THE STONE ROSES
MANCHESTER HACIENDA

BOLLOCKS TO Morrissey at Wolverhampton, to The Sundays at The Falcon, to PWEI at Brixton-I'm already drafting a letter to my grandchildren telling them that I saw The Stone Roses at the Hacienda.

Maybe it wasn't the greatest gig ever played-The Hac is a concrete bunker of a venue which necessitates the sound ricocheting off a couple of girders and a brick wall before it hits your ears. Maybe the Stone Roses aren't truly magnificent (yet) and maybe they're way past their farty, elitist I-saw-them-first date Manchester's probably smirking and calling me Bullet). But...

The Stones (and there's a clue), comprising four unassuming boy wonders and a Happy Mondays roadie acting as 'surf dancing accessory.and playing thoroughly regardless brat-arsed guitar Pop. have taken four years off my age. And I'm indebted.

There was steam coming off of Manchester's colossal youth tonight like the whole goddam scene was ready to blow. There was I, the stranger in paradise-squashed beyond intimacy between girl and girder, cast and iron, and across the heads of this Tango-enlightened mass.

The Stones rolled onto the stage and said it all. I Wanna Be Adored' is the song, one of umpteen ready to recapture your headier days. Awesome, spooky and pleading. these brightest of sparks actually merit your adoration. Singer lan is a sawn-off Matt Dillon, steeped in feigned Sumnereque passionate indifference. The drummer wears a seaside giftshop hat (which stays on after the gig, to his credit.)

I am carried away, physically, by the thick of the crowd and the thrill of it all. Snub TV cameras stalk the stage, probing the new Stones as they rock the Hac. Suddenly, without warning, in a divine moment, Stuart Maconie's mythical fringe makes complete and utter sense to me.

The Stone Roses are more than my job's worth. Guv. I've never sipped a more welcome pint of Coke.

After the gig, lan tries to tell me that they were "sloppy" tonight, but I'm untouchable. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and Stone is the name of the Rose.

Dear grandkids...
Andrew Collins
NME