“I find it sad that there’s a whole generation of kids, working-class kids who have got nothing of their own to buy into and they’re projecting all that onto a couple of 50-year-old fellas. Where’s the new Oasis? Where’s that? Where is that, where are those guys?”
(Noel Gallagher taking on Jonathan Ross 2021)
DMA’s. DMA’s are those guys and on Friday night at Wembley Arena, they crossed the threshold from academy venue-filling indie band to generation-defining stars they’ve been threatening to do since 2016’s ‘Hills End’.
The unlikely Australian heroes walk on stage with the intro to ‘How Many Dreams?’ already pulsating through the huge crowd. The electricity in the room is tangible. The sudden realisation that the Sydney trio were about to transcend to immortality.
All bands have die-hard fans. They’ll jump to prove their love no matter what. Front and centre, every gig, they are there. The signifier of a band crossing over to that moment of gigantic glory is when it filters further and further back. As Tommy O’Dell’s angelic vocal decrees “how many dreams?”, the raptures are found a way beyond the sound desk and up in the seats. It’s bedlam. Only England winning knockout football breeds this loved-up debauchery. Togetherness is love, and DMA’s have it in abundance.
The set openers mirror the new album’s tracklisting with ‘Olympia‘ following. Matthew Mason’s rippling guitars send a feverish crowd into utter delirium. Two tracks in and best friends and lovers are hugging in disbelief. Their band was doing it. Their band was the style and the substance! Their band are it!
With every passing track their power grew culminating in previous albums ‘The Glow’ and ‘Silver’. ‘Live Forever’ and ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’ at some point in British history ceased to be Oasis songs and became folklore handed on to future generations as beacons of hope. ‘The Glow’ and ‘Silver’ are rapidly approaching this territory.
‘The Glow’, with that crowd, became the archetypal two fingers up work and government. This was the people’s moment in the spotlight, and no-one missed their opportunity to rid themselves of the day-today. On the flipside ‘Silver’ felt more like a hymn than an indie-anthem. O’Dell’s presence was barely required as the crowd unified around the tracks uncertain and searching lyrics.
Four albums in, DMA’s power should really be fading. New songs should be becoming piss breaks not set closers. Oasis always failed to integrate the good work of ‘Heathen Chemistry’ onwards into a set alongside the power of ‘Definitely Maybe’ or the hysteria of ‘Morning Glory’. The DMA’s however, albeit to smaller crowds, are marrying the raw power of ‘Timeless’ and ‘Lay Down’ alongside the pop majesty of ‘Olympia’ and ‘Everybody’s Saying Thursday’s The Weekend’ effortlessly.
It was supposed to be Brixton Academy, a venue half the size. Through tragedy and corruption (at Brixton), DMAs were forced to move to Wembley. They rose to the occasion and delivered a gig that will echo down the ages.