The announcement that Oasis – or at least the Gallagher brothers – have reformed for a series of concerts in Australia and the UK has made worldwide news.
The Britpop band’s return to the stage conjured fond memories of ‘Cool Britannia’ hedonism for Gen X-ers, for whom songs like Live Forever and Don’t Look Back in Anger remain anthems of their misspent youth.
But the thing about nostalgia is you only remember the good parts.
For those of us who saw the Gallaghers – and their less famous bandmates – up close in the late ’90s, there are far more stories to tell of the ‘bad old days’.
Kevin Airs, a journalist newly arrived in Australia, documented their chaotic tour Down Under in 1998 for Ralph magazine.
It was a tour marked by controversy with singer Liam being arrested for allegedly head-butting a fan in Brisbane.
The fan, a British backpacker, later dropped the assault charge and an out-of-court settlement was reached. Twenty years later, Liam would say he had no regrets about the incident and would ‘f***ing do it again’.
Airs was there for the immediate aftermath of the head-butting incident. The band, unrepentant, was trying to focus on their upcoming concerts, but all-night partying would result in appalling shows and a dismal end-of-tour party in New Zealand that must rank among the most depressing in rock ‘n’ roll history…
Oasis released three albums before touring Australia and New Zealand. They were supposed to play several dates in 1995 but Liam contracted laryngitis and they were cancelled. They also didn’t make it for the (What’s The Story) Morning Glory tour due to internal conflicts. Finally, in early 1998, the Be Here Now tour arrived on Australian shores: It was marked by dreadful concerts, negative headlines and Liam Gallagher being arrested for head-butting a British fan
After a shambolic trip to Australia, the Gallaghers flew to New Zealand (Noel is seen here in Auckland) where they delivered more sub-par performances and wrapped up the Oceania leg of their tour with a sorry excuse for an after-party in a Wellington cocktail bar
What begins as a quiet drink in a hotel bar ends in chaos when Oasis guitarist Bonehead is dragged out by staff. Four women, shaking with fear, are hustled out through a back entrance for their own safety. But the balding star still insists on running back to shake my hand and wish me the best before he’s pulled off to his room. Only seconds earlier, he had called me every expletive under the sun.
In the space of 30 minutes, Bonehead and sidekick Whitey, Oasis’ drummer, gave me an amazing insight into the Jekyll-and-Hyde world of Oasis – how their sudden mood swings transformed them from being some of the nicest chaps on the planet to the ugliest forms of life in the cosmos.
The drama begins when I go down to the bar of the hotel where Oasis and I are staying in Brisbane. I only want a quick evening drink before going out for dinner with a colleague. Perched at the bar are Bonehead and Whitey, who quickly start chatting to me about Australia. They tell me how much they love it, especially Brisbane, and ask what I think.
Before I have time to answer, Bonehead blurts: ‘You’re not a journalist, are you?’
I nod. He asks me if I have a tape recorder and launches into a torrent of abuse. I manage to calm him down long enough to offer to buy him a beer. He demands champagne.
Bar staff refuse to serve the already-blotto Bonehead before he slops the dregs of his beer on the bar. Smelling trouble, I get up to walk away and he starts abusing me again. Then, suddenly, he changes. The anger gone in an instant, he asks me to sit down and talk.
The staff are getting worried. Only 48 hours before, rock yob Liam allegedly beat up a fan outside the posh hotel. Earlier, the band terrorised passengers on their flight from Hong Kong to Perth. The following day, Liam showed off his tattoo and threatened to stick a pick axe in the head of the pilot who threatened to have him arrested. In Sydney, Liam shoved a snotty rag down the front of a girl’s blouse during a soaked night out.
Two pizzas and a huge cheeseburger arrive. Bonehead is too far gone to remember wanting the burger. We rearrange the tables and chairs so the three of us can sit, eat and chat together.
Between bites of pizza (ham and pineapple for Bonehead, traditional olives for Whitey), Bonehead tells me about his love for the fans and the music. Earlier, the band had nipped out of their hotel for a game of football with some of the fans waiting outside.
‘That were tops, man,’ he slurs. ‘We used jumpers for goals, just like when we were kids. That’s what it’s all about. The fans, man. I don’t give a s**t what the press write about us. I don’t understand why they keep having a go at us. This band, right, it’s me mates. We’re just having a good time and playing good music, but the press keep saying we’re doing this or that. I don’t know why.
‘That thing with Liam, I was with him and I saw what happened – you know, the headbutt or whatever. Well, OK, yeah, he did it. I was there, but it’s no big deal, you know? I mean, if it was, like, just two guys in the street, no one would care. But because it’s us, it’s s**t.’
The comparatively sober Whitey butts in: ‘We like to have a few beers and a fight at the end of the night. That’s what we’re about.’
We move on to the concerts. They are at their happiest talking about the gigs and the music. We joke about whether I can be counted as a fan because I’m a journalist, but had attended two Scottish Loch Lomond gigs in 1996 and had bought the band’s three CDs.
When Liam finally reached home after the tour was completed, his wife Patsy Kensit (left) – despite months of separation – did not bother meeting him at the airport. She was said to be disgusted by the reports of his behaviour on tour
In the afternoon, I had sat next to the band as they enjoyed a drink in an Irish bar in Brisbane’s city centre. A constant stream of beautiful women came up to the band’s roadside table to ask for autographs and pictures. Noel Gallagher signed everything put in front of him without a murmur of complain. I recall this to Bonehead, saying how great it must be to have the attention of all these gorgeous women.
‘We don’t care, because we’re married,’ he insists, offering me the pick of their groupies. ‘Go on, take any one of them you fancy. We don’t want ’em. Tell ’em you’re with the f**king band and we’ll back you up. No, really, go on! We don’t care about groupies ’cause we’re married and it’s great.’ Bonehead and Whitey talk proudly of their wives and families back home – Bonehead has two children, Lucy and Jude, with wife Kate Arthurs; Whitey married American actress Liz Carey in 1997. Their gold wedding rings are worn with honour and held high in the air for all to see.
‘Are you married?’ asks Bonehead. ‘You want to get yourself married – it’s just the best thing. I’ve got two kids and they’re great. Do you want another bit of pizza? Go on. I don’t know what’s on it, but it’s good.’
Seconds later, Bonehead suddenly decides he doesn’t like me again. He lifts the pizza plate to smash it over my head.
‘You with your f**king brandy,’ he snarls, ‘you f**king s**t. Go on, f**k off! Journalist scum. Piss off!’
All I’d said was what a good life they have.
‘I bet you f**king envy us, you b*****d,’ he continues. ‘Knobhead! Do you think you’re hard? Do you? Do you want this over your f**king head? Ya’ f**king Scotch git.’
Again, I move away. This time neither of them follows. He keeps up the tirade from long distance. Centimetres away from him are four frightened women, sitting quietly in the corner.
Bar staff step in to calm him while I try to ignore the stream of insults flying my way. It’s clear one wrong word will send him over the edge.
Wary staff try to show him the shocked women at his side. One breaks the stunned silence of the dozen or so drinkers in the normally placid bar. She says simply, ‘Your mother wouldn’t like it.’
It is enough to push Bonehead over the edge. ‘What did you say, you f**king slag? What did you say?’
She repeats it and he explodes.
‘My f**king mother’s dead, you f**king s**t!’
Whitey has to wrestle him back as he struggles to grab the woman while continuing his blast of poison abuse. She tries to apologise, but Bonehead rages.
‘Don’t you ever f**king talk about my mother, you f**king slag! I don’t have a mother… she’s f**king dead and it’s her anniversary next week, you f**king cow!’
By now, hotel staff are gathering the burliest barmen they can find to drag the star out. He is oblivious to their threats as he desperately tries to reach his ashen-faced victims.
Suddenly, once again, he changes.
He regains control and shakes free from the grip of those around him. To my alarm, he marches towards me.
Just as I am expecting a glass in the face, he looks at me in the eye, turns on his sweetest smile, and extends his hand. Warily, I take his hand and shake it.
‘It was nice talking to you,’ he says, with apparent sincerity. ‘Hope you have a nice stay.’
With a few more terse words aimed at the cowering women – now begging to leave the hotel – Bonehead tells staff he is going up to his room to sleep. And then he and Whitey are gone.
Two days later and it’s another country, another bar. In Auckland’s Stamford Plaza, it’s 2am and Liam is keeping the bar staff awake with an unstoppable demand for large vodkas and orange. The band came off stage four hours earlier and Liam has been drinking ever since.
In the far corner, rock ‘n’ roll legend Joe Cocker is destroying his hell-raising image by drinking quietly with some friends. These days he lets the young guns such as Oasis do the damage – he’s done it all before and barely notices their presence.
Sensible brother Noel has gone to bed, but Liam and his entourage of hangers-on, look-alikes and bodyguards are still going strong.
Every so often he disappears up to his room with a friend, only to reappear five minutes later, wiping his nose obsessively.
At the bar, the visiting British press is also staying up late, watching the band’s every move. Liam knows it.
He prowls around, waiting for them to speak to him so he can cut them dead, but they refuse to take the bait. Liam’s got a fart machine hidden in a cloth bag and stands behind the press, setting the toy off to make rude noises.
After 30 minutes of stalking, Liam can’t take it anymore. One of the press goes to the bathroom and Liam immediately takes the seat.
‘My name’s John,’ he announces. One reporter holds out his hand and introduces himself. Liam just stares at the outreached hand. There’s none of the boozy bonhomie shown to me by his bandmates in Brisbane.
‘So why do you hate us?’ he asks. ‘You are chasing me because I’m a good-looking 25-year-old who’s grabbing the world by the balls. You don’t like me because I get out of bed in the morning and write good songs. You guys have got it in for me. I make people into paper planes… and send them flying.’
On safer ground, we ask him about the tour and the concerts and whether he’s missing home and his gorgeous wife, Patsy Kensit. ‘I miss home. I’ve got a wife and a stepson who are great, but I’ve got work to do here first. I’ve got to do this job.’
Kevin Airs, a journalist newly arrived in Australia, documented Oasis’ chaotic tour Down Under in 1998 for Ralph magazine. The Gallagher brothers (seen here in London in September 1998 after returning home from the Be Here Now tour) spent much of the tour furious at the press
Another vodka and orange arrives. Liam’s bodyguard motions him to leave us, but Liam’s not having it.
‘No, I’m alright,’ he insists, with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘I’m just talking here.’
Just as the nervous flicks of his hair had betrayed his confident swagger into court the week before in Brisbane, Liam can’t hide his tension. One of the entourage calls him away for another drink and a cigarette.
Another bodyguard comes over to talk to him. He wants one of the British newspapers to back the band over the alleged assault. He says the way to seduce Liam and his brother Noel is through their mum back in Manchester.
‘Be good to their mum and they’ll be good to you,’ he tells us over and over again. ‘Send her flowers and don’t harass her, and the boys will hear about it. If you’re good to them, they’ll be good to you and they will make you millions. But upset their mum and you will have an enemy for life. Never upset their mum.’
Liam is back at the bar wanting another drink and overhears his mum being mentioned.
‘Who’s upsetting my mum?’ he barks. ‘What have you done to my mum? What are they saying about my mum?’
The bodyguard tries to explain, but the fire is lit. Liam glares at us as the minder desperately tries to calm him down, keeping himself between us like a rodeo clown. By now the seat Liam was sitting in has been taken back by the press guy again – and Liam wants it back. ‘That’s my seat,’ he demands of the photographer.
‘No, it’s mine now,’ he’s told.
Liam fumes, scowling at the snapper.
‘D’you think you’re hard?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ comes the reply.
Liam is momentarily stunned into silence. This isn’t the answer he expected. He breaks away to talk to the nearby minder, apparently to check a point of law.
‘If he hits me first,’ I hear him whisper, ‘it’s self-defence if I hit him back, innit? yeah!’
Suddenly he returns to the seated photographer’s side. He starts to suck into his clenched fist, which he then punches away from his mouth, stopping within millimetres of the photographer’s face. He does it again and again.
‘Are you alright?’ someone asks.
‘Yeah, tops, man,’ Liam answers. ‘Just got a bit of asthma.’
He gets bored when no one will take the bait, but the threatening atmosphere remains. He tells us that once the world tour is over he will go to the pyramids and take a space ship to outer space. From this lofty vantage point, Liam says, he will s**t all over us.
‘Why do you think what happened in Brisbane happened?’ he asks, out of the blue.
We tell him that we don’t know.
‘It’s not fair,’ he says. ‘The kid has sold his story in Australia and the UK and got his version across. But I’m not allowed to speak about what really happened. I have been around the world and signed lots of autographs for fans and let them take my picture without anything happening. So why do you think this happened this time? What was different about this?’
We tell him we still don’t know, and he is getting very frustrated.
He turns to me and insists: ‘Why do you think it happened?’
I tell him I don’t know. That’s not good enough.
‘Why do you think it happened?’
I still don’t know. His worried minders start to move in. Liam’s aggravation is rising and he is coming closer and closer. He’s asking over and over again.
His face is next to mine and his fists are coming into view. I start to calculate how much it would be worth it if he lamps me. It’s worth it. I stay rooted to the spot.
‘WHY DO YOU THINK IT HAPPENED? I DON’T SMACK FANS… BUT I WANT TO SMACK YOU!’
I see the blur of Liam’s two minders rushing forward. One bundles Liam away while the other steps in front o f me to shield me from the star. As he is dragged away by his own bodyguards, Liam protests pathetically.
‘No, I don’t mean that, I don’t want to smack him! Well… yeah I do, but I’m not going to. Honest!’
Liam is dragged off to bed. It’s 4.30am. We have not shaken hands.
Liam gets up the next day to fly to Wellington with a titanic hangover. As soon as he checks into his hotel for the last night of the tour, he is back at the bar, wearing a floppy fedora and dark glasses to hide his bleary eyes.
That night, fans vote the gig a disaster and the following day Noel admits it was ruined by Liam being drunk.
The end-of-tour party in the specially sealed-off hotel cocktail bar is a flop and Liam is left drinking alone almost as soon as it starts.
The next day, Oasis fly back to Auckland to catch a connecting flight back to Argentina’s capital Buenos Aires. The flights will be without incident and the South American leg of the tour will be marred only by an amp bursting into flames on stage.
When Liam finally reaches home after the tour is completed, his wife Patsy – despite months of separation – will not bother meeting him at the airport. She is said to be disgusted by the reports of his behaviour on the tour. Insiders claim the marriage is on the rocks.
Noel will announce that there will be no new Oasis album this year.
But that’s what Liam has to look forward to in the future. Now, still alone at the bar, Liam orders a line of bourbon and cokes.
For once, he has nothing to say.
- First published in Ralph magazine, September 1998