It’s 3:07AM.

My back hurts. The Wi-Fi’s flickering. Somewhere in the digital fog of the timeline, I see the words I never thought I’d see again — Oasis. Reunion. Confirmed.

My chest tightens. Not from joy. From existential dread.

Not because I hate Oasis — I don’t. I love those daft bastards. I’ve cried to “Slide Away.” I’ve drunkenly declared Definitely Maybe the most important album ever made (multiple times, to multiple bartenders). But because if Liam and Noel are getting the band back together, it means we, as a civilization, have officially tapped out of new ideas.

Britpop Is the Emotional Support Animal of a Collapsing West

Oasis isn’t just a band. They’re a myth. Two lads from Manchester yelling at each other over stolen Beatles riffs and football chants. The original working-class soap opera. Thatcherism's illegitimate stepchildren armed with bowl cuts and sneers.

Their reunion is comfort food. But comfort food is what you eat when the fridge is empty and the world’s on fire. This isn’t a tour. It’s a cry for help from the soul of a burned-out generation.

Every Comeback Is a Mirror — And It’s Cracked

Look around: Y2K fashion. Vinyl pressing delays. Everyone suddenly thinks they’re into jungle again. Nostalgia has become a business model. And Oasis? They’re the final boss of that regression spiral.

Because when they broke up, we still believed in things like progress. But now? We’ve got AI making Oasis knockoff songs on TikTok while the real brothers sign reunion contracts with the ink still wet from their latest Twitter beef.

This isn't a celebration — it's cultural Groundhog Day. And we’re all Phil.

The Setlist Will Be a Funeral for the Future

They’ll play “Live Forever,” and we’ll scream like it's 1996. But the joke is on us — that song lied. Nothing’s built to last. Not bands. Not countries. Not social contracts. Definitely not streaming royalties.

They’ll play “Don’t Look Back in Anger,” and we’ll look back anyway, because there’s nothing left in front of us.

They’ll end with “Champagne Supernova,” and we’ll pretend we know what the hell that means, just for a moment. Just to feel like we’re still the kids who used to believe music could save us.

Final Thought: Maybe This Is What We Need

Maybe that’s it. Maybe we don’t need new messiahs. Maybe we just need Liam screaming “Tonight, I’m a rock ’n’ roll star!” into the void while the world burns.

Because at least it’s real. At least it’s loud. At least it doesn’t pretend to have answers.

And maybe, just maybe, the fact that two aging Mancunians with lifelong beef can share a stage again is a reminder that reconciliation isn’t impossible — it’s just really, really loud.

So yeah. I’ll buy a ticket. I’ll cry during “Slide Away.” And then I’ll walk home, earbuds in, scrolling the news, wondering if I just saw the last great miracle of our time.