There's no point in downplaying Oasis' return if you're just one ticketless person.

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Because it is not possible. It is not possible that all this longing is useless. It is not possible that love goes away, youth goes away, dreams have long gone and nothing ever comes back. These two, against the odds, are back. Because it is the last shining piece of the pre-internet era. When the good was distinguished from the bad by a precise characteristic: it lasted. It remained in the memory, it spread, it became pop culture, annals, memory, bestseller, imitation of a haircut. The good sedimented instead of boring. In the meantime, the connotations of intelligence have changed, we like haste and we like turnover, even when it is a waste. We want to move forward quickly. Do people want new things? We give them to them, lots and very few. Think of Barbie, the unparalleled success of two years ago. Whoever remembers something unmissable should throw away the ten euros to rent it on Amazon Prime.

Because good songs are divided into three: a) masterpieces b) momentary fixations c) whims. Oasis did them all, and you confused the masterpiece with the whim, and you didn't understand. Because these wretches who became singers after the 2000s, those of the infernal circle of wannabe musicians - to solve the problem of all having cardboard songs - have to dress like a circus, get botox and a haircut, the look, the moustache, the new tattoo, the ass on display, the nail polish, the little moves, call the choreographer who gets two million likes and then goes to Fazio, and the effort is for nothing: with all this stylish equipment, am I David Bowie? No. What song does he sing? I don't know. It's the dilemma of being on Spotify Everest, but not where you have to be to be someone: at the Karaoke of the feast of the saint of Tufara Valle (BN).

Because the tarot cards of the industry had said that the new rock that people like were Maneskin. Because Liam Gallagher is a screwball of the worst kind: those you take a liking to. Because Noel is the straight brother. But being straight doesn't pay a cent, you need the others, those others of Philip Roth, those who run you over with the tanker and you understand them badly badly badly and then badly again but that's how you know you're alive, making mistakes. And yet this time we don't have to resign ourselves to the infinite vanity of everything, no, this time life has decided that it shouldn't displease us, and for once it has put the broken pieces back together, the others fit, and we feel a little better too, even if the reunion is for money. Because it's okay that peace was for money, but all the "don't make war" that I know are also for money, we'll have to be honest for five minutes, before being prejudiced.

Because this story of brothers is different. One knows how to write songs and the other knows how to sing them. They hate each other and apart they don't exist. We haven't seen such an extreme level of Shakespeare and Greek myth since the days of Yoko-Ono-the-destroyer-of-legends. Because we're fed up with depressed singer-songwriters, the fragile ones, the insecure ones, those from charitable works, the aligned ones where they get more likes, the ones who want to be understood, the ones who want to talk to us about their problems. We already have our own. For the new generations. Because it's important that they see these two unlikely scruffy guys on stage and sing songs that have made the history of a piece of history. The pardon of contradiction is fundamental, to train ourselves to live happily and to be able to see talent where it is most unwelcome. Because those who go to the concert are lucky, they will be two hours that remain in the molecules for weeks, two hours much more beautiful than the others. “ Music has a great power: it takes you back at the same time it takes you forward, so that you feel, simultaneously, nostalgia and hope” (N. Hornby). So it is useless to minimize the return of Oasis, if you are just someone who has not found the ticket.

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