I don't need to sell my soul...

For anyone who loves listening to music and going to gigs then there are a few debates that come round in the bar. Best Band? best Gig? Hours of fun. But when it comes to Best Album - well if you're my age then its no contest - it has to be The Stone Roses' eponymously titled 1989 masterpiece.
It's hard to put into words how fine it was ( & is), the bravado, the ambiguos lyrics, the virtuoso riffs all blended perfectly to create an  irresistible urge to get up and put two hands in the air. And all from a band of lads who were the same disaffected ( or should that be affected) Northern youth of the Thatcher years. Suddenly we had a reason to swagger again, Manchester was rocking, I was 19 and life was good for 64 hours every weekend.

But like all good tragedies it couldnt last - the band flared oh so bright,  and then almost inevitably were gone, lied to and cheated by a thieving manager, torn apart by their own arguments, unable to make magic again. But at least they left that perfect album.
When I read in 2012 that they were going to reform for the stadium gigs that had always been their destiny I was sorely tempted; I'd been at the infamous Spike Island gig that cemented their legend - it couldn't be as good I rationalised - I risked shattering that perfect memory. I decided not to go.
And then I saw Made of Stone, the film of those concerts and knew with an instant deep regret that I'd got it wrong - 23 years later the Roses were still the real deal, the performance so much better than I could of hoped.
Fast forward three years and tonight I came back to a Manchester that's celebrating the Stone Roses again - for a 4th night a sellout crowd, old and young crammed into the Etihad Stadium, the support acts were good, we danced and drank for a while - but then a rumble of bass, the best guitarist of a generation and those infamous opening lines....60,000 adoring fans.