Stone by Charlie Harris
It’s a popular opinion doing the rounds that traditional bands are fast becoming a thing of the past.
The argument goes that, because of the advances in technology, it’s far easier for one person to make music in their bedroom which covers all the requirements of a band – the current ubiquity of Sam Fender suggests that is the case.
As Noel Gallagher recently said, being in a rock band is hard work. From the outset, the members have to share a vision as well as costs (the expense of rehearsal time and touring should not be underestimated), as well as the time required to hone their sound.
That’s to say nothing of the democratic strains that will be placed on a band throughout their career. Given all this, the longevity of U2, Radiohead and Coldplay (all made up of the original members, with everything split equally) are virtually miraculous.
Furthermore, do the kids care about ‘rock’ music anymore? Not judging by the looks of the Top 40.
All bobbins, of course. Young rock bands are alive and well, thanks for asking. While many are unchallengingly predictable ‘lad’ bands (The Snuts, The Reytons, The Sherlocks…The Courteeners have a lot to answer for) they do have passionate fanbases, for better or for worse. And there are now signs that the influence of Idles, Slaves and Shame is starting to filter down the years.
Enter four-piece ‘post-apocalyptic scally rockers (their words) Stone. The Liverpool band have shaved off some of the rougher edges of the above bands to incorporate more of a sheen to their sound, but that aside, catching them live will be as riotous a show as one could hope to see this year. For one reason: the energy the band generate feeds into the crowd (virtually all teenagers or adolescents) who respond in kind.
None of the band are found wanting in the energy department but, as always, it’s down to the frontman to be the conduit, with Finlay Power more than up to the task.
Power is relentless in his commitment to maintaining the adrenaline levels of all in the room, whether he’s pouring lager over himself or diving in and out of the crowd periodically.
As he leaves the stage during last song of the set, Waste, to presumably catch a breather (and change his shirt), his bandmates aren’t found wanting in his absence, sustaining the momentum through movement and volume.
Power is already a shrewd performer, bursting back through the side door of the room (the bands have to walk through the crowd at this small venue) to query if the baying crowd want more. Obviously, they do.
Throughout the set the moshpit is, quite frankly, terrifying. Yet it’s not all about relentless, measured aggression; Power takes a moment to dedicate the whole tour to his grandfather who, he tells us, is dying, but what should be a sad moment somehow lifts the atmosphere further, everyone in attendance moved rather than saddened by the frontman’s defiance. It may sound inappropriate, but you had to be there.
All this would be for naught were the songs not up to scratch, but Stone have that covered. Keep Running is, as the name would suggest, a maelstrom of pure energy while Stay Silent (a B-side, no less) sees the crowd singing the bawled chorus at the top of their lungs.
On the thundering Let’s Dance To The Real Thing, Power is scathing of his contemporaries while appreciating the greats (Bowie, Lennon, etc), and the slacker chorus of new single Stupid may slow the tempo ever-so-slightly but is another instant singalong.
The wired Fuse has a guitar solo that the greats would be proud of, and the set climaxes with the rampaging, larynx-shredding Leave It Out, the culmination of a visceral rock set.
But in truth, it was often hard to see what the band was doing, as the audience blocked the view, going crazy with joy unconfined. In the hands of a band like Stone, who deliver a cathartic soundtrack to their youth, the kids should continue to be alright.