The Stone Roses: 20 years on

I was reading a post from my old mate Kitty C the other day when it suddenly struck me that it is now 20 years since The Stone Roses came out. Now you’re only 12, and your world revolves around the dismal crap that passes for music these days, so you know nothing – but back in the day? This. Was. It.

In way, and taking my rose-tinted glasses off, it’s a very dated record. Even then it was hardly breaking new ground. Where everybody got excited about Fool’s Gold breaking down barriers in terms of crossing over between what was then dance music and yer traditional guitar music, it would be churlish to deny that The Stone Roses trod a pretty well worn path. Jangly guitars, blissful melodies, bowl haircuts and flares hardly a revolution make. So why did it resonate so strongly that even now I feel a warm glow of excitement when I hear the first ominous sounds of I Wanna Be Adored or that bassline from halfway through I Am The Resurrection?

Firstly, of course, it was new to us. We were only 14 or 15 and so the spiritual forefathers of this record remained unknown. Secondly, it still kicks a load of ass in terms of melody and structure. For all that Ian Brown couldn’t sing for toffee, every element from guitar to drums to bass to vocals is impeccably tuneful – and that takes some shifting from your synapses. It was also presented with a surprising amount of drama – from the sinister opening rumblings to the blazing 8 minute wig-out that closes the record via the short but devastating call to arms of Elizabeth My Dear everything seems exactly right within the milieu of the album itself. Rarely do albums hold together as a unified whole as well as this. And then of course, there are the lyrics which flirt with nonsense to just the right degree, yet made eminent sense to a vast army of teenagers at the time.

Oh – and they had great haircuts.

Away from the mere music though, was the presence of the band themselves. While you could conceivably (if you have a heart of stone) pass the music itself of as fluffy indie toss, the Roses themselves spent 2 years behaving as rock stars par excellence – far from the stereotype, but completely in keeping with the ethos. When their record label put out releases they didn’t approve of, they broke into their offices and daubed them in paint. When they were booked to play the biggest gig of their career in Barcelona, they pulled out because the venue hosted bullfighting and they “refused to play support act to slaughter”. Drummer Reni listed ‘the purity of mi soul’ as his most prized possession in interviews. They shouted down the presenters of Late Show when the power went. For those two years, their every move was wreathed in speculation and mystery and somehow their posturing felt a  million times more vital than that of, say, the cretinous Chris Martin.

And finally, when they threatened to take over the world? They vanished into the ether for 5 years and left nothing but rumour in their wake. It killed their career and left the field wide open to the likes of Oasis but it preserved the perfection of those years in the memory of all those who were there to experience them.

Oh – and here’s the opposing view of the band