Ian Brown
London Brixton Academy
The smoke clears and Ian Brown is still centre-stage, doing his little shadow-boxing dance, shuffling back and forth on his feet, waiting for the referee's bell. Still standing, in fact. Not only that, but he has a Top Five album and hit single under his belt, he's got every right to expect that tonight's sell-out performance will be a triumph.
So many critics had written the former Stone Roses frontman off as a shadowy ghost; a yesterday's man who belonged in the days when Manchester was the dance capital of the world, ecstasy was the potent new designer drug on the block, and independently-minded bands discovered and corralled dance music for their own ends. And yet here he is. How does he do it ?
The year 1989 certainly seems a century away in cultural terms, when you live in a 2001 of a billion dollar hip-hop revolution, manufactured pop groups, reality TV, brand new terrors, nu-metal and an underground rock scene populated by those who were barely in secondary school when The Stone Roses failed to crack America. But Ian Brown is both a survivor and a showbiz trouper. He's become a brand name. What he represents - as a mystical guru who's mellowed out since becoming a dad - is the opposite of what was expected. Former revolutionaries are supposed to slowly become the new oppressors, yet Brown has stuck to his guns when it comes to acute social observations, a space-cadet worldview and a knack for impenetrable musings that confer an air of mystery on what would otherwise be nonsense.
Ian Brown is needed in 2001 because he's the last of a dying breed. While his peers are now accountants, bank workers, or reaping the sad harvest of drug excess, he still shows how self-belief and arrogance can go a long way. He makes tonight's audience feel like it could be them up there, even though they know it probably couldn't. As the stage reveals a drummer and a multi-tentacled percussionist as well as a restrained guitarist, a keyboard technician and a rhythm man who has taken dub lessons, it's all systems go. Brown is all about a vibe, and even if he's the centre of attention, the crowd is always involved. The self-styled folk hero doesn't sing at people, or even to people, but in an inexplicable way, with people.
Ah, singing. Brown, lest we forget, is a man who's made crowds wince while trying for the high notes. Tonight though, he's in fine, competent voice, as he adopts a mid-range monotone that inhabits but seldom overrides the music. The distorted, almost techno-like rhythm figure that warps 'The Gravy Train' in a dancetastic light, still makes room for Ian Brown's elocution about the perils of cocaine, which segues into an off-hand version of Dillinger's reggae classic 'Cocaine In My Brain'. And the version of 'F.E.A.R' has a beauty and topicality that also mixes orchestral melodies with what is anything but a foghorn voice.
And there's the multi-cultural tilt that makes Ian Brown 's rock'n'roll still cool. The sitar warblings, the junglist drums, reggae pulses and more all point to a more inclusive music. Plus, those Jimmy Smith-style jazzy organs that bathe 'Dolphins Were Monkeys' in a similar way huge techno beats drench 'Love Like A Fountain' add to the diversity. It's all a long way from the Stone Roses. Which is ultimately why Ian Brown has been blessed with longevity. "
Dele Fadele
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