Today, I’ve decided I’d blog about something less controversial and not slate Alex Turner into next week. Today I’ve decided to write about my passion for the one and the only Stone Roses.
You see, I remember the days of sitting around at fifteen years old smoking cigarettes with a bottle of cider in my hand in a run down park screaming ‘I Wanna Be Adored’ at the top of my lungs. It’s an English tradition. However, that’s not exactly the only reason that I’d be passionate about The Stone Roses. Beyond all of the drunk nights I’ve spent as an adolescent being serenaded by Ian Brown’s mint voice is an era, an era which has refused to fuck off, an era which will never die no matter how hard modern music tries to silence it.
The era I’m talking about is the past, the eighties, the nineties, the…
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