After 15 years of fans like me hoping for an Oasis reunion, last week our prayers were finally answered. But then I tried to actually secure tickets to see them...
I’d set up my accounts, and logged on well in advance of the 9am release time and had followed all the social media advice. What could possibly go wrong? I’d be done and dusted by midday latest, surely. But no.
Not only could I not select which date I wanted tickets for, I first had to wait hours to actually join the website proper before being granted access to the back of the waiting queue. Number 487,540 in the deli counter queue for a slice of my Oasis pie. (What’s The Story) Morning Glory was spinning on my turntable and I was feeling pumped. I’d flick the kettle on, do a little bit of tidying up whilst eagerly anticipating my queue number reducing.
Eight hours later and my time had finally come and having done the maths (max four tickets per household multiplied by the 487,540 people in the queue made a possible 1,959,160 guests for a 90,000 capacity stadium). I knew it would be slim pickings. I was desperate to secure just two tickets and go with my best mate who I‘ve enjoyed a lifetime’s worth of gigs with.
Prices seemed steep as I hovered over a few highlighted seats but my excitement was getting the better of me. I’d got this far. I’ve lost count of the number of seats I’d clicked on only to then be told “sorry, we cannot allocate these tickets to you, please try again”. My frustration levels were cranking up in line with my fear of missing out. My mate and I had been at Wembley last summer for the much-celebrated Blur gigs which only fuelled my desire to see the real BritPop kings next summer. Allegedly available tickets randomly popped up and it felt I was one of a million fans vying to click on it first. Hit “refresh” and a new selection of seats suddenly sprang up.
Odd. How are these still available? I then finally got two tickets in my basket, only for the page to crash on me. Restart, and weirdly, I was a small number back in the queue and was let in fairly swiftly. Again, odd. Two more tickets selected… and then, out of the blue, my account was suspended with the accusation of being a bot! How very dare they?
The real winner was Ticketmaster
I cleared my caches and in a blind panic logged back on and was miraculously back onto the seat selection page. Scramble. Scramble. Scramble. It was now 6pm and my wife was getting angsty. One last throw of the dice (I don’t like to be beaten) and — as if the Gallagher gods were staring down upon me — one solitary seat was shining out at me. Albeit at a rather astonishing inflated fee. I dare not disclose the amount in fear of my wife filing for divorce (and me ending up with the children and her getting the ticket). After my bank card details failed to work (despite being correct) I managed to process the payment and secure the ticket. I’d won. I’d beaten Ticketmaster.
But the real winner was Ticketmaster and now I’ve had a day to process what happened, the more suspicious I am of the “dynamic pricing” system and the way I, and many other fans on social media, felt we were kept on the site to further inflate perceived demand. Cynical, perhaps, but the ticket sites must have known that demand would be unprecedented, and this feels like we’ve been royally rinsed by them.
Surely there was a better and fairer way to sell these tickets. The system needs to change. Music should be for all — especially those who follow a working-class band like Oasis. Remember your roots, Liam. Paul Heaton of The Housemartins makes a noble point of capping ticket prices at an affordable rate (usually around £35) so his music is more accessible to his fans. Heaton’s working class hero legacy is long set in stone. It’s a shame the legacy of my beloved band is now tarnished.
