The Stone Roses gig review, Etihad Stadium 2016
I must say, the biggest disappointment
of the Etihad gig (Sunday) for me was the fans. I went with a bunch of mates
who were all loading up on gear, but as a 22 year-old with the £80 chance to
see a band that had soundtracked practically every minute of his last 5 years,
such an option felt nothing more than foolish. I just wanted to rejoice with
thousands of people to my favourite tunes, to hear a stadium bellow out the songs
I had poured over endlessly in my bedroom for so long.
Unfortunately, the fans were terrible. The warning signs were set alight when, prior to the Roses coming on stage, a gang of lads nearby started singing "10 german bombers in the air" and "England/Vindaloo". 10 german bombers in the air? At a Roses concert? Did these guys know nothing about Ian Brown?
The most disheartening point arrived during Bye Bye Badman. My favourite Roses song, the very embodiment of the debut album's ethos and energy, a tune which rattles and bleeds with utter magic - and, and I kid you not, a maximum of 20 of us near the front of the stage singing along. The other 500 hundred were just stood there, presumably wrapped up in some MDMA-induced bubble, glaring at the band in utter silence. The Roses? Blackpool 89? Glasgow Green 90? Felt more like going to watch The Courteeners / Arctic Monkeys / [insert modern indie band here] do an MTV Unplugged set with a load of old Southerners. Pure shite.
The realisation soon hit that the Roses were just a product now. The Lemon posters - a fucking lemon poster in Times Square? Give me a break. The music spun forward and the crowd continued to disappoint. This Is The One (fucking THIS IS THE ONE!!!!), Shoot You Down amongst others, all passed without much more than a shrug of the audience's shoulder.
I ditched my gurning comrades and tried finding a bunch of like-minded Roses heads, swimming to the very front and then back again before settling upon a trio of Glaswegians, as intent on singing out their dreams as I was.
One saving grace, perhaps. Love Spreads clicks in with a rip of Squire's guitar. All of a sudden, the crowd near the front is rocking. Kids jumping up and down. Grown men hugging each other. I spy a Black girl about 20-yards away, completely lost in the tune, completely in love with it. A tune about the emancipation of Black women, about two thousand years and more of persecution and oppression, and there she is, right there. If this isn't what the Roses are for, then god shoot me down right now. For that moment alone, it was worth it. Just.
Unfortunately, the fans were terrible. The warning signs were set alight when, prior to the Roses coming on stage, a gang of lads nearby started singing "10 german bombers in the air" and "England/Vindaloo". 10 german bombers in the air? At a Roses concert? Did these guys know nothing about Ian Brown?
The most disheartening point arrived during Bye Bye Badman. My favourite Roses song, the very embodiment of the debut album's ethos and energy, a tune which rattles and bleeds with utter magic - and, and I kid you not, a maximum of 20 of us near the front of the stage singing along. The other 500 hundred were just stood there, presumably wrapped up in some MDMA-induced bubble, glaring at the band in utter silence. The Roses? Blackpool 89? Glasgow Green 90? Felt more like going to watch The Courteeners / Arctic Monkeys / [insert modern indie band here] do an MTV Unplugged set with a load of old Southerners. Pure shite.
The realisation soon hit that the Roses were just a product now. The Lemon posters - a fucking lemon poster in Times Square? Give me a break. The music spun forward and the crowd continued to disappoint. This Is The One (fucking THIS IS THE ONE!!!!), Shoot You Down amongst others, all passed without much more than a shrug of the audience's shoulder.
I ditched my gurning comrades and tried finding a bunch of like-minded Roses heads, swimming to the very front and then back again before settling upon a trio of Glaswegians, as intent on singing out their dreams as I was.
One saving grace, perhaps. Love Spreads clicks in with a rip of Squire's guitar. All of a sudden, the crowd near the front is rocking. Kids jumping up and down. Grown men hugging each other. I spy a Black girl about 20-yards away, completely lost in the tune, completely in love with it. A tune about the emancipation of Black women, about two thousand years and more of persecution and oppression, and there she is, right there. If this isn't what the Roses are for, then god shoot me down right now. For that moment alone, it was worth it. Just.
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