So this is the Third Coming. Their first was at the much-mythologised tail-end of the 80s, when indie and dance music swaggered together, and the Stone Roses' debut album became the baggy-trouser-wearer's bible. Second Coming – their December 1994 follow-up – came at Britpop's high-water mark. Singer Ian Brown, guitarist John Squire, bassist Gary "Mani" Mounfield and drummer Alan "Reni" Wren had been away just long enough to be greeted like returning heroes. But after a disastrous meltdown 18 months later, the Third was never meant to happen – at least, if you believed Squire in 2009. "I have no desire whatsoever to desecrate the grave of seminal Manchester pop group the Stone Roses," he said then. Now, things are different. But are they really?
It's the first day of the Hultsfred festival, deep in Swedish birch-and-elm country. The site is gorgeous, on a lake, with four stages tightly packed together. At noon, it's been heard that the Roses' crew have arrived – good news given what happened two nights ago. In Amsterdam's Heineken Music Hall, Reni allegedly stormed off before the encore; in a YouTube clip widely circulated soon after, Brown called the drummer "a cunt". A spokesperson responded with: "They had already played their full planned set, so no one walked off." Fans responded with a sceptical, deafening "hmm".
Still, everyone seems hopeful here for the Roses' first festival appearance in 16 years, and the atmosphere is relaxed – at least until the music starts. LA hardcore punks the Bronx wake everyone up with a joyous, full-throttle set. Singer Matt Caughthran is soon crowd-surfing, then organising a mosh with him in the middle. Maximum effort at 1pm: it leaves everyone beaming.
The afternoon continues sparkily. Festival-goers seem more passionate here. Some particular peppy pleasures come mid-afternoon, such as Seattle hip-hop duo THEESatisfaction's snappy wordplay and dance-moves, and Swedish six-piece Den Svenska Björnstammen (the Swedish Bear Population). Half-OK Go indie, half Day-Glo Hot Chip techno, they bounce around onstage, foliage in their shorts, and get the crowd going wild.
Elsewhere, old-fashioned delights abound. New Zealander Willy Moon rocks up in a white suit like a cross between David Byrne and Jerry Lee Lewis, playing rockabilly twisted with woozy, processed beats. "Wa-ow!", he howls regularly, as his female drummer plays, stops and smokes. LA's Vintage Trouble also impress with their Sam Cooke-meets-Stax stylings, which are just sharp enough to not sound too retro.
But nostalgic sounds can get tired. Despite a decent romp through the Who's Teenage Wasteland, the Gaslight Anthem still sound like the Fisher-Price E Street Band. Slash does his best with the Guns N'Roses back catalogue, but new partner Myles Kennedy's voice never matches Axl Rose's yowl. Miles Kane's songs also feel oddly burdened by the north's indie past – as does his haircut, the first Stone Roses barnet of the day.
At 9.40pm, only 10 minutes late, come the Stone Roses themselves. But where's Reni? Pulses quicken when a drummer with dreadlocks appears, but it is Reni indeed, wearing a ridiculous hat. As he pummels Love Spreads into life, it becomes obvious how much his drums are his band's blood and backbone. As the Roses' last open-air appearance proved at Reading 1996 – I was there, Reni wasn't, nor was Squire, it was bloody awful – they need this boy badly.
But the pain's not over yet. Brown stalks the stage, wielding his shakers like someone divining for Es. The crowd aren't enthused yet; they're mainly Swedish teenagers after all, not Haçienda casualties. Then comes something Roses fans have been dreading: a wincingly off-key note from Brown in I Wanna Be Adored. It gets worse. In Made of Stone, Brown starts a verse while his bandmates are still on the chorus. Squire's legendary guitar also sounds clunky and heavy. "I don't need to sell my soul," Brown sings, with dead eyes.
What is it we want from the Stone Roses? A recreation of a sound that was always inconsistent anyway? Or the dressing-up of a memory? As the set continues, glimmers of hope appear. B-side Standing Here (from 1989)gently warms the heart. Ten Storey Love Song's melody reminds you how touching this music could be. Brown even takes his anorak off, and starts to joke with the Swedes ("I said: 'Tack [thank you]!' I can't help it!"). And then comes Fools Gold.
As soon as Mani finds the song's fabulous, lolloping groove, they get better. Squire even adds in a bar of the Beatles' Day Tripper. A fan gives Brown a Swedish flag, which he tries to hang up; the third time he succeeds. It's a metaphor for the whole set, and a totem for what follows.
Waterfall cascades; Brown hits every single note perfectly. In a glorious This Is the One, Brown wanders over to Squire, and makes him laugh with his dancing. As She Bangs the Drums sparkles, you remember that friendships dating back decades breathe in this band. You also remember how difficult it was to bring them back.
Brown puts his anorak back on. Reni leads. Mani beams. The song the Amsterdam crowd didn't get – I Am the Resurrection – is a genuine, eye-moistening, lump-in-the-throat moment. Brown gives the set list to the person who gave him the flag. Then the whole band come stage-front, and hug.
Then they bow, but Reni does so away from Brown, awkwardly, hammily. This is no resurrection quite yet. But the Stone Roses are alive.
