I Could Pee With Anticipation

Biblical. Yeah it’s too often used. Of biblical proportions gets bandied about far too frequently to be relied upon as an authoritative indicator to something’s impact. Commercial media put pay to this mantra many years ago and as such, hyperbole has become a personal turn off.

However is the return of the Stone Roses worthy of this proportionality? The reports from Heaton Park, Manchester suggest so; the reaction of crowd and press points in that direction. And being honest, the Roses have never been one to shy away from idolatry. Never did they declare themselves bigger that Jesus, but it’s an obvious trait throughout the decade they manage to bare each other, that decade that created this clamour.

So on the eve of the floppy four taking to a podium in the Phoenix Park, avid followers are at breaking point in excitement. But for once it’s a weird anticipation, without trepidation. The Roses flourished on hedonism, they fused the dance floor and the festival through a concoction of cheap booze and the evolution of a generation defining cheap drug. The fans wanted euphoria, a tribe to be attached to easily and through the advent of ecstasy all were welcome. 

The fans never cared that they had more issues live than an IMF meeting on Skype, nor were they followers to debate the vocal range. They knew what they had in front of them. They had the Roses, they had the music and the ethos that entailed. We asked for little,  they gave peanuts - and through the haze it was amazing. That is why there is no trepidation, the fact that they are here is validation enough.

The rise of the Roses came at a time when American music had found its voice again. Metal went from theatrical to terrorizing again, rap evolved and house music was bringing a new era of disco. America didn’t need a british band to adore. So the Roses remained quintessentially British. Rather than sort out their issues with a record label through the medium of a  drive by shooting – they destroyed a car in paint. Instead of public publicity seeking feuds, they kept their disputes to themselves within the confines of their own hedonism. It’s an attitude we were more comfortable with. Like cow-tipping being preferable to arson.

The Roses could not be the Roses without either of the four members – anyone who remembers the gig in Feile 95 in Cork  will tell you of an uneasy relationship with the gig, due to the absence of Reni (left) and John Squire (injured), and although  the songs were played the same, to the fans it wasn’t.

Each member brings something whole, without which it leaves an abscess on proceedings. Reni’s drumming is so effortlessly rhythmical it brings that unique flow to the Roses. It’s so intertwined in Mani’s bass it could be accused of being the inspiration for the drum’n’bass generation. Squire, is just authority, his writing and playing simply deserves attention, and then the Ian Brown affair.

We don’t give a shit if the boy can’t sing - we have known this for years and we don’t care. He will never darken the door of a theatre holding auditions for X-Factor et al, yet holds more charisma in one glare than anything that has popped up on a Cowell inspired stage in a decade. He is not out of tune, the crowds’ singing is!  Simple.

So for all of those who have spent the same cash on seeing a trio of sleeping tablets, a dubious dance act and whatever fly by night natured support to assist them, Ye picked the wrong gig!

Even the support for the Stone Roses shadows some of the proceeding headliners – Justice are the Stone Roses first support and anything they have done trumps Finnish Patio Triads by far. The Wailers in one verse champ Florence and her version of the Lion King soundtrack.

So is it biblical? No it’s just music. However, just as God gave Manna to the Israelites to eat while on their 40 year voyage in the desert, we, the baggy jeans brigade, get Mani to bring an end to 20 years suffering. Delicious.