 The Stone Roses I'd like to formally apologize to the people of Manchester, The Stone Roses, all the British music rags (who always proclaim people like "Gene" or "Cast" to be the next Beatles), and anyone who's tried to get me to listen to this disc in the many years since its release. At various points during the 90s, I came perilously close to trading in this CD six or seven times. I only bought it because I saw tons and tons of great reviews, but I never really listened to it. And then one night, at the peak of boredom, IT HAPPENED. I'm a jackass. I can't believe I ever owned a CD this great, and never bothered to listen to it. The Stone Roses still kicks total ass in 2004, and I now see why it blew people's minds in '89. There isn't a single fucking moment on the CD that isn't worth listening to. Everything's perfect. The songwriting is there again, and again, and again. I don't know if John Squire wrote hundreds of songs and pared it down to these 13, or if he's just a really lucky bastard who did everything right 13 times in a row. But the hummable choruses keep coming and coming and coming. John's love of pop hooks, R&B grooves, and Jimmy Page (via Mike Nesmith, or perhaps Roger McGuinn) results in a wholly marvelous formula, and his inspired, tasteful playing adds to the triumph of this awe-inspiring record. He's the guru, but he's also blessed with quite a lineup here. I have to blame Oasis for cock-blocking my potential love of this disc. I was an enormous jackass to have loved Oasis to such an extent that I couldn't recognize how much they ripped off the Roses. Liam Gallagher can go fuck himself, because it's now painfully obvious to me that he's just a walking, ass-sucking caricature of Ian Brown (who, coincidentally, might be the worst live singer ever, incapable of singing a single note in tune outside the studio.) And I have to smirk at myself for sitting around listening to Dream Theater, completely oblivious to Mani & Reni, the greatest rhythm section in rock music after 1985. The beat never stops with these guys, providing clever, engulfing propulsion throughout the album. The weighty percussion never detracts from even the lightest of numbers here, striking a perfect balance. Reni also brings back the "Gilligan" hat with flair inside the CD booklet. From track #1, the Stone Roses sprint through an endless parade of Britpop hits, churning out pop gems like "I Wanna Be Adored," "She Bangs the Drums," "Waterfall," and "Made of Stone," then completely shift gears with magnum opuses like "I Am The Resurrection" and "Fools Gold." Although they clock in at respective 8 and 9 minute running times, they succeed at keeping the listener entertained throughout. Add super-Brit producer John Leckie to the formula, and there's just no room for sucking anywhere on this disc. The Roses even unearth another great song, by playing "Waterfall" backward. And much like the track "Don't Stop" implies, I wish things would never end. I loop it over and over, I re-write knockoff versions of the incredible songs, then I go to bed and dream about it. Sometimes I make out with it, which is probably why I've gone through so many copies. Sure, you can argue that this band never amounted to much, but they had nothing left to prove after achieving perfection on their debut. However, we all made the mistake of asking them for one more album, and they piled on all the disappointment we expected. So what. Forget that crap, forget the numerous re-packaging attempts by the most miserable label in the United Kingdom, and focus on the marvelous, glorious joy that radiates from their debut, an absolute masterpiece. If you're currently making the same mistake I did by not listening to this record, let me give you some quick advice. Unless your last name is "Scholz" or "Van Halen," The Stone Roses tells you everything you need to know about why YOUR debut album sucks ass. Repent now. Abandon all your worldly possessions and let this bitch polish your knob.
Review by Sir Dave Camelot |