37 FramesThe Cassette That Started It All
I still remember the day Dee threw a cassette across the cafeteria table at uni and said, “Here it is. My new favourite band.”
It was Definitely Maybe.
A tiny rectangle of plastic that would end up scoring the soundtrack of our youth.
At the time, everything around us felt like noise. Grunge, cynicism, a generation shrugging at its own potential. But Oasis was different. They weren’t whispering into the void; they were shouting from the rooftops. They were messy, magnetic, arrogant, and utterly alive.
While other bands dissected despair, Oasis celebrated defiance. They turned yearning into a sing-along. “Rock ’n’ Roll Star” wasn’t about fame. It was about wanting more when the world told you to settle. It was about being seen. About believing that something extraordinary could grow from something ordinary.
And maybe that’s why we still feel it all these years later. Because their songs didn’t belong to the charts or to the critics. They belonged to the dreamers. To everyone who’d ever looked up at the night sky and thought, surely there’s more than this.
“I live my life for the stars that shine.” – Rock ’n’ Roll Star
There’s a reason certain bands feel less like soundtracks and more like timestamps.
For us … for a lot of our generation (and especially for Dee, who basically has Definitely Maybe running through her veins) … Oasis wasn’t just a band.
They were the background hum of growing up, of figuring life out, of trying, failing, falling in love, and doing it all over again. Louder each time.
And tomorrow… this October 25, they’ll be here.
In Tokyo.
And we’ll be there too. Singing, probably crying, not pretending to know the high notes, and definitely not apologising for it.
It’ll be the first time we’ve ever turned down a destination wedding for a concert. (Yes. Ever.)
A big, beautiful celebration. A couple from the US here in Tokyo. A story we’d have been honoured to tell. But we knew exactly who to recommend, they will do them proud, we know.
Because sometimes, you have to listen to your own story too.
This isn’t just a concert for us. It’s history. It’s a homecoming. I know it sounds dramatic. But it’s so true.
The Aging Reflection
Now, an older, wiser, beautifully weathered Oasis is taking the stage again… and that’s the real headline.
We’ve all grown up with them. We’ve lived the words we once screamed into smoky bars. We’ve loved, lost, paid mortgages, burned out, started again. And now, we’re all standing together, decades later, still singing about wonder and survival.
It’s a reunion. It’s a reckoning.
At long last, Noel and Liam are comfortable in their own skin. And so are we.
They’ve traded swagger for mastery, bravado for truth. There’s a calm in their confidence now, a quiet understanding that the people who once danced to their chaos have weathered their own storms.
And I think that’s what makes this so powerful: the shared recognition that time hasn’t dulled us. It’s deepened us.
We’ve become the people those lyrics dreamed of. The ones who made it out, who kept going, who learned how to carry joy and ache in the same breath.
We’re not chasing youth anymore. We’re celebrating what we became.
Some Might Say… It Was More Than Music
For those of us who came of age in the ‘90s, Oasis wasn’t background noise. It was belief. The “what’s the story morning glory” kind of belief.
The kind that made ordinary days feel cinematic.
Their music was swagger and soul, Manchester rain and reckless youth.
And somehow, it reached across continents. Even all the way to our side of the world, long before we found ourselves living in Japan, chasing stories and building a life far from the suburbs that first taught us to dream.
“You and I are gonna live forever.”
This wasn’t arrogance. It was prophecy. Not about immortality. But about impact.
The idea that moments matter. That even the messy ones, the drunken ones, the heartbreaks and the laughter and the karaoke nights at 2am. They all mean something.
That’s the energy we built a life on. The energy we built 37 Frames on. The energy we’ve built our whole world on.
The belief that stories are meant to be loud.
And that art … whether it’s music, photography, or love itself … should make you feel something.
“All My People, Right Here, Right Now.”
There’s a moment that keeps looping online. A sea of people, arms linked, jumping in unison, backs turned to the stage. The Poznan. Ninety thousand voices, one heartbeat. We can’t wait to be a part of that tomorrow night.
When was the last time you saw that many people agree on anything, let alone express it with joy?
It’s chaos made holy. There’s a purity in that kind of togetherness. A reminder that music can still move us, even when the world feels divided and loud.
We’ve heard people dismiss Oasis songs as nothing more than football chants. And honestly? No one cares.
They were chants. Anthems. Mantras. They touched something that words alone couldn’t reach. It wasn’t poetry. It was proof that you belonged somewhere.
That’s the paradox of Oasis. They made the ordinary divine. They gave permission to feel feelings loudly. Their lyrics were blunt and twice as sharp. And yet, when the lights hit and the crowd roars, those same words feel like scripture.
“All my people, right here, right now.”
That line lands differently at fifty than it did at twenty-one. Back then, it was an anthem. Now, it’s a mirror.
It’s not about rebellion anymore. It’s about belonging. About having survived enough to still be here. Shoulder to shoulder, still believing in something bigger than ourselves.
“You gotta make it happen.” – Cigarettes and Alcohol
The 90s: The Golden Blur
University. Cassette tapes. Cheap wine. Road trips in cars that barely made it up hills.
There’s something about that era that feels almost mythical now. Pre-social media. Pre-curation. The only highlight reel you had was in your own memory. Blurry, scratched, beautifully human.
Oasis didn’t sing about perfect love stories. They sang about chaos. About wanting more. About the ache of being alive.
“Because maybe, you’re gonna be the one that saves me…”
And we all believed, just for a minute, that we could be saved. By love. By art. By a song played too loud through cheap speakers.
Now, decades later, that feeling hasn’t faded. It’s aged. Matured. Turned into something deeper. Because the songs that once belonged to our youth now belong to our lives.
They’ve followed us across continents. Through heartbreaks, hangovers, deadlines, and dawns.
They’re in our playlists when we edit weddings at 2am.
They’re in our studio, blasting through the speakers before we leave for another celebration.
Not always. Just enough (but there is an Oasis radio station that plays 24/7…fyi). Because we never want to tire of that feeling… that ache that swells when the first chords hit. When you haven’t heard your favorite songs in a while. The word natsukashii comes closest to describing it: the fabulous joy of remembering something you didn’t realize you missed.
That’s the magic of nostalgia. You don’t chase it. You let it find you.
And when it does, it knocks the air right out of you. Every time.
“We’re all part of the masterplan.” – The Masterplan
We Know What We Mean (Even If No One Else Does)
Oasis is about a moment in time when everything felt infinite. And maybe that’s the lesson.
That art … the real kind … outlives the artist.
It becomes something else, something bigger. Like love, it’s not meant to be owned. It’s meant to be shared.
“Please don’t put your life in the hands of a rock ’n’ roll band…”
And yet, we did. We all did. And we’re still here.
Because somehow, in their madness and brilliance, Oasis reminded us that imperfection is still beautiful. That you can fall apart and still fill stadiums. That brothers can feud for decades and still make magic.
And if that’s not the most human thing in the world, we don’t know what is.
“Get up off the floor and believe in life.” – D’You Know What I Mean?
The Soundtrack to Growing Up (and Still Growing)
I also think that Oasis taught us more about business and art, in its own way, than most conferences ever could.
They taught us about conviction. About owning your space. About not waiting for permission.
They were unapologetic. They knew exactly who they were and they didn’t dim their light to make others comfortable.
“I’m free to be whatever I, whatever I choose…”
That line hits differently now. Back then, it sounded like rebellion.
Now, it sounds like wisdom.
We built a company that way. Without investors. Without shortcuts. Just us, belief, and that same kind of grit.
The refusal to water anything down.
Because when you stand in your truth, you attract the right people. The ones who get it, who see you, who sing along to the same songs.
“You and I are gonna live forever.” – Live Forever
The Ones Who Still Believe in Magic
Maybe that’s why this concert feels so emotional.
Because it’s not just about hearing Oasis live. It’s about remembering who we were when their songs first found us.
The kids who thought the world was theirs for the taking.
The dreamers who stayed up too late talking about art and future and everything in between. The people we became because of the things we loved.
There’s something sacred about that kind of full-circle moment. Standing in Tokyo, halfway across the world, and hearing those first chords echo through the air. It’s a reminder that time passes, but truth doesn’t change.
“So don’t go away, say what you say, but say that you’ll stay forever and a day…”
We’ll sing it badly. Loudly. With the kind of joy that makes you forget you ever had deadlines. And in that moment, everything … the flights, the work, the exhaustion, life … will make sense again.
Because this is what we live for. And Dee will probably be in line for merch…
Connection. Meaning. Music. Memory. Celebrations. The things that make being human worth it.
The Echo of Remembering
Reminiscence is a strange creature.
Our phones have changed what remembering even means. They feed us anniversaries, “memories,” endless reels of our former selves. But when everything is always within reach, nothing feels rare. We scroll through the past so often that we stop feeling it. What was once an ache becomes an algorithm.
But at these concerts… at Oasis, of all bands … something different happens.
There are no curated reminders, no archives, no devices mediating the moment. Just thousands of voices, all remembering together.
What we feel there isn’t nostalgia exactly. It’s the echo of who we used to be. The hum of half-forgotten versions of ourselves, reaching for the sky again.
It’s that sense of recognition that arrives before language. The muscle memory of hope. The ghost of wanting.
We’re not just there for the music. We’re there for that long-buried feeling that their songs wake up. That tender collision of youth and experience, of what was and what never quite became.
No one EVER expected this Oasis reunion to hit so hard around the world ( or more actually that they would even reunite…).
But maybe we all underestimated the gravity of memory. The way emotion, when unfiltered through a screen, hits the bloodstream differently.
The past doesn’t live in our phones. It lives in us.
Final Reflection: Some Might Say…
Oasis once said, “The dreams we have as children, they fade away.”
But we don’t think they do. Not if you fight for them. Not if you feed them. Not if you still feel something when you hear the opening riff of “Don’t Look Back in Anger.”
They just evolve.
They become businesses. Friendships. Art. Lives that look different from the ones you imagined, but still hold the same heartbeat.
And I think that Noel and Liam now know that too.
And maybe that’s the ultimate Oasis lesson. You don’t grow out of who you are.
You grow into it.
So yes, we turned down a wedding for this night.
And we’d do it again.
Because life isn’t a straight line of responsibility and milestones. It’s a mixtape. Some tracks loud, some quiet, all of them shaping who we are.
And when the lights go down in Tokyo tomorrow night on October 25, and those first notes ripple through the crowd, we’ll be right there… singing, remembering, living.
Not for the past.
But for the proof that we’re still here.
Still dreaming.
Still believing in life.
📋 Planning | 📸 Photography | 🎥 Film by @37frames
🎧 Written with Oasis playing far too loud.
37 Frames
