THE STONE ROSES: What the world is waiting for?

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?