Resurrected and Adored

The Stone Roses tickets bought a while ago and since buying the support has our anticipation level notched up even more. Childless for the day Debbie and I enjoy a civilised salad lunch in the sun washed down with Prosecco then mosey on down to Finsbury Park aiming to catch Johnny Marr deciding that we will give Miles Kane a miss seeing as we saw him a few months ago. Coming out of the station it's like a late spring or late summer Arsenal match day crowded with blokes and buzzing with anticipation. The pubs are thronging spilling out onto a Seven Sisters Road in chaos, cans drunk on the street and the usual touts some who forget who the attraction is and offering to buy and sell tickets for "the match". As we walk through Finsbury Park to the entrance we pass gangs of loud 40 year old men in their uniforms of beany hat T shirt long shorts calf tattoos and trainers. Debs is a bit intimidated as worrying what they'll all be like after another 5 hours drinking as she's experienced an Oasis stadium gig full of drunken twats (and not only on the stage). I guess I'm used to gangs of loud blokes especially around Finsbury Park on match days. I reassure her that they'll all quieten down as a result of the hot sun and after taking their pills. I turn out to be right and the atmosphere once inside is happy and celebratory. The main difference from a match day is that the appetite for poppers amongst football fans is not as high as today where it seems to be sold all over the place. I decline all offers as I don't want to immobilise myself for a minute then get a headache. Call me old but for me amyl nitrate lost any charm after the Punks Not Dead scene. Not sure there was much in the way of charm back then either. I'm generally not given to fashion notes but... the dress of the late 80s street is still common today and maybe we've not moved on a lot since; or maybe it was pretty mainstream anyway coming as it did from football casuals and was never as extreme and tribal as scenes like teds mods or punks. I'm not being critical as I'm in faded cherry red docs, baggy jeans with turnups, big collared shirt and distressed hoodie. Debs looks cool though. Anyway we get in without queueing and with a surprising amount of security, i.e. none but a cursory look in Deb's handbag. Maybe the authorities thought that if they let the sniffer spaniels loose today they wouldn't know which ageing beany hatted baggy to bark at first and get confused. Once inside we go to the bar which has a crazy Post Office queueing system making you walk to and fro for 10 minutes between the barriers without a queue before going straight to someone at the bar.

Armed with drinks we settle down to watch Johnny Marr lazing on the grass and occasionally jumping up to see him which to be honest is usually for The Smiths songs reminding us of how good they were. Bigmouth Strikes Again and How Soon Is Now are the highlights. Marr's set is good old rock and he's a great guitarist but that's never made me fall in love with a band alone and there's a certain something missing. Unfortunate to say but probably a frontman swirling around the stage with a bunch of gladioli hanging out his back pocket. I saw The Smiths in Birmingham in 1983 after the hype by my mate Brinn but to my future chagrin I thought that they were pretty average although not as extremely as the woman at 36.35... maybe it was where my head was on the night or the gig itself. Decide yourself : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6OG9rm9eHE but I still maintain they were fairly typical of the period. I saw the error of my ways pretty soon afterwards and saw their uniqueness. Back to 2013... by the end of Marr's set the crowd are warming up and reminiscing of the 80s and 90s. Something which will change with the next band. During the band change over we queue for toilets which are disgracefully thin on the ground so much so that women are joining men to go against the fence and security seem to have given up on stopping anyone. We miss the stage entrance of the charismatic force that is John Lydon.

Public Image Limited have the edge over all todays bands for experimentation and weirdness. With the ex Rotten engaging with the crowd and letting us know a few times that he's a local boy and Gooner. He obviously loves being on such a stage on his boyhood turf and is the only one today to chat and joke with us. Debs thinks that's old hat but I love it. The music is brilliant seamlessly shifting across the decades and genres from post punk to heavy bassed dance with that trademark shouty vocal. Remember their first song was out in 1978 which they play today and they have newly written songs - that's 35 years of near continuous songwriting. Rather than seeming dated it shows how ahead of his time Lydon and PiL were when they started. The last time I saw the ex Pistol was 17 years to the month at the same place for the Sex Pistols reunion Filthy Lucre tour and he's lost none of his energy although seemed not to break out into a sweat tonight and at the end obviously doesn't want to leave the stage. Great musicians backing the main man each looking as bizarre as the other. Leaves me determined to see them again at a smaller venue to get the full force of the band in my face rather than mostly looking at a screen a couple of hundred yards away. They're not universally loved and at the urinals I'm opposite two youngish guys saying that PiL shouldn't be playing let alone after Johnny Marr. I put them right and tell them to have a proper listen to PiL but they probably like their safe rock and won't be turned. The set ends too soon and with encores passe now I'm not expecting one. The DJ treats us to some great tunes mostly from the decade of the Pistols like Althea & Donna and The Clash and after a lot of sound checking and faffing about the crowd are well and truly hyped up for the headliners...

The Stone Roses come on to rapturous applause and launch into a stinging I Wanna Be Adored. It sets the tone for the set which is high energy all the way through brilliantly passing through anthems and a few lesser revered tunes as well. The crowd love them as they build us up into ecstatic hands in the air moments then into out and out guitar hero riffs and breaks. I hadn't really thought about what great musicians they all are but they drive songs really tightly whilst then unravelling, in a good way, when they go into periods of head banging guitaring, handsup full on baggy tunefulness and mind turning wigging out. Highlights were a mesmerising Fools Gold that was brilliant from start to finish and just after comes the wonderfully uplifting Waterfall. By this time I'm well and truly back in the early 90s (missing the last year or so of the 80s being in Latin America) and in my 20s again. They save the best to last with I Am The Resurrection which is an incredible song at the best of times and delivered tonight brilliantly... from it's post indie dance crossover start through to it's dublike dance middle to it's rock dance crossover end they truly leave us on a high. After much band bowing and hugging and a few words to us they reluctantly leave the stage (curfews I guess) and Bob Marley comes over the PA. A lot of us can't quite believe there's no encore but there ain't so we wander with thousands of others through the park. Overall a great gig which when we booked didn't realise that PiL and Marr would be playing. Perfect warm ups for the Roses gearing us up for some straight rock and roll and some post punk edginess and well worth the ticket price. Great sounds, happy crowd, sun with a bit of breeze and wasn't too crowded where we were stood with a pretty good view seeing as it was a large gig. So no complaints barring the terrible toilet situation and the Roses drum solo (why oh why do bands do it?) although to be fair quite a few in the audience seemed to enjoy it but my punk sensibilities still associate them with the worst of 70s pomp and prog rock. I guess I've grown to appreciate guitar noodling (as long as backed with a driving rhythm rather than strictly just a solo) so maybe by the time I'm 70 I'll appreciate a good roll on the skins as Hugh Cornwall ambiguously (drums, drugs or sex?) introduced Jet Black's mercifully short solo on Tits back in 78). Surprisingly straight away catch the 341 to Waterloo but then stuck in a jam til past Clissold Park. I don't mind as brings back memories as used to live up this way. Reminiscing of my comparative youthfulness whilst stuck at Manor House where there used to be a great liberal club that hosted nights of mixed genres where you could request all sorts including PiL, The Smiths and, yeah, you guessed, The Stone Roses.