I’ve been missing gigs recently. I know I’m not alone in having had plans ruined by the pandemic, but unfortunately, that doesn’t offer much in the way of consolation. Thinking about all the artists I was supposed to see in 2020 induces a feeling of deep despair, melancholy at missing out on shows by the likes of Rage Against the Machine, Brockhampton and Weezer.
Casualties to Covid.
To escape these feelings of bitterness and sadness, I’ve been thinking back to when we were allowed to mix in our thousands, usually drunk and sweating, to watch live music. There’s an amazing exchange of energy that takes place when you see someone perform live, the artist and the crowd bouncing electricity off each other, relying on each other.
I have been very fortunate in my life when it comes to live shows. I’ve been to more than I can count, and I’ve seen some incredible artists. There’s a few that stick in my mind because of just how good they were. Kendrick Lamar at the Hydro, Arctic Monkeys at Glasgow Green, Anderson. Paak at the O2 Academy, Brian Wilson (who despite looking like a reanimated corpse still put on a fucking great show, fuck anyone who doesn’t like the Beach Boys) at the Royal Concert Hall.
All that said, I have also been to some not-so-good concerts. One of which stands out particularly strong in my memory, etched deeply into the grooves of my brain, impossible to dislodge.
The final performance of the Stone Roses, Hampden Park, Glasgow, 24th of June 2017.
A date that will live in infamy.
I will admit that I am not particularly fond of the Stone Roses. I like some of their songs, but I am firmly in the camp that they are overrated. I am not infallible, but it is a fact that they are not one of the greatest bands of all time. If you believe otherwise, now is the time to come to terms with it. Wipe away your tears with your bucket hat, get that lemon tattoo laser removed.
Bias aside, this gig was undoubtedly one of the worst live performances to have ever taken place in the entire history of the world.
Allow me to set the scene.
It was a cool and cloudy Saturday afternoon in Glasgow, and I was on my way to Hampden Park, a venue I hate with a passion, to see the Stone Roses, a band I am passionately unpassionate about. I know, you’re probably wondering why I’m even going to a Stone Roses gig, and I understand your cynicism, but a friend of mine (who shall remain nameless) had a spare ticket and guilt-tripped me into going. I should have taken everyone else’s reluctance to go as a sign. But I was young, and I was naïve.
We arrived at the stadium and were greeted instantly by a sea, a human sea. Composed of teenagers, clad in bucket hats and Adidas shorts, struggling to stand against the influence of alcohol and other illicit substances, and the older generation who grew up with the Stone Roses, also clad in bucket hats and Adidas shorts, also struggling to stand against the influence of alcohol and other illicit substances.
Some things never change.
We pushed against the tide and made our way into Hampden, up the many flights of stairs leading us to our seats. Conveniently, my friend forgot to tell me that our seats were high up in the back of the stand, far to the side of the stage. Did I mention before that I fucking hate sitting at concerts? If it wasn’t for the 30,000 witnesses, I might have been tempted to push him back down all those flights of stairs. I managed to suppress the urge to commit murder and settled into my seat.
From our vantage point, we could see the crowds assembling in the centre of the stadium. I struggle to believe there have ever been more bucket hats in one place than on the day of that gig in Glasgow. It was bucket hats as far as the eye could see, row after row of them. Do people wear bucket hats outside of Stone Roses gigs? I swear I’d never seen one in person before that show.
Supporting the Stone Roses that day were Primal Scream, an appropriate support act as I’m sure Bobby Gillespie, the frontman, had also ingested a fair amount of alcohol and illicit substances before coming on stage. They staggered their way through a greatest hits setlist, I recognised some of the songs, but most of the enjoyment I derived during their time on stage came from watching the crowd. 2 minutes into their set, I saw a flare go off in the masses of bucket hats.
A flare for the fucking support act?
A youngster, who could not have been older than 16 (at a push) holding the flare was promptly and mercilessly pulled out of the crowd by stadium security and handed over to the waiting police. I can only assume it was his first-ever gig, and that he was too excited and couldn’t wait for the Stone Roses to get the action started. Unfortunately for him, he wouldn’t get to see them at all. I thank him for his noble sacrifice, as without his selfless actions, I might have fallen asleep.
Mercifully, Primal Scream finished their set and exited the stage. It was now time for the headline act.
The Stone Roses, Manchester icons. An influence for so many that followed. Without them, no Oasis, no Blur. I put my cynicism aside and allowed myself to get wrapped up in the anticipation I could feel building all around me.
Stay cynical folks, that way you’ll never be disappointed.
The Stone Roses walked on stage, led by Ian Brown, dressed as all rock stars should dress, in a fucking tracksuit. Their sudden arrival prompted a change in the people in the seats around me. A couple sat next to me, who otherwise looked like regular, unassuming, middle-aged lovebirds, transformed. Like werewolves sponsored by Adidas, they seemed to shed their skins, producing bucket hats seemingly from thin air and going into a trance, swaying from side to side and throwing their hands rhythmically (I’m very kind with this description) to the music.
What the fuck was going on? Was the drinking water spiked with ecstasy?
The band launched into one of their signature tunes, a song I am fond of, I Wanna Be Adored. The crowd sang along to the guitar riff, drowning out Ian Brown’s vocals for the most part. This would turn out to be quite a blessing, as to say his voice wasn’t up to much would be a gross understatement. I get the charm in singers who aren’t “classically trained” so to speak, I love the Sex Pistols and Johnny Rotten can’t fucking sing at all, but this was audio torture. If we were in a cartoon, blood would have been pouring from my ears.
One redeeming feature of this gig was that I saw something I have always wanted to see. You know when you’re at a concert or a football game, and you see someone staggering along the seats, and there’s a little part of you saying, “It would be kind of funny if they fell over right now”?
It actually fucking happened.
The chap in question that it happened to was (surprise surprise) in quite an inebriated state and had only recently returned to his seat after accidentally headbutting his friend and splitting his eyebrow open. I swear I am not making this up. En route back from the nearest first aider, he had made the wise decision to stop at the bar and buy four beers, which he was carrying in a cupholder with a handle attached. As he was slowly trundling along, trying to find his friend, the Stone Roses started playing what must have been one of his favourite songs, based on his reaction. In a fit of excitement, he attempted to do some vintage 90’s drug-fuelled dancing.
Big mistake.
Almost immediately, he lost his footing, not helped by the swinging beers putting him off balance I’m sure, and went headfirst into the row of seats below him. It was as glorious as I’d always imagined it would be. The beers went flying, soaking everyone in the vicinity. There was panic, chaos and confusion. This drunken man had appeared from the sky to ruin everyone in his path’s night, an alcohol-drenched avenger. The innocent bystanders caught in his path reacted accordingly, a mix of anger and confusion before someone was kind enough to help the poor bastard to his feet.
I think he retraced his steps back to the first aider.
Looking back, this was probably the most memorable thing about that night. The last ever concert of a hugely influential band, and the highlight was some fanny taking a trip down the stairs. This probably speaks to the quality of the remainder of the Stone Roses set.
Despite my disappointment with the Stone Roses performance, I would still chalk the night up as a success. I can say I was at their last ever concert, and I got to witness something that is most likely once in a lifetime.
I hope I haven’t come across too harshly or bitter in this piece. I was trying to make myself feel better, to remember that while I love gigs, they’re not always the greatest thing ever. I miss them a lot and I’m lashing out.
I would also like to point out that I’m not ungrateful, the ticket my friend gave me was not free, I paid full price for this experience.
Thank you, nameless friend. It was worth every penny.