ICA, LONDON
15/5/89
MY GOD, but the stars shine bright tonight.
The Stone Roses are Manchester's latest addition to the long-standing argument for the legalization of Ecstasy. They started off as Spear Of Destiny soundalikes a few years back, but have since expanded their minds a little, taken on their very own lunatic dancer (à la Happy Mondays) and are now a simple, sodden, sexual exultation in the style of early Eighties Liverpool and late Sixties psychedelia.
Following the taped intro of "Don't Stop", The Stone Roses arrive onstage and launch straight into the resonant strains of "She Bangs The Drum", its incisive chorus shining like a clarion call to arms. The proud boys at the front are already singing lustily along, hurling themselves around in wilful abandon.
The gorgeous folky ballad "Waterfall" drenches us with glittering melodic lines, the guitar tracing endless circles, suspended in mid-air. Drummer Reni, a minor-league Keith Moon, adds tentative backing vocals to lan's sly - sure and nearly early steals the show with his floppy hat and insta and instant wag appeal. But the appeal of the Roses lies mainly in John Squire, whose incisive guitar lifts them clear above any accusations of wimpiness, such is its ferocity. "Elephant Stone", the Peter Hook-produced single from '88, is an unhesitant flurry of wah-wah pedals and furious drumbeats.
They fall in and out of time with blissful ease, never quite coming apart under Squire's skilful layering, with a languor not seen since the halcyon days of Edwyn Collins and Orange Juice. "Sally Cinnamon" rests easy in its uncertain beauty, a more mature Primal Scream, a more untogether Bunnymen, a uniquely fantastical beast. lan's words, tantalizing out-of-reach yet simultaneously accessible, spotlight the first high point of the set, the thunderous "Made Of Stone". The distorted wailing guitar intro, nicked from "Velocity Girl", leads straight to nirvana.
"I Wanna Be Adored" is the first of three classics at the end, a golden thread of gossamer, beguiling and wilfully naive, which builds gradually into a jangling rock song of epic proportions. The words mutate into "I Wanna Be Your Dog" as lan leans over and playfully wiggles his arse at the outstretched arms of the crowd (half, professional Mancunians-god knows why! - the other, spaced-out journos).
This man has an aura.
"Shoot You Down", doesn't really benefit from the raucous singalong treatment it gets, but is still utterly bewitching. A sublime melody, tantalizing vocal break and subtle layers of guitar are underpinned by Gary Mounfield's plunging bass. Perhaps, if one overlooked the harmonies, the rampant, unspoken, violent sexuality behind the hookline ("I want to do it and you know you've always had it coming") and the resonantly Sixties middle eight, you could consider this fey. If you have no imagination at all, that is. Stunning.
It's left to the certitude and poignancy of "I Am The Resurrection" to bring the set to a fitting climax. "Don't waste your words/I don't need anything from you," lan sings sweetly, as guitars and drums power and thunder behind him. As a prelude to a 10 minute explosion of psychedelic, instrumental, stroboscopic, nervous stress, it's the moment the rest of the set has been leading to. RIGHT THERE and the whole f***ing hype is justified. "I am the resurrection/I am the light..." Oh, sweet Lord. The Stone Roses have arrived.
EVERETT TRUE
MELODY MAKER, May 27 1989