DISCLAIMER: This isn’t a
review. It’s some thoughts, questions and conjecture on
behalf of a generation of Roses fans who are new to all this…
Is this the one?
It was
everything I’d hoped it would be. They were everything I’d hoped they’d be.
Even Heaton Park was magically transformed into a field of love. It exceeded
expectations. But one question remains: ‘what now’?
This band is
too good for a nostalgia trip, for a walk down memory lane. When they split,
the frustration was not just that it signaled the end of an era (and a descent
into the hideous Britpop farce), but that they had barely begun to scratch the
surface. Such creative forces surely had more to offer.
And now they’ve
reformed, what now? Surely this must be more than an arena tour that gives the
dads in their early 40s a one-night-only chance to revisit their youth.
Immerse me in your
splendour.
The fear of The
Stone Roses reforming is that they become just another band. Touring, talk
shows, twitter – uch. It doesn’t even bear thinking about. As good as they are
(and they are the best) it would kill me to see them turn
into an alternative U2. Please don’t become just another band. Immerse me in
your splendour.
I wasn’t at Spike Island.
At 30 I am too
young to have been there first time around. I was 8 years old when they played
at Spike Island. I was 14 when they split. I got into Oasis before I got into The
Stone Roses. I got into The Beatles before I got into The Stone Roses. Unlike
the elder generation, not everyone at school was into acid house, going to the
Hacienda at weekends. We arrived too late for that jazz. We were at Maine Road
and Knebworth but we weren’t crawling round the M25 looking for raves. Nor were
we at Glasgow Green, Blackpool or Spike Island watching the Roses. As with so
much our generation was late to the party, and too late to be part of something
special (the digital age doesn’t count). Their impact on Manchester was tangible;
we felt their presence everywhere – even if they were no longer around.
Chasing a ghost.
We spent our
late teens and twenties chasing the holy spirit of the Stone Roses. We were
living on scraps. There were precious few clips (YouTube helped but there’s
only so many times you can watch that
Brown/ Squire ‘Morecambe and Wise’ interview), no new songs (Pearl Bastard was
a significant event in my life), no new stories and very few public
appearances.
But we never gave up. At 14 I went to T in the Park to see the Seahorses. I was that desperate to catch Squire on stage. A few of us went to every Brown tour, we saw Primal Scream several times just to groove to Mani. Reni was like a ghost. We used to wax lyrical about him, listening to whatever snippets we could find, re-reading the same anecdote about Pete Townsend being blown away by a young Alan Wren. They were like Gods. Not just because we worshipped them; but because we never saw them. They existed through faith and love alone.
“A love for each other
will bring the fighting to an end.”
They were part
of the baggy generation – but they weren’t defined by it. Not in a way that the
Happy Mondays were. Not like New Order will be forever inextricably linked to the
Hacienda. They are as timeless as The Beatles. Before cocaine ruined it, Brown
and Squire wrote huge volume of work – ala Lennon and McCartney. And, like the
Beatles, they were friends as kids, from the same world, who loved each other.
At the heart of
the band is the Squire and Brown relationship. John said it himself at the
press conference: “In some ways, it's a friendship that defines us both -
and it needed fixing.”
Beautiful. And true. The greatest bands (and teams) are always the sum of the
parts. That’s what makes them special. It’s not just songs and instruments – it’s
chemistry. It’s four guys that come together to make music that no other four
guys could.
As soon as Squire
and Brown forgave each other, the band was back together. It was that simple. And
watching them on stage you could see the love. We all have relationships in our
lives that define us. We regret what we did and didn’t say. But the love never
goes. And watching four boys from South Manchester back on stage, sharing the love
was nothing short of inspiring.
“Won’t you help me sing...”
The collective thousands
that sang along with Browny in Heaton Park were happy with life. After all we’ve
been begging for just one chance to see the Roses play for years. Now it’s been
and gone, the question lingers…what happens now?
