THE STONE ROSES CENTRAL LONDON POLY

FIRST SIGHT and first song they couldn't have come from anywhere else except Manchester which still has so much to answer for. While a million miserable martyrs haunt the self/styled capital of the North, The Stone Roses have grown through the cracked grey concrete into bright and brilliant blossoms.

With the impish grin of Billy Mackenzie and the self-confidence of George Bush, lan sways smoothly through a strident set of heavenly harmonies and garage guitar. Backed by the best singing drummer since-ahem-Phil Collins, the Roses sound instantly buries all other young pretenders to the Mancs-most-likely-to throne.

This could explain the band's attitude, the loveable lager lout arrogance of Factory's football casuals somehow rubbing off through the Peter Hook-produced 'Elephant Stone'. Or maybe-and more likely-they just know that this killer single, like virtually every song tonight, is an instant pop classic. Cocky bastards.

lan's grin never fades, even when chunky melodies like 'Sally Cinnamon' give way to James-ian sparsity on Shoot You Down'. This is the flexible sound of an upwardly mobile group. It may not be long before fame forces them to drop the friendly crowd-baiting and audience walkabouts, but tonight The Stone Roses are groovy enough to be forgiven even the trippy blues jam that closes the show. It chokes me to say so, but it looks like Manchester is still the coolest place in the entire solar system.

Stephen Dalton