: "I spent hours trying to get tickets on the phone and when I got through this was the only place left," says Jane from Lincolnshire.

Similar storied are related in Mancunian, Brummie and Glaswegian tones. According to the local paper, one fan spent so long trying to get through he taped his telephone receiver to his head. People do this because Oasis make everyone feel included. Despite the cartoonish exaggeration of much of their public image, they seem like the real sort of people we know and mix with, maybe the sort of people we are. Almost all of rock's superstars are untouchable, removed, remote: Madonna, Michael, TAFKAP, U2. Even as proletarian a band as The Clash had to remanufacture themselves when big-time success came knocking: Oasis just get bigger.

But the travails of the day mitigate against this show being the triumphant return it should be. Dulled by travelling, bored by queuing to get into the building and, even for veterans of Knebworth, Glastonbury and Loch Lomond, overawed by the vast rudimentary auditorium, many of those standing at the back of the hall seem strangely subdued. But still the whole room prickles with excitement as the house lights go down.

A Rolls Royce is sat next to a parking meter to the left with Alan White's drum kit on the bonnet, a bar that hides the keyboards sits underneath a giant clock to the right, and a massive red phone box is tilting slightly sentre stage. The door is flung open and Noel Gallagher, like a pop music Doctor Who, leads his band out to a thunderous ovation. Grinning broadly, they seem to realise the cheesiness of the staging: other bands might do this for real, but Oasis, while having a laugh, seem a little sheepish about it. But this is part of theircharm, and people - these people, their people - understand them.

The performance is efficient, direct and full-on. If 'professional' didn't seem such a dirty word to describe aband with Oasis' punk-inspired spikiness, it would be the most apposite description available tonight. White and Guigsy are rock solid throughout, their playing approaching an intuitive, funky looseness during the epic 'D'You Know What I Mean?', always nailing the blitzkrieg of sound down, anchoring it amid the whirlpool of Bonehead's focused riffing.

'It's Getting Better (Man!!)' is the point where everything gels, where Oasis make complete sense. Combining all the contradictory internal dynamics that allow the band to function - the beguiling interplay between Noel's writing and Liam's interpretation, the mixture of self-deprecating warm good humour and the arrogance of the underdog who's got above his supposed station - the song and it's performance here reinforce their power.

Strengthening their sentiments by admitting to possible weakness ("Maybe the songs that we sing are wrong" - very human, that), and rounding sarcastically on the critics who maintain that their music has no meaning ("Say something, shout it from the rooftops of your head"), they proceed to empower their audience: "Build something/ Build a better place and call it home/ Even if it means nothing/ You'll never ever feel that you're alone". It's here, speaking on this unassuming level, without condescension or snobbery, that Oasis prove to be at their most inspirational.

In the aftermath of the Princess of Wales' death, they seem to have taken on the job of dragging the country to its feet, Elton John or no Elton John. Liam dedicates 'Live Forever' to the tragic Diana, an act that at first you think is a wind-up, until you remember that Oasis are themselves on the receiving end of the sort of tabloid intrusion that presaged Diana's death. When Liam drops to his haunches and tries to stare out the first ten rows, the tough-guy, don't-give-a-shit routine is revealed as part of an act: they care alright.

The pacing of the set is a bit uneven, and the pre-encore triptych of an elongated 'Champagne Supernova', accopmanied by firework visuals, a storming 'Fade In-Out' - Liam's finest moment in a performance of rasping belligerence - and 'All Around The World', replete with a four-piece horn section, is like trying to eat a second helping of treacle pudding: it probably seemed like a good idea at the time, but ends up leaving you feeling bloated. But these are minor gripes, easily exploded by the sort of fine-tuning that turns an exceptional gig into An Event, and that requires a greater effort from the audience than was in evidence on this night in Exeter.

"I thought the band were great, but the crowd were lame", reckons Chris, 25, from Windsor, a sentiment echoed by others in the departing crowd. "We were stood here waiting for the second encore and everyone started leaving. But they were brilliant."

• Vox Live Reviews - index

c 1998 Andrew Turner

aturner@interalpha.co.uk

This page hosted byGet your ownFree Home Page