BY JL COPELAND
As you read this post, here’s a little backing music. Of all the Oasis songs I could have chosen, this seemed the most appropriate.
It makes me think of friends and family, half the world away.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cq1g3SO32iY
*Wipes tear*
But enough of that.
It turned out Oasis were coming to Korea. I only found out a month before the concert.
Look, I’m a busy person. Arses don’t scratch themselves.
I knew Liam and Noel (the brothers in the band, for the uninitiated) had patched up their differences.
Noel’s best quote about Liam during the estrangement years:
‘He’s like a man with a fork in a world of soup.’
I also knew a year earlier they’d announced a world tour that people had lost their shit over trying to get tickets for.
But I didn’t think they’d come to Korea. Top bands rarely come here; they usually skip it and head straight to Japan. Bigger bucks, better beer (see below).
However, since the ‘Korean Wave’ that’s swept the world in recent times, it seems tour organisers have finally been able to locate Korea on a map (don’t flap around in South East Asia, move up—no, that’s still China; further up, a bit to the right, there you go).
I’m not a massive Oasis fan, but they were the soundtrack to my teenage years. I know most of the songs; I know most of the words.
No, you don’t want to hear me try to sing them, unless pain is your thing.
As I said, the tickets had sold out a year ago. I had a cursory search on Craigslist for spares.
There was one. Some poor bloke was asking 380,000 Won (and claiming he’d paid much more for it. Jesus wept). That’s 264 USD / 200 British pounds. Yeah, no thanks.
I’m so cheap I consider ketchup packets a side hustle.
Not even kidding.
As luck would have it, the gig was at Goyang Sports Centre, five subway stops from our place. It’s a smallish, open-air stadium. I decided to toddle along to see if I could hear it.
A park bench and a convenience store beer, cheapest seats in (or rather, outside) the house.
I tried to convince my wife to come with me.
The kids would be fine. Hadn’t we had two to double the chances of someone surviving our neglect? The Girl is a great runner. With those lungs, if there was a fire, at least she’d make it out.
My wife was unconvinced. ‘Anyway, I don’t know any Oasis songs,’ she said, and walked off.
I blew out my lips, and she turned. ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger?’ I offered.
‘Sorry,’ she replied, ‘muscle memory.’
Oasis were due on at 8, so I arrived ten minutes earlier, and was nearly trampled by the hordes of late ticket-holders. Think Train to Busan but with sharper-dressed zombies.
I side-stepped out of the melee into a 7-Eleven to pick up a couple of cans of beer.
Is Korean beer bad?
There’s no sugar-coating this, the local beer is dreadful. In recent years, independent breweries have opened up, but in 98% of places that serve alcohol you will be offered three choices:
Shite
Ass
and new kid on the block, Terra-ble.
I don’t need to describe the taste of each. They are indistinguishable from one another, and you can make your own at home with the following recipe:
1. Take a can of the most popular urinal run-off from your home country. E.g. for the US, I’d suggest Budweiser; in the UK, Carling; in Australia, good old VB.
2. Empty it into a well-used running shoe.
3. Add approximately 150ml of tap water (if you’ve got pond water to hand, even better) and consume at room temperature.
Voila! Korean beer.
I’d love to hear from you on this. Which beer would I see everywhere in your home country that is a hard avoid?
The Korean for beer is meck-ju. It’s usually the first Korean word many ex-pats like me learn. (And the last).
I stuck to my imported tins of German Paulaner. It may be triple the price of the tasteless trio above, but even someone as cheap as myself has their red lines. (And I barely drink, so such luxury doesn’t kink my rat’s tail of a salary).
There were dozens, nay, hundreds of free loaders like me listening in to the mercurial mancunians.
And the listening was good; Oasis started playing and I couldn’t believe how clear it was, I could even hear the banter in between songs.
380 bucks? Suckers!
Before I knew it I was—inadvisably—singing along.
I had this urge to join in because along with all the nostalgia and crap I felt a little lonely, to be honest. I like going to gigs, although it’s a rare occurrence (as I said, decent bands almost never play here).
But whenever I do, I’m always on my own. And I’m kind of sick of it. Social isolation sucks, big time.
Anyhoo, I texted a couple of people back in the UK as I listened, and they all texted back promptly, which was nice.
I supposed I was sharing the experience with someone. You know who you are—and cheers, those little things mean a lot.
Then this huge group of university students drifted over. They were singing, too, and dancing, and—bizarrely—running around in a large circle following a guy with a flag.
At one point they all tried to assault the stadium before being beaten back by the security guards.
Go figure.
I tried to make eye contact with some of them, wanting to join the gang. We were all experiencing the same joy, my tiny mind reasoned, maybe they’d accept me.
But the only eye contact I was getting was side-eye. And then I remembered I was a bald, middle-aged guy in a tired parka with a can of lager sticking out of each pocket. I looked (and probably smelled) like a hobo.
I shuffled away.
Should you go to a concert on your own?
Nothing wrong with it. I really enjoyed the night, but I vowed I was never coming to another gig on my own again.
Even if I have to sell every last one of my precious honey mustard sachets, even if I have to push a couple of Xanax into the kids’ kimbap, the wife is coming next time.
Life is better with others. Don’t forget that when you’re raising your drawbridge and hermiting away for whatever reason: stubbornness, shame, that weird sucking noise people make when they eat lamb hotpot.
But enough about me. I’d love to hear what you are up to, too.
This isn’t some AI-generated-spam-blog …yet (If I ever become a best-selling author, I’m making no promises).
Any kind of human interaction is always greatly appreciated.
Tell me in the comments about anything you like: your hopes, your dreams, your frustrations, which fast-food chains you’ve noticed to be most generous when it comes to dolling out the sauce sachets.
It’s all gravy (or sauce).
Speak soon.
JL
PS: Oasis concerts a bit tame for you? Want darker sh*t? Then check out my real-life experiences in my Memories of murder series HERE.
PPS: For freebies and more regular missives from a half-arsed writer stuck in the Land of the Morning Chaos 2026 (or Korea, as they call it in these parts), sign up for my free newsletter below: