Oasis – Wembley Stadium, 27th September 2025

Gemma was my gig partner for this one. She swung by at 13:30 and we set off for Newbury Park. Roadworks meant a diversion through Harold Wood, but the Elizabeth line soon had us into Liverpool Street. A pit stop at Patty & Bun for a much-needed tea, then it was onto the Metropolitan line straight to Wembley Park.

That famous walk up Wembley Way never fails to raise the hairs on the back of your neck. Bucket hats everywhere, t-shirts on show, everyone buzzing with anticipation. Half the blokes in their fifties clearly thought they looked like Liam Gallagher, but in reality, most looked more like Gadge from This Is England. It took us just 14 minutes from stepping off the tube to reaching our blocks – whether that was Gemma’s head mistress-level planning or pure luck, I’ll let her take the credit.

She was in Block 512 and I was 509 – same row, but about 60 seats apart. Strange but oddly fitting: together yet separate, just like half the stadium felt by the end of the night.

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Cast

I was in my seat in time for Cast. Third time seeing them in 18 months, and usually they’re one of my favourite live bands. Jimmy had warned me from the August gigs that something felt off, and he was right. Their sound was drowning in bass, their sound couldn’t quite cope being wired through Oasis’s oversized rig. Still, Cast always carry a bit of magic and guest singer, P.P Arnold looked and sounded amazing at 78 years old. November at Shepherd’s Bush will no doubt be a reminder of what they really can do.

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Richard Ashcroft

After a 25-minute wait for an overpriced Pepsi Max at the interval it was back in for Richard Ashcroft. And my god, does that man radiate rock ’n’ roll cool. Effortless. Top of the tree, really – maybe Nile Rodgers in second, Liam Gallagher and Ian Brown following behind. He just made it all look so natural.

The Urban Hymns material was spine-tingling. “Sonnet” in particular hit me hard – I’ll admit, a small tear welled up. It was one of those rare moments where a football stadium suddenly feels intimate.

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Oasis

Time for what we came for. The opening chords of “Fucking in the Bushes” created a roar that could have cracked the arch itself as that morphed into “Hello”. Liam prowled the stage, snarl in place, dripping that untouchable swagger. Attitude like that doesn’t exist in modern bands. Straight into “Acquiesce” and then the opening riff of “Morning Glory” – at that point, 90,000 voices were turned up to twelve (it would have been eleven but that would cause havoc with my number OCD).

The set rolled like a greatest hits time machine. “Cigarettes & Alcohol,” “Slide Away,” “Supersonic” – each one a pub singalong writ large across Wembley’s cavernous bowl. The crowd wasn’t just singing; they were living every word. Arms around strangers, pints spilled (see below), middle-aged blokes hugging like long-lost brothers.

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Verso’s Law: Ban the Pint Chuckers

Of course, the only sour note – quite literally – came from the usual idiots lobbing beer in the air. It’s a plague at gigs now. Why anyone spends £9 on a pint only to throw it 20 feet in the air and soak strangers is beyond me. You don’t look cool, you just ruin the night for the people around you.

Here’s my solution: put them on a register. First offence – fine. Second offence – lifetime ban from concerts. If you can’t hold a drink without launching it, you don’t deserve to be in the crowd. End of.

The music deserves better, the fans deserve better, and the bands definitely deserve better.

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Next came “Half the World Away,” “Talk Tonight,” and a soaring “Stand by Me.” These weren’t just songs – they were collective memory. The poignancy peaked with “Live Forever,” dedicated to Ricky Hatton, who passed away only days before. A classy, heartfelt tribute.

But it was far from sombre. “Rock ’n’ Roll Star” brought the fire, before an encore of legends: “Don’t Look Back in Anger,” “Wonderwall,” and “Champagne Supernova.” The holy trinity. Watching the entire stadium sway, voices breaking, phones lit like candles – surreal, overwhelming, euphoric.

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Reflections & The Escape

As “Wonderwall” kicked in, we executed the plan – slip out early and beat the 90,000-strong rush. Turns out several thousand others had the same idea, but it worked. Out of Wembley by 22:10, and I was back in my own bed by 00:50 – including a tactical McDonald’s pit stop in Chelmsford.

What a day out. Good company, logistics that somehow fell into place, and a belter of a concert that lived up to the weight of expectation. Oasis back at Wembley – one for the memory bank.