They Gotta Be Adored
First gig in a few weeks where I was there solely to drink cider and let the music infect me instead of keeping one eye open for reviewing purposes and I end up blogging about it. Addicted to writing!
When The Stone Roses announced their resurrection (see what I did there? Toss me in the Thames please) I was instantly thrown into a pit of despair over why I wasn’t excited. I should have been. I still maintain Sally Cinnamon is the most romantic love story told in a song, I listen to Waterfall every time I feel like life is shit. I shed a tear when I found Elephant Stone on vinyl in a bric-a-brac shop off Holloway Rd for 50p, Standing Here makes me fall in love with everyone around me no matter how vile those people may be. But that stopped heartbeat, the moment you can’t breathe just didn’t come.
I am reminded of why. Its bands like Wu Lyf that make you sit up and listen, make you live for that exact moment. Make you stop looking to the nineties for your answers, anthems and inspirations.
I am not proclaiming Wu Lyf are the new Stone Roses but last night they created something close to a religious experience. Now that they are giving interviews (but still shunning Twitter), recently in the NME Ellery Roberts was described as being “near-phobic of becoming some run-of-the-mill, clichéd rock star”. Clichéd he is not but he may need to get used to being elevated onto a pedestal and viewed as a star. On two occasions he launched himself into the crowd. The first he managed to keep hold of the mic and continued singing in that raw, fractured, beautiful voice of his. The second occasion saw his t-shirt clawed off him from under his jacket and a calm walk through the crowd where people just wanted to touch him, his head slightly bowed in reverence. It is no exaggeration to say that witnessing this felt like the manic, fevered adoration usually reserved for Morrissey.
The crowd, throughout the entire set, went (to coin my favourite phrase) bat shit over their every move, every song, every pause. Their cover of Chris Isaak’s Wicked Game was a stroke of genius, and I suspect the smattering of girls in the audience left Shepherds Bush Empire part heart-broken, part horny. They are carving out and creating a unique manifesto and I am utterly committed to their cause, wherever it leads us. ♥