I’ve always had a bit of a love/hate relationship with festivals. There is always a pressure to see the great moments, best bands, meet nice women, get off your face and not miss the hilarity with your mates, find the toilet that hasn’t been pebble dashed by a curry eating booze monkey, and manage to wash yourself with baby wipes. Then you have the sheer unadulterated pleasure of catching a band at their best, come hell or high water, mud or sun, and knowing you’ll come away with memories that will last a lifetime. In truth, I can remember like yesterday every single festival I’ve been to, from hitchhiking down and sneaking in for free to The Wickerman, to carrying a massive cool box through fields of tents at my first festival V97. I’ve never been to Glastonbury (too big) and I gave away my raffle won T In The Park tickets (too many wankers). There is something inside me that say’s I’m getting to old for this, but nonetheless here I am with good company, lots of beer, and about to see one of my favourite bands of all time; The Stone Roses. Life doesn’t get much better than this. An additional bonus, after setting up the tent early in shady camp grounds, we’ve got plenty of time to watch the new Spiderman movie at a local cinema. A day of sheer pleasure, even though the webslinger left me disappointed. Roll on The Dark Knight Rises.
My early music taste was always questionable. I was into Genesis, everyone else liked Bon Jovi. I remember when three of the school bully’s followed me into the 6th form block toilets and took the piss out of me for just that reason. “Ahhhh you like Genesis” mocked one. “No I don’t” I lied, “I like Bon Jovi.” There was a stunned silence, during which they nodded their agreement and let me go. I was cool for the briefest of moments, at least until the next break when they stole my lunch money.
It’s always taken good friends to guide me with my taste, and it wasn’t long before Christopher stepped in and introduced me to Brit pop. This education began with The Stone Roses, with their debut album being the second I ever bought on CD (the first was Nirvana’s Unplugged in New York, now shredded with the loving scratch marks of the overplayed). I grew up with the Manchester band, and nearly went to see them in their heyday, but I can’t for the life of me remember why I didn’t. Since their split, I always rued that moment, much like a friend having tickets to see Nirvana two weeks after Kurt shot himself. At least I could always hold fast to the thought they could reform.
And reform they did and have. Now I’m standing not too far from the stage waiting for the first song, which I’m guessing will be and is “I Wanna Be Adored.” For two hours they don’t let up, and by the time “I am The Resurrection” is being blasted out by thousands of fans, arms in the air, belting every single line from gasping lungs, I’ve been transported back to my teenage years, with paper dreams of playing in bands and pulling girls. ‘This is the one I’ve waited for.’
The Stone Roses
I’ve always had a bit of a love/hate relationship with festivals. There is always a pressure to see the great moments, best bands, meet nice women, get off your face and not miss the hilarity with your mates, find the toilet that hasn’t been pebble dashed by a curry eating booze monkey, and manage to wash yourself with baby wipes. Then you have the sheer unadulterated pleasure of catching a band at their best, come hell or high water, mud or sun, and knowing you’ll come away with memories that will last a lifetime. In truth, I can remember like yesterday every single festival I’ve been to, from hitchhiking down and sneaking in for free to The Wickerman, to carrying a massive cool box through fields of tents at my first festival V97. I’ve never been to Glastonbury (too big) and I gave away my raffle won T In The Park tickets (too many wankers). There is something inside me that say’s I’m getting to old for this, but nonetheless here I am with good company, lots of beer, and about to see one of my favourite bands of all time; The Stone Roses. Life doesn’t get much better than this. An additional bonus, after setting up the tent early in shady camp grounds, we’ve got plenty of time to watch the new Spiderman movie at a local cinema. A day of sheer pleasure, even though the webslinger left me disappointed. Roll on The Dark Knight Rises.
My early music taste was always questionable. I was into Genesis, everyone else liked Bon Jovi. I remember when three of the school bully’s followed me into the 6th form block toilets and took the piss out of me for just that reason. “Ahhhh you like Genesis” mocked one. “No I don’t” I lied, “I like Bon Jovi.” There was a stunned silence, during which they nodded their agreement and let me go. I was cool for the briefest of moments, at least until the next break when they stole my lunch money.
It’s always taken good friends to guide me with my taste, and it wasn’t long before Christopher stepped in and introduced me to Brit pop. This education began with The Stone Roses, with their debut album being the second I ever bought on CD (the first was Nirvana’s Unplugged in New York, now shredded with the loving scratch marks of the overplayed). I grew up with the Manchester band, and nearly went to see them in their heyday, but I can’t for the life of me remember why I didn’t. Since their split, I always rued that moment, much like a friend having tickets to see Nirvana two weeks after Kurt shot himself. At least I could always hold fast to the thought they could reform.
And reform they did and have. Now I’m standing not too far from the stage waiting for the first song, which I’m guessing will be and is “I Wanna Be Adored.” For two hours they don’t let up, and by the time “I am The Resurrection” is being blasted out by thousands of fans, arms in the air, belting every single line from gasping lungs, I’ve been transported back to my teenage years, with paper dreams of playing in bands and pulling girls. ‘This is the one I’ve waited for.’