Welcome back. We left our heroine in July of 2025, anxiously anticipating the arrival of Oasis Weekend, September 6th and 7th, 2025. Meanwhile, back at fandom headquarters … [Read Part One here]
As Oasis Weekend 2025 neared, more and more people were letting me know they were going to the shows and they started offering incredibly generous things like helping me with clandestine merchandise intel, highly-sought-after parking passes, and the absolute shocker of them all, coveted floor passes! On night one, I watched from the stands and had my mind utterly blown by how great they sounded, how good they looked, the art, the setlist (which of course by this point, I already knew), and the beauty of the experience as a whole. The people in the crowds were so, (what’s this?), joyful. It was a stark contrast to what I experience on a more day-to-day basis in the parlance of our times. Even though the lines were offensively long, the heat was sticky and oppressive, and sometimes we were crammed body to body in tunnels as well as along the concourse, there was no palpable undercurrent of fear or stress like what I see everyday now. Los Angeles has suffered an inordinately brutal 2025. This salve was needed and the result was replenishing!
The next evening, as I was waiting in a comically intense line for night two, the text came, “I got you a floor pass!” I was planning on meeting three friends in the stands already, but once that floor pass came through, all previously laid plans were vigorously tossed out the window. This was my time! I apologized to my friends, but none of them needed it. They all were so happy for me. As I stood in line still waiting to get in, with the blazing hot, end-of-summer sun beating down on me, literally burning my skin, tears welled up in my eyes. Thankfully, the waterworks never fully left the station, but there was a lump in my throat and the essential need to wipe away the pre-tears that had collected in my lower lash line quickly and quietly.
I’ll spare the logistical details but as I was walking through the tunnel and out onto the floor I could feel a palpable shift in my heart beat, not necessarily like a cardiac event, but an exaggerated thud of intention was making it’s presence known . Not faster, but harder. When I finally made it into the front section of the floor, I centered myself under the stage overhang, and slowly gazed upward at that giant, basic as fuck, iconic, black box “oasis” logo, (all lowercase, please), and the first words out of my mouth were a reverent, “Holy shit! I’m at church!”
This show was pure catharsis. Night Two of Oasis, just like every music festival’s second weekend (if they have one), was the winner! I primarily kept myself relegated to the back of the front floor section, mostly because I knew I wanted to dance, but I confidently squirrelled my way up closer a few times. My little group grabbed all kinds of people to join us and cuddle up for the poznan, and encouraged those behind us (in front of us, once we turned around per Liam’s direction), to do the same. Only two people (out of MANY) didn’t. Shame for them really. I sang, and danced, and screamed my face off with the dopiest smile plastered across my face for the whole set. Several times, I could hear the crowd singing along louder than the mic’d up brothers. I looked up and around and marveled. The people were present, locked in, and pulling every heart string this ol’ bird has left.
During the four-song encore I was drinking it all in and thinking about the amount of people who helped me get to this one perfect life moment; A moment that will be forever imprinted on my soul. They all know who they are. I am not withholding with my gratitude. Like so many of us walking the planet today, I have a very hard time asking for help, and what’s worth mentioning is that, upon reflection, I never had to ask for any of it. Generosity of spirit and kindness flowed freely. It was the most natural exchange that kept happening over and over and over. Literal magic. The Universe spoke, “This is the Place.” Something about this artist, and this fanbase, elicits reciprocated, shared abundance. The human spirit is the point, and Oasis evokes that in people.
The second of four encore songs was, “Don’t Look Back in Anger,” and almost immediately after it started years of tears 😭 poured out of me. I mean, things were coming up that I didn’t even know were there. I really didn’t think this was going to be the song, but you can’t plan it, can you? I couldn’t stop crying. I tried desperately. People were hugging me and sweetly smiling and knowingly chuckling, telling me to, “just let it out”, “it’s okay,” “I cried too”. If I were in a more defensive state I might consider it condescending, but it absolutely wasn’t. This was compassionate and validating. They understood. We swayed to the song and sang along through the mess of it all. The current mess being me. Even now, typing this, my face is hot, my nose is tingling, and that familiar lump is returning. The tears are trying to make a comeback.
But hold the damn phone! I’m not a crier. The “Reservoir Dogs,” poster I mentioned in Part One; The one I had hanging on my wall, framed of course, featured the iconic line Mr. Blonde utters, (played by the legendary Michael Madsen), “Are you gonna bark all day little doggie or are you gonna bite.” This energy is far more my standard operating procedure than crying is, but for this particular moment, with these particular people, on this particular field, under that particular (still full) moon, listening to that particular band, knowing just how many things had to go right to make it happen in the most perfect way possible, remembering all the times I had major life moments and meetings with my self-awareness to these songs, there was nothing I could do to make those tears stop. So I didn’t. I cried my face off for that whole song, and it was the most wholesome and thorough purge I could’ve ever asked for.
… to be continued, Wednesday, 9/17/2025, @ 10 am PDT …
… almost there …
… I promise there’s a point …