THE STONE ROSES
Copenhagen Pakhus 11
JOHN SQUIRE's guitar lies broken and abandoned on a chair; the neck snapped in half and the strings ripped off. A roadie walks through the backstage area, picks up the discarded instrument and surveys the damage. He inspects it with disdain, shakes his head and puts the guitar under his arm. "He wont be using this again," he mutters, wandering off.
The guitar is smashed as the Roses' fourth gig since 1990 reached a cheerless, bitter conclusion in Denmark. Squire uses it in the intro to 'Love Spreads', the 18th and final song at the Pakhus 11 club in Copenhagen. He plays the strong-arm blues introduction, then turns to Mani and new drummer Maddix expecting the requisite beats that give 'Love Spreads' its spine. Except Mani and Maddix don't play, leaving Squire standing slack-jawed in front of 1,200 people, his eyes horror-filled.
Squire stops playing, stares at Mani, Maddix and singer Ian Brown and starts the song a second time. But by then Squire's unease is palpable, and, as the final notes of 'Love Spreads' fade and Mani throws a punch at his bass, the guitarist takes three paces to the centre of the stage. He waits a moment as Brown shuffles off and Mani and Maddix trudge away. And then he holds his guitar above his head, drains the instrument of its final notes and rams it, neck first, into the ground.
"It's brilliant. It feels like we've only been away for 20 minutes" Mani.
"Everyone's buzzin'. Everyone's f---in' buzzin'" Ian Brown.
BROWN AMBLES out of room 1108 at Copenhagen's Sheraton Hotel and walks across the landing to the lift. He's with new drummer Maddix, a former session man with a muscular frame and spindly dreadlocks which fall across his face. The two Roses reach the ground floor, lollop out of the lift and wander across the foyer to meet tour manager Steve Atherton and a woman with a plastic personality from Geffen Records in Los Angeles. The woman tells them how wonderful they are and Brown offers a desultory nod.
He turns to the NME. "Y'alright," he drawls, lighting a cigarette and slumping into a marshmallow-soft leather armchair. He enthuses about the Roses' first three gigs in Oslo, Stockholm and Gothenburg. "The dates have been brilliant," he says. "We were doing the first gig and after about 20 minutes we looked at each other and we all knew it was right. I just thought, 'I haven't done this for five years and this is what I do. This is what I do'."
Maddix is sitting opposite Brown in black jeans, black boots and blue shades. He says he'd planned to tour this year as a session man but then got the chance to join the Roses. "We had a long meeting about me joining before anything got sorted. But everyone was happy. It's brilliant to be playing in The Stone Roses. I'm looking forward to Glastonbury."
Brown and Maddix are waiting to be interviewed by French rock magazine Les Inrockuptibles. They order Cokes and freshly squeezed orange and head for a quiet corner of the Sheraton's restaurant to talk about their five-year hiatus, 'Second Coming', drugs, the reaction to their return and the loss of Reni (Brown: "We're still friends, but I haven't seen him because we're doing this"). After the interview, the French journalist is disappointed. "I don't know anything I didn't know before," he confides. "It's like they still think they are the best band in the world only they won't say it anymore."
"You're way too young and pretty and you sure as hell can't sing / Any time you wanna sell your soul / I've got a toll free number you can ring"
'Driving South'
SO FAR The Roses have played Oslo's Rockefeller, Stockholm's Palladium and The Karen in Gothenburg, drawing about 1,000 fans each night. Tonight's gig is at the disused Pakhus 11 warehouse, surrounded by a sandy construction site and wide shipping canal. Two tall ships and a houseboat bob in the sun and large cable ropes and bikes litter the canalside.
Inside the venue there are red hexagonal tiles on the floor, huge black drapes hanging from its 25-foot ceiling and concrete walls with peeling paint and small chains still attached. The room is L-shaped, with a fairy-lit bar in the smaller part, two burst-spring sofas and a wooden drawbridge in the centre of the floor with lights shining through small portholes. The capacity is 800, but later it will hold around 1,200 fans. "It's exactly what we wanted," says tour manager Steve Atherton at the soundcheck. "The promoters were worried it might not be up to it, but it's great. It's like the old warehouse days."
The stage has a foil backdrop, Maddix' towering drum kit, Squire's collection of guitars and an inordinately large lighting rig that would do for most medium-sized stadiums. Mani is chain smoking as he plays his Rickenbacker bass and roadies work around him with one showing him new riffs during the soundcheck. Last night, he stayed alone in Gothenburg while the rest of the band drove through the night.
Within 20 minutes Ian Brown walks triumphantly into the venue, flashing a two-fingered peace sign. He is with Maddix who strolls casually onstage to inspect his kit. He and Mani start to play the Jackson Five's 'I Want You Back' before drifting into funky rock jams while Brown stands in front of the mixing desk holding a drink of steaming tea in a polystyrene cup. Squire appears, dressed in a black jacket with a wool-lined collar and dark Timberland trousers. The three play and Brown watches on in awe. He nods his head, watching while a roadie stands on stage testing the microphone during songs with a 'Yeah yeah yeah'.
And then Brown takes the stage. "Can I get it on ? Yeah, get it on," he says in a fake-American accent before the band play 'Waterfall'. Roadies and friends stop working to watch. Brown sings quietly but when he reaches his pitch everyone is transfixed. The blues dominance of 'Second Coming' begins to make sense. The crew wear expressions of confidence and Squire's Zeppelin-esque licks become an addition to the Roses' armoury, rather than an indulgent accessory. For the first time since the arrival of 'Second Coming', the Roses take flight. The circus that surrounds them the tales of money and contract rows, drug excesses and sackings lose all relevance.
Squire disappears after the soundcheck and Brown starts playing a shuffling rock drum rhythm as a crew member plays guitar. Then the four of them walk outside where they pose for photos. Maddix has temporarily become the centre of attention. He lolls on Brown's shoulder, throws his arm around Squire and laughs with Mani as they stand underneath graffiti that reads "Those Rebels". Twenty fans have gathered outside the venue and sit eating pizza and drinking beer.
One girl who has travelled from Malmo, in Sweden, to see the band has her photo taken with Brown, gets her boyfriend to have his photo taken and then stands back and rocks on her heels, stunned by the occasion.
"Kiss me where the sun don't shine / The past is yours but the future's mine / You're out of time"
'She Bangs The Drum'
THE ROSES file into their dressing room, past vases of sprawling tulips and lilies, red and blue spotlights, bowls of fresh fruit and old crushed velvet sofas. Squire wants to know about Black Grape, Mani asks why his 12-string guitar isn't onstage and Maddix is already rolling his umpteenth joint. The promoter is panicking. She wanted them on stage at 12 but they've revisited their hotel and only just about returned to the venue and it's almost 1am.
Finally, the backstage area is cleared and the Roses shuffle onstage in front of a flood of blue lights. The audience screams and Mani strikes the low bass notes for the messianic 'I Wanna Be Adored'. The doe-eyed Brown stands centre stage yo-yoing his hands like a puppetmaster and the expectation of five years is forgotten in moments. They power into the exhilarating spinal rush of 'She Bangs The Drum' with the genius of Squire the single outstanding guitarist of a generation transforming the song into an epic that will fill the 600 acres of Glastonbury and then some. Maddix' drumming makes the loss of Reni seem also superfluous and Brown appears entitled to his arrogant "Oh, you're too kind," as the songs end.
It continues with the astral 'Waterfall' and the instantly-familiar 'Ten Storey Love Song' which is so good that even John Squire starts moving about onstage.
But then things start to flounder. The weaknesses in Brown's voice become apparent in 'Daybreak' as his low drawl strays out of tune. Mani is uninspired and the gig hits a level of mediocrity from which it rarely ascends.
There are rare glimpses of genius with the bluesy jams of 'Breaking Into Heaven', 'Begging You' and 'Daybreak'; all monuments to Squire's growing talent. But they're scarce and the gig becomes tedious and disappointing. 'Fool's Gold soundchecked for 30 second earlier in the day, is a let-down, 'Made Of Stone' is painfully weak and Brown doesn't even try to reach his notes on 'I Am The Resurrection'. Instead of a celebration it is an utter disappointment.
They offer a two-song 'Unplugged' slot in the middle with 'Your Star Will Shine' and 'Tightrope' but the acoustic guitars of Squire and Mani and bongos of Maddix jar against Brown's voice. Finally, they play 'Driving South' and 'Good Times' before descending yet further with the sorry, angry and futile 'Love Spreads'.
Backstage the band are disconsolate. "They're gutted, proper gutted," someone says. "That's the worst one they've done." The plastic woman from LA is the sole person sufficiently brazen and foolish enough to tell people it was great. Mani looks bitterly disappointed, Maddix has the enthusiasm to remain cheerful while a sullen Brown emerges sometime later to talk with friends and hangers-on.
The only person not to appear is Squire. His shattered guitar sits alone in the corner as a lament to tonight's slip in standards and spectacular fall from grace.
Andy Richardson
Back To Media 1995