Not many people could tell you where they were on August 10, 1996, but I can. I was 17 and at Knebworth Park in Hertfordshire, England, attending the first of two legendary gigs Oasis—then the biggest band in the world—played that weekend. The performances made history as the biggest ever open-air concerts in the UK (the crowd numbered 125,000 both days) and are often cited as representing the pinnacle of the Britpop era. Fast forward three decades, and the Gallagher brothers appear to be gearing up to make history once again: Oasis is rumored to be on the cusp of announcing six live dates at Knebworth in September 2027.
Should it come to pass, the rush for tickets will not be for the faint of heart—at least not if the scramble to attend the band’s globe-spanning reunion tour last year (captured for posterity, and those fans who missed out, in a forthcoming documenary) was anything to go by. The demand-vs.-supply conundrum was no different the last time the band played Knebworth. I was just one of around 2.5 million people trying to secure tickets on a fateful day in May 1996. That equated to roughly one in every 20 people in Britain, setting a record for the highest demand in UK history. Back in 1996, the only way to get the tickets was either by calling a dedicated phone line—which involved redialling constantly until you got through—or committing to queuing for hours outside a music store or local venue box office. Despite the slower pace of things pre-internet, all 250,000 tickets had gone within nine hours.
I was working a weekend job that day, so I paid my 15-year-old sister £5 to queue from 5. a.m. outside a box office in Wolverhampton, my hometown. A perfectly timed work break meant I was able to swap places with her just as she was reaching the front of the queue, and I went in and handed over around £50 cash for two tickets. Three months before the gig, and despite having seen Oasis a couple of times already, I already knew that Knebworth was going to be something special. I’d never seen a queue that long and the papers were filled with triumphant fans who’d managed to successfully secure a golden ticket.
On the morning of August 10, my friend Katherine and I left home in the early hours to make our 100-plus mile journey by coach, having fabricated a “school theater trip to London.” (There’s no way my strict Indian parents would have allowed two teenagers to attend the country’s biggest-ever concert unaccompanied and far from home.) Our coach was one of the earliest to arrive and park up, meaning we were among the first fans on site. We ran, hearts racing, to the front barriers that would divide VIPs from the general public—it was as close to the stage as we could get. As the huge park filled with thousands of fans in bucket hats, Stone Island jackets, and Adidas tracksuit tops, we held firm to our places on the barrier.
