I started to worry that I wouldn’t recognise the crowd – the feeling
in that place. That big open space in Manchester.
Now there are many bands I have not seen – in fact I think I have
written about that somewhere on here – but I never had the chance to see the
Roses. Emma has. She saw them at Spike Island. This was before we met. And Rob
saw them – he told us about them – he’d seen them in Coventry – at the
university. All jangles and attitude – saw the light – the second coming
[geddit?] But I remember that sudden shift – there’s talk that it was all down
to that TOTP Mondays / Roses edition – but that certainly is after the event.
Besides the North suffered a temporary blackout on that Thursday back in the
late 80s – the signal just stopped and the television went off.
We didn’t see it. I think we went to the pub – instead.
But there was a change a comin’. We wanted to dance [and have some
fun] and you couldn’t do that to Lush and MBV. You could shake your head –
possibly jump up and down – but you couldn’t dance, dance, dance. The Scream
had gotten close with Sonic Flower Groove – they would pretty much rewrite it
all with Screamadelica – but this was still in its infancy. The Stone Roses
were all swagger and style – seemingly arriving out of nowhere and setting the
pace.
It was everything a band should be. A gang. The Stooges and the
Family Stone all rolled into one.
There were walk offs, and chart show clips, front covers and
interviews – but it seems that good old conversation pushed the Roses into our
consciousness. And here they are again – back in the press and we’re talking
about them. I remember a trawl uptown –
early days in the city – Lewisham to the last stop – and a wander up Charing
Cross road – and there was Mani, Reni and John – carrying a massive boxed
ghetto blaster – all cardboard and heaviness – they were the other side of the
road – where The Marquee used to be. Taking a breather and looking around for something.
And they just looked so different – you eyes were drawn to them. But I was
crossing the road – so I looked away – straight into Ian Brown’s eyes – that
simple acknowledgement that he was a star but also one of us. A nod – half
smile – reciprocated and moved on. The Stone Roses taking up both sides of the
road. Totally assured and utterly hip.
Will they be able to it again? I guess they have to – it all ended
fairly messy - in missed cues and notes – ramblings and ramifications. I have
to be honest – I think I’ve played The Second Coming more than the first long
player – it’s got this real heavy groove at the heart of it. Yes, I recognise
there’s indulgence but even the build into Breaking into Heaven works – so it’s
reminiscent of the opening to Welcome to the Pleasure Dome [Liverpool did it
first?] – but the whole long player is done with finesse – all riffs and rolls
– building to Love Spreads - well The
Foz actually – but lets say it ends at Track 12 and not Track 90. And in
between this band of brothers unite to take this small nation under a groove –
from burning south swamp rock and blues – where the devil will give you all the
best tunes and through the feral funk of Begging You – with it’s repetitive
loops and Hey Bulldog bass lines mixed with a Brown at his in your face Lydon
scowling best – into Good Times [my friend]– that shouter of fun , falling into
hate and bitterness with How do you Sleep which simply documents the fragility
of friendship, of six string relationships and strung out nights –until they
ultimately spread some love around.
Which they will again
And all that energy is still there – it took five years to get there
through courts and concerts, much like that other reforming troupe – The Beach
Boys. Two decades of pills, writs and heartache to be united around the globe
in slacks and shirts and Love’s baseball cap – I’m hoping that the Stone Roses will
be wearing better gear.
And so it goes
If one band reforms then they all come crawling out the woodwork.
Although Shed Seven have seemingly never gone away – nor the Bluetones if I
come to think of it. But there’s a reformed Mondays playing the clubs [rocking
the pubs] and the Inspirals and even the fucking Farm playing Spartacus ‘in its
entirety’. It’s as if we are returning to Thatcher’s E fuelled end of the
eighties were nothing much mattered apart from dancing and getting one over the
police. Whilst I welcome a roses revival but aren’t going to go to it – and I’m
feeling embarrassed at the thought of Love offering fake platitudes to Wilson
in concert halls as bank balances burst – but I’ll be sitting in the front row
helping that circus along – I’m not sure if a nostalgia filled landscape of
musical highs from our youth and our parents youth will help this ‘pop’ thing
along.
I hope that it inspires some youth to think that all of this is from
an another era – its Jurassic – you know Dinosaurs and all that – like it did
the three Johns from Kilburn. I hope it does – like the landscape at the time
of the Roses when being a fully-fledged star was seen as somewhat arrogant and
certainly not in keeping with the independent tradition.
Sometimes you can be
in the right place at the right time.
I hope that field in Manchester will be it this Summer. The past was
theirs and now the future’s ours – or something like that.
