So, is he the greatest guitarist of his generation and the bloke who saw off The Stone Roses ? Or is his new band, THE SEAHORSES, just a sorry shadow of that former glory ? JOHN SQUIRE talks about passion, plagiarism and whether pop music is more important than penicillin.
STRANGE how pop, supposedly such an instant, immediate thing, has lately grown so tangled that WHAT'S HAPPENING has been eclipsed utterly by what happened, by kinked chains of events and the chaos of history.
When the news broke of John Squire's new band and I first heard the name "The Seahorses", I immediately thought of "Electric Ladyland" or something - I had visions of something vast and aquatic, sprawling and tidal, an expansion of the cavernous, phantasmagoric blues-rock John Squire had pioneered and almost perfected on the Roses' "Second Coming", something huge, graceful, and utterly monumental in scale and scope. I couldn't wait…… for something I'd invented.
Little surprise, then, that when I finally heard the first single, "Love Is The Law", the reality of it - "She was a rum old slapper and we always tried to get her pants off when she phoned" over an airy Merseybeat stomp and a weird, tingly, prog-rock middle-eight - underwhelmed me. Then, the album, "Do It Yourself": the band sounds great, plenty of nice tunes and everything, but it all seems so…… insubstantial and old-fashioned, with songs called "Happiness Is Eggshaped" and all, and Squire's one big solo (on the full-length "Love Is The Law") so teasingly fabulous as to make the rest of the record - heavy on breeze, light on dirt and danger - sound a little lame.
It's only in the last week, persevering, that it's started to make sense to me. Rooted in Merseybeat and Seventies R&B, thin and quick and choppy and light and tricksy, it's actually a very good record (I don't love it, but I might soon), certainly the best of its kind released for some time, and a whole lot better than some of those early reviews would have you believe. The point is, it's not as good as whatever album we'd all heard in our heads.
This is The Seahorses' curse. Entitled to immediate and enormous success, then forced to spend (the first part of) it in other people's shadows, or the shadow of other people's expectations. For their quiet, unsmiling guitarist, it must be weird enough. For the three unassuming unknowns, propelled into ALL THIS RIGHT NOW, it must be the strangest thing in the world.
ACTUALLY, beyond a basic grounding in semi-retro guitar rock (and their lead guitarist), there's not actually that much The Seahorses have in common with The Stone Roses. Unfortunately, one of the things they have got in common with The Stone Roses is an interview technique that relies heavily on silence. I spend over an hour with the band, in the admittedly crushingly unatmospheric bar of a hotel in Boreham Wood, while they're hanging around waiting to film "Top Of The Pops": I spend much of it racking my brain for anything to fill the horrible hush. It's not really recalcitrance on their part, they just don't seem able to talk about their music, or willing to talk about anything else. But please bear with us.
So, I begin by asking them how it feels to be in a band that's so far been portrayed as "John Squire's new group" and very little else.
Bass player Stuart Fletcher, who has a beard, is first in. "It's the easiest thing to say, innit ? I think it's changing now since people have actually seen and heard us."
John Squire speaks: "The second gig we ever played was at a place called Rico's in Greenock, and everything changed on that night for me. At the start of the show, everyone was looking my way, chanting my name and that - it's really staunch Roses country up there - and then, after about three songs, attention started to switch to centre stage, people were cheering for Chris' solo bit and that, and I knew right then that it wasn't going to be some embarrassing scenario with all the attention focussed on me. You know, we could actually be a proper band.
"It makes sense, though. I mean, Chris Helme wouldn't sell newspapers."
Chris Helme, singing Seahorse and occasional songwriter, will very soon be able to sell newspapers, being handsome in a conveniently fashionable manner and bearing a powerful enough voice to face off those volcanic guitar lines. He's lounging here on a hotel sofa in stripy trousers, looking precisely the way people currently imagine a star to look.
"I was in a few bands before, yeah. I suppose I was doing stuff kind of like The Seahorses.
"Those songs I heard ?" barks John. "You're saying it was the same as this band ?"
"No, you're thinking of the other band," says Chris. "Dirty Monkey - they were a bit like this band."
Andy Watt, their amiable, bespectacled drummer, nods, listens and says nothing; I ask John if that sense of infinite possibility that marks out a brand new group has easily returned, or whether, by now, some kind of cynicism has set in.
He shrugs.
"It feels different. It doesn't feel like a completely fresh start, because I've been past most of the milestones before. But the actual music is more enjoyable than it's been for…… well, as long as I can remember."
More enjoyable to play ? Or a better atmosphere to play it in ?
"Both. Second Coming sounded so dense because it was completely overworked. And this one was the complete antithesis of that, it felt more like a first album than the first Roses album did. There was no labouring. We'd only done three gigs - we'd played in Buckley, Greenock and Lancaster - before we went to LA and did the record. Small places - the one in Greenock was underneath an Italian restaurant."
There's been no slog for The Seahorses, none of the grunt and grind that usually marks the road to the top. In the four months since the cellars of Italian restaurants gave way to "Top Of The Pops", do any of you ever wake up punching the air and wonder what went right ?
Chris: "No, not really."
Stuart: "No…"
This is weird, and not a little disconcerting, but we let it pass.
SO, where do The Seahorses fit, in a world of pop groups that want to be The Stone Roses considerably more than they do, more in hock to their lead guitarist's past than he is himself ?
When John Squire hears his influence chiming through the years, does he feel like….. a monument ? A legend ? Old ? What ?
John stares back at me, impassively.
"Which bands ?"
You know which bands I'm talking about.
"I don't."
The Bluetones ?
"Only heard one song. That big hit they had."
Did you like it ?
"No. It sounded a bit limp to me. As far as hearing my own influence goes, there was kind of a white shuffly rhythm going on, like the Roses used to use years ago, that was about it."
Not the guitar playing ?
"No."
The singing ?
"No."
Do you hear your own influence anywhere ?
He shakes his head and looks out of the window.
Chris: "We just saw Jo Whiley down at 'Top Of The Pops'; she'd said we sounded like The Levellers. I went up to her and said, 'We don't sound like the f***ing Levellers, alright ?'"
Andy: "Oh, was that what it was ? Because she came up to me later on and said, 'Oh, I don't think you sound anything like The Levellers, you know…..'"
Have Oasis given you a lift ? Or stolen your thunder ?
John: "Given us a lift, I think. I mean, we opened the door for them, but they hammered it to the wall. It's all wide open now for guitar groups, and I think that's thanks to them. I mean, this is almost the highest I've ever been in the charts. But it does sound like Radio 1's been entirely programmed with music that sounds like the Roses in 1989."
So you do hear your influence, then.
"Well, in as much as that sound's become establishment. George Michael and Gary Barlow are the outsiders now."
Perhaps your real legacy was upping the ante. I can just about remember guitar music before The Stone Roses - you'd hear pre-Roses guitar groups, proto-indie, and they'd sound a bit cut-price, a bit budget. Do you think it was the Roses that reintroduced proficiency as something indivisible from pride, and were thus responsible, simultaneously, for all that's best and all that's worst about contemporary guitar music ?
"Well, we always went for the jugular. Still do….."
Careless of the moment, a waitress arrives with a tray, and sets it down in front of the hungry 'Horses, who immediately become more interested in their soup than their situation, which is kind of understandable - I'm starving too - but which slows things down a little further. I watch them eat for a bit, then, eventually, John starts up again.
"We probably didn't sound budget because we never listened to budget bands. It was only natural for us to sound proficient, or at least a bit special, because that was how our favourite groups sounded. We were far more into the Pistols and The Beatles than any indie bands of the time."
Presuming your goals for The Seahorses aren't identical to whatever was cooked up in a Manchester sandpit 30 years ago, what are you hoping to achieve this time ?
Another shrug.
"Making good music," offers somebody, somewhere. Thanks.
"Big tours, big sales, all that'd be nice," shrugs John, "but I know there are too many empty surprises." He has a bit more soup. "Those things don't mean much when you get there. It's the journey, not the destination that matters."
Can you elaborate on that ?
"I think it's a self-contained statement."
Is it ?
"Well, I don't think there's anything tangible about being the biggest or the best - you're still the same person before, during and after the event, so there's no point basing your whole life around that goal."
I'm really not sure everyone is the same person before, during and after the event.
"I can only talk from personal experience. Maybe I'm in the wrong line of work."
I'M still curious as to why The Seahorses are so unforthcoming. Is there really nothing to say about the most important thing in their lives ?
"It's only playing music…"
You're doing something noble. You're creating.
"It's the most disposable and trivial occupation imaginable," says John Squire, slowly and deliberately.
You really think so ?
"What, you think music's more important than penicillin ?"
It's as important as penicillin. Staying alive is only half the battle. You've got to feel and experience things while you're living !
"I remember thinking once about whether I'd rather be blind or deaf", offers Chris. "And at the time, because of what I was doing, I thought I'd rather be deaf. But now, I think I'd definitely rather be blind. I wouldn't be able to bear it if I couldn't listen to Nick Drake records while I was going to sleep."
I think that's quite relevant, pertinent even. I think it is.
"Music's always been around," begins Stuart. I'm not sure whether he means that it's obviously as important to the continued development of human happiness as anything else or whether he means it's not a very urgent or important thing to be doing in the last couple of years of the 20th century, because Andy interrupts by banging a spoon on a glass and saying, "Even the Incas were at it !"
You must think it's pretty important, though, because The Seahorses are such a basic, solid kind of group, in that fairly appealing Seventies sense. Like Badfinger or someone. You don't seem particularly interested in promoting your own personalities, or making any great statements, or whipping up a fuss, in doing anything other than "making good music".
"There's a reality gap," offers John. "The amount of attention we've had is ridiculous, considering the lifespan of the group; we've only been together since November. All we've done together is make an album, so it's not surprising the emphasis is just on the music at the moment. But that's alright. It's not limiting. I don't mind being limited to Top Five singles."
Are you frustrated that you've never had a Number One record ?
"Yeah. It's my favourite number. Number Two won't do. I'm gutted about it, actually."
Why ?
"Why ?"
Everyone's got a different reason why they want to be Number One.
"My reason is just that I enjoy what I'm doing and I want to be considered the best at any given time."
What gap are you trying to fill ?
"I feel like I'm filling whatever gap it is from writing songs more than making records, actually."
How's that ?
"I know I can write them."
That simple ?
He shrugs, and looks at his feet.
SO, I talk to John Squire about The Stone Roses, and, once the conversation's underway, his previously monosyllabic presence fades into worlds of silence and occasional truculence. I've met a fair few pop stars suspicious of "the press"; not ever really feeling like "the press", I generally ignore it. But Squire is so utterly perplexing, and emanates such boredom and thinly-veiled contempt, I come close to giving up and going home.
I'm not sure how much of it is affected rock star chic/schtick, and how much is born of bad experience (it must be one or the other - I can't believe he was this difficult to talk to when he was drawing pictures of Dangermouse for a living). Maybe he just doesn't like my face ? Truth be told, that was always my least favourite Roses trait, anyway - that weird, uncommunicative surliness-cum-blankness so many saw as a refusal to "play the game", whatever that means. It's a shame, because he doesn't come across as an unpleasant chap at all. Still. I ask Squire whether he's got any ideas why The Stone Roses became, by general consensus, not just the biggest but the most "important" band of their generation.
"We looked good, we sounded good, we wrote good songs, we gave good interviews. The T-shirts weren't bad, y' know…"
You could say that about anyone. There must have been something else.
"Well what do you think it was ?"
I could tell you, John, but I think Stone Roses fans would probably be more interested to hear your opinion.
A pregnant pause. Like, it lasts nine months.
"I can't really expand on the answer I've already given you."
What about the idea half the country seemed to get that the Roses were in some sense the perfection of a specific ideal of a modern pop group ?
"What about it ?"
Was it consciously done ?
"Was what consciously done ?"
Did you set out to create a band that was the perfection of a specific ideal of a modern pop group ?
"No."
You get the picture. After going round in circles a little further, the conversation settles on that five-year hiatus, and how the Roses' momentum slowed so close to a complete stop.
"We went to court."
Was it just that ?
"Well, you seem to have the answers in your head already, so what else would it have been ?"
Eh ? I'm asking you a question.
"Well, you've dismissed my first answer, like it was something you already knew."
You took five years to make a pop record ! You weren't in court for five years ! What about the gap between being in court and releasing the album ?
"Three children were born. We got truckloads of money from Geffen. The court cases - first with the record company, then the manager - lost us a lot of momentum. Things came out in the first court case that lost us any faith we still had in the manager, so he went. And the result of the case was us signing to Geffen. So, we ended up with no manager, pots of money and three kids. That's the reason we lost the momentum."
Did your enthusiasm for the group itself disappear ?
"When ?"
Then.
Total silence.
I'll put it another way. The idea of standing in a room with the rest of your band, playing music - did that seem less appealing after two court cases, the loss of a manager and the birth of three children ?
"Well, when we started rehearsing for the second album, the magic was still there. It was rehearsing for the tour when it became apparent things weren't right. The chemistry. There was a lot of tension. Reni was really out of shape. We didn't seem to know each other."
You hadn't been seeing much of each other around that time ?
"No, we didn't see much of each other in the studio. And socially…..no. That tailed right off after the initial push. You know, working with each other every day, touring….."
He looks slightly uneasy.
Does it upset you to talk about The Stone Roses ?
"No, not at all. It just annoys me when you seem to have an agenda and a set of questions and answers already prepared."
What ? Why do you think that ?
"Because I started to answer your question, and you brushed what I said aside as if you'd heard it already, like 'Give me something extra, give me the scoop'."
I wasn't thinking in those terms at all, actually.
"Well I apologise if I misread you."
Right, I don't blame you for being suspicious of journalists, but this does mean quite a lot to a lot of people.
"Well, yeah."
It's not just me prying.
"No, no."
I start again.
There's been some pretty horrible backbiting since the split. Are you stung by Mani saying his ambition for 1997 is "to piss all over John Squire ?"
"It doesn't affect me personally, but I do think it tarnishes the memory of the band, because we were never about that. You know, sniping. It hurts in that way. But I realised when I left that the friendships didn't extend beyond a business relationship anyway, except maybe with Reni."
Why do you think they attack you in print ?
"I'm not interested in apportioning blame, or getting angry about it. I dunno. Maybe because the thing didn't work without me ? But then again, I think it didn't work without Reni, with the benefit of hindsight."
Does it never worry you that the first Stone Roses album was the high water mark of your life, that you're doomed to live in its aftershock from here on in ? I'm not saying you couldn't make as good a record again, but can you ever hope to recapture that intensity of reaction, that flash of NOW ?
"No, I missed out on it, anyway. It never seemed as big or important or awe-inspiring at the time, from the inside, as people often lead me to believe these days. I don't know why that is. I don't feel like I'm living in the shadow of anything I've achieved or experienced before, because I don't think The Stone Roses was a complete experience."
There were a lot of things you could have achieved that you never did.
"Yeah. We didn't write enough music, we didn't play enough shows - lots of things."
Do you regret that ?
"Yeah. Yeah I do."
Do you feel you have to prove yourself again ?
"I did when I left the band. Not now. Because we've done it."
Because you've convinced yourself ?
"Yeah."
IT'S fair enough, I suppose. Insularity helps pop groups survive, and The Seahorses are in a peculiarly precarious position.
There's really nothing mysterious about them, but maybe that's the point. In their tight and breezy rock, you might not hear the impossible or the unattainable, but, if you listen closely, you can just make out the sounds of shackles slipping, or something being born. Maybe some air clearing.
And, if you think you've got a right to expect more, then perhaps you're part of their problem.
Interview by Taylor Parkes
Back To Media 1997