A queue snakes round the plaza of Cardiff’s Principality Stadium. Normally, the home of the national rugby team, tonight the Welsh stadium hosts history: the first Oasis concert in sixteen years, following a contentious hiatus. Blokes swelter in the 30°C heatwave, sheltered only by their bucket hats. Geezers recount being one of 125,000 at Knebworth in ’96. A squat tosser cuts through the crowd hawking tambourines, football jerseys, and little round sunglasses. In a thick, Mancunian accent, he hollers, “Get your Oasis rubbish ’ere!” This is Davis Oasis, the lost Gallagher brother.
“A lot of people think our last name is Oasis. It’s not. It’s ‘Gallagher’,” he enlightens me over a pint of lager. “Though I legally changed me last name to ‘Oasis’ just to be clearer.”
The opening chords of “Hello” blare from the stadium. Yet we sit in a vacant pub across the way. While Noel and Liam may have made up, it appears there is still beef yet to squash between the lads and Davis. “They didn’t even ask me if I wanted to be on the guest list,” he mourns. “You know, they loved each other before the band. It was me they hated.”
He describes the reign of prank terror with which he assailed his brothers in their youth: purple nurples, noogies, and swirlies (colloquially known in England as “having tea on the good porcelain”). Noel and Liam learned their psychological warfare skills from Davis, who woke them up every morning by saying, “You’ll never play footy for Man City.” Defending his past discouragement, Davis says, “I wanted to help them manage their expectations. Growing up in council housing, there weren’t many career paths available. You either become a Mary Poppins–style Victorian chimney sweep or a Chitty Chitty Bang Bang–style child catcher. Even in Thatcher’s England, Manchester maintained a very Dick Van Dykian economy.”
Perhaps Davis’s tough love helped the brothers skyrocket to international stardom. However, he was the last to expect their success. “They actually asked me if I wanted to be in the band, but I didn’t think it’d turn out to be anything,” Davis recounts. “I thought I had me future sorted. I had just acquired a mint condition Princess Di Beanie Baby. God rest that bird’s soul. Figured I could sell it for at least ten thousand quid, but I ended up getting piss drunk and trading it for a pint of lager at the pub.”
Since then, Davis has taken a more peripheral role on the Good Ship Gallagher, providing gossip to journalists at The Sun and leaking tracks from upcoming High Flying Birds records. He confesses to selling scalped tickets to their upcoming shows. “Like Ticketmaster, I do dynamic pricing; the more pints I’ve had, the cheaper your tickets are gonna be. Just like my Princess Di Beanie Baby. God rest that bird’s soul.”
While Davis has admittedly benefited from the band’s reunion, he insists his integral part in the peacemaking process was solely focused on his brothers’ well-being and success. “I told ’em both, ‘We’re not getting any younger. One day you’re going to die without having made peace with each other.’” He slugs back the last dregs of his foamy beer. “And without the estimated five hundred million dollars projected to be made on this comeback tour alone.”
From the stadium, the crowd swells once more, belting the chorus of “Don’t Look Back in Anger” through the still midsummer night. Davis’s tough outer shell cracks, revealing his softer, more sentimental side. “Nothing else united England like they did,” he begins, tears welling up. “I once met a lad in a pub who told me, ‘The Beatles invented sex, the Stones figured out you could do it with women, and Oasis, well, they were just havin’ a wank in the mirror.’ Bloody beautiful statement, that was.”
Elated fans stream out into the street after a successful first show. Davis Oasis wipes away a single tear, “Well, I better get a move on before Noel and Liam find out I’m here. They’ve got a pretty nasty restraining order out against me.” With that, he packs up his various Britpop ephemera and disappears into the crowd, not stopping to look back in anger. At least not today.
