Contrary to popular opinion, John Squire's singing voice has been heard before. On "Tightrope", the campfire blues that was one of the highlights of the Stone Roses' Second Coming, he was part of the rough-hewn choir that sung just about every line. Eight years later, however, he's stepped to the fore, recording a debut solo album on which he belatedly takes the role of lead vocalist.
The genesis of "Time Changes Everything" dates back two years, to the period John spent working with bassist Simon Jones (The Verve) and other musicians. While we're here, we can finally lay to rest the strange notion that this band was ever called "John Squire's Skunkworks".
Unfortunately, just as the enterprise was about to go public, the band disintegrated. "It was the first time since the Roses that I didn't have a plan. But I eventually decided that I'd had enough of trying to break in singers and have my ideas refracted through somebody else," John comments.
Thus came a genuine watershed. Though the vocals on his home recordings had always been hesitant and hushed - "When I was writing songs, I used to have to put my mouth as close to the tape recorder as possible," he says - he resolved to work on giving his voice a new power and authority.
By way of setting himself a target, he asked Simon Dawson - co-producer of Second Coming, and a long-standing ally - to schedule a visit, with a view to recording initial demos.
"It was a gradual thing," John says. "I made the decision that I was going to sing every day, and see how good it would get. The real test I was going to apply to myself was getting Simon to come over and record something. And if I could bear to listen to the results, I'd carry on. It was daunting, just to sing to another person. I've got a lot more respect for the people I've worked with in the past now, probably than I had at the time. It's so much more physical than playing the guitar. I understand why singers don't want to sing all day."
At first, John thought he might be about to record an album of ragged, lo-fi music, featuring only his own voice and guitar. "The first songs were recorded with just a drum machine and acoustic, so I thought it was going to be something like that: folky with a few drum loops spun in. I remember thinking that Mellow Gold by Beck was somewhere I could possibly take it."
As it turned out, however, the music soon took on a more rounded, Virtuosic feel, thanks in part to the recruitment of three other musicians. "Time Changes Everything" was recorded in John's home on the fringes of the Peak District, with a band made up of drummer Andy Treacey, bassist Jonathan White, and a keyboard player named John Ellis, whom John describes as "a real inspiration".
The music they created throws forth a handful of admirable reference points: "All I Really Want" is a country-rock lament of the kind The Stones minted between '69 and '72, while the rolling lyrics and bubbling arrangements of "Trans-Atlantic Near Death Experience" and "I Miss You" suggest no one so much as Bob Dylan.
"I remember writing the chorus to "She Bangs The Drum" and thinking it was like a Dylan chorus, filtered through The Byrds," says John. "I know he's one of the reasons that I got to do this job. I'd be flattered at that comparison."
Those who've followed John's progress for the last fifteen-or-so years need not be rattled by such comparisons: in among it all, it's clear that you're listening to the same songwriter responsible for such swooned-over compositions as "Waterfall", "Ten Storey Love Song", "Your Star Will Shine" and "Love Is The Law".
Which brings us to the lingering ghost of his first band. On "Fifteen Days", a beguiling waltz-time ballad that takes both its title and first line from the Roses' Fool's Gold, he weaves his own take on their oft-mythologised rise and fall.
Of all the songs on "Time Changes Everything", this seems destined to prompt the most comment. "I enjoyed those times a lot," he says. "I miss it, still. But I don't want to go back. I wrote the lyrics as I was playing the guitar. It felt good to sing it. I don't know how it scans as poetry. And I still don't know how it makes me feel: a strange combination of satisfaction with the song and the performance, and, at the same time, remembering what went on. I like the way it tumbles along."
That song is also emblematic of one of the changes wrought by his metaphorical move to centre-stage: "I don't think I'd have given something so naked to a third person," he says. That said, it's best to appreciate the transformation in John's approach in the music's abiding feel. "Singing has changed the way I write, definitely," he says. "I don't think I had a clue what I was doing when I was writing for The Stone Roses and The Seahorses. I was treating vocals almost like guitar overdubs: 'that fits, so you should be able to do it - your problem, get on with it.' Whereas spirit and commitment is as important, if not more important, than a melody. If that isn't coming through, if you don't know what you're singing about, things aren't right."
"I think I spent too long trying to be a better guitar player," he goes on. "I should have spent more time writing songs. I would have written better songs if I'd put the effort into the rudiments of singing. It's far too masturbatory, sitting there with a guitar in your thirties."
One last question, then. What does John Squire think of his newfound voice ? "I was actually quite surprised," he says. "I'm well aware of people like John Lennon who said they hate the sound of their own vocals and doing anything they can to mask them. I was steeling myself for that experience, which obviously was weird but I don't mind it at all."
John Harris
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