IAN Brown and John Squire have known each other for as long as they can remember. They were brought up two doors apart on Sylvan Avenue in Sale, a town on the southern fringe of Greater Manchester, and though they went to different primary schools both attended Altrincham Grammar. John had a great fondness for art, being especially passionate about Pollock and Kandinsky, and was allowed to skip games in order to spend more time in the art room. Ian Brown, nicknamed Ibex, was a rugby league fan, always the more outgoing of the two. Both had a love of music and in their mid teens, as lads in their mid teens are wont to do, they formed a pop group.
The Patrol were, according to the few who can remember seeing them, very Clash influenced and not very special. Made up of Andy Couzens (vocals/guitar), John Squire (lead guitar), Ian Brown (bass), and Simon Wolstencroft (drums), they spent 1980 and '81 playing such local highspots as Sale Annexe, South Trafford College, and Hale Methodist Church. Their set included a few punk-ish originals such as "25 Rifles" (their first recording on a long forgotten four-track demo tape) and a couple of covers - Boyce and Hart's "Stepping Stone" and "Johnny B. Goode". Essentially they were a school band and a hobby with little long term potential.
In 1981, after leaving school, Ian - closely followed by John - moved to Hulme, a monstrous post-war housing estate in central Manchester, and their interests, fashion sense, and circle of friends began to change. They became fast friends with the likes of Johnny Marr, and also met Cressa (later their official dancer and effects man) and Gary "Manny" Mounfield, who briefly became part of their musical set-up. John Squire, having moved on from his Clash fixation, was now a Perry, a smartly dressed casual with a flick fringe and Kickers. Ian Brown had become a scooter boy, a member of the Chorlton Gladiators scooter gang, with a love of Northern Soul, Tamla Motown, and nouveau mod bands like The Chords. The Gladiators were identifiable by the rabbit's tail that ran from the front to the back of their helmets. They were serious boys.
The Patrol had now mutated into English Rose, basically the same group but with a suitably modish name, "English Rose" being a track from The Jam's "Setting Sons". Simon Wolstencroft left around this point - to be replaced by a mysterious character called Wazza - to join a band called Freak Party with Andy Rourke and Johnny Marr. Having quit both the embryonic Smiths and Stone Roses, Wolstencroft would make even Pete Best seem a lucky man. At least he ended up as drummer with The Fall, a position he still holds today.
But I digress. English Rose seem to have done very little and were put on ice in 1982, and nothing was heard of the band for a couple of years. During this period John Squire was making models for the set of a children's TV adaptation of "Wind In The Willows" by day and fiddling with guitar, amps and canvas by night. Ian Brown, meanwhile, was off on the classic beat trip, travelling as far from Manchester as he could on his scooter. He'd had it converted into a pink creation that apparently looked like a cross between a scooter, a chopper and a marshmallow. In their first national interview in Sounds in 1987, Ian Brown told John Robb about the trials and tribulations of his scooter boy days:
"The Scooter Boys were not mods. We were a mixture of punks, skins, anyone who had a scooter. I used to see Clinton from Pop Will Eat Itself on scooter runs; we used to get attacked by bikers in Stourbridge (Pop Will Eat Itself's home town) till we followed Clinton down an alternative safe route. The police would pull me up wherever I went. I was once fined £20 for having condensation on my speedometer."
Obsessed with travel, it was during a trip to Germany in early 1984 that Ian had a chance meeting that would lead to the start of The Stone Roses proper:
"Yeah, I was hitching around Europe and I met this promoter who said he could get us some gigs in Sweden, so obviously we jumped at the chance."
The fact that his group had laid dormant for a couple of years didn't seem to matter - there was a free holiday in Scandinavia there for the taking and Ian wasn't about to turn it down.
RETURNING to England, Ian had to hastily reassemble his band. He got back in contact with old r'n'r cohorts Squire and Couzens, and took control of the vocals with Couzens relegated to rhythm guitar. A friend with long, dyed black hair called Pete Garner, who worked for a newsagents-cum-record shop called Paperchase in Manchester, replaced Ian as bassist and a wild drummer, Alan "Reni" Wren was recruited via an advert. Reni had first barged into the lives of Brown and Squire when they were 11, at the Belle Vue speedway track, bullying them out of 10p.
"When I went to audition for this lot," reminisced Reni, "I thought they were a horrible racket, but I was struck by their commitment. The whole group were such an oddball collection of long hairs, scruffs and smoothies that I just had to join."
Five gigs were set up in Sweden and the band played loud, rocky sets dominated by Reni's Keith Moon-like powerhouse drumming and John Squire's imaginative guitar playing. Their sound was not dissimilar to The Chameleons, Manchester's darlings of the time.
Ian told John Robb: "We played 'I Wanna Be Adored' and 'This Is The One' - mainly though it was just riffs, riffs with words over them."
A new name had also been decided on before they set off, something that sounded both hard and soft as a complement to their music. After considering The Angry Young Teddy Bears (doesn't quite have that classic ring to it, does it viewers?) they settled on The Stone Roses, a name that echoed both their previous English Rose incarnation and that of their favourite pop group, The Rolling Stones.
Their confidence was towering even at this early stage, and the freshly named Stone Roses advertised their Swedish dates in NME. Whether anyone followed them to Scandinavia is unknown but unlikely - at one of the gigs only four people from anywhere turned up. No matter. Although Ian could be heard to moan about the cost of living in Sweden when he got back - "£5 for a can of soup!" - the group were flushed with success, a foreign tour under their belt and they hadn't even made their debut in Britain!
Their next move was to be one of their most astute.
After a couple of low-key London gigs, they arranged to play in a disused railway arch on Fairfield Street next to Manchester's Piccadilly Station. It was the summer of 1984, a hot night, lager was being consumed by the crateful, and the Roses came on at three in the morning to play songs like "Getting' Plenty" and "Heart On The Staves", swaggering rock material that was never officially released. Most people were too pissed or too tired to study the group in any detail, but they'd caused a buzz all right. For those who craved somewhere to go after The Hacienda had closed down for the night, the Stone Roses' warehouse parties (two more followed in 1985) were, if not the perfect solution, illicit and exciting, and they soon became legend in Manchester. The goth connection that has been tagged onto the Roses of this period retrospectively is virtually unfounded, having more to do with Peter Garner's black threads than the group's music or the motley collection of beered-up groovers in the audience. No doubt, these parties formed the basis of the Stone Roses' loyal following.
More illegal activities earned the band the front cover of the Manchester Evening News. One morning in 1985, the populace of Manchester awoke to discover that every available surface in the city centre had been daubed with the words "STONE ROSES". Old or new buildings, statues or libraries, the vandals had shown no remorse. Letters of outrage flooded the local press, and traces of the graffiti can be spotted even now. The group themselves were the likeliest culprits though to this day they hotly deny responsibility, claiming they know who did it but they'll never tell…..
All this notoriety had to lead to a record deal. Tiny independent Thin Line provided the Roses with their first home where they were teamed up with living legend Martin Hannett, the single most influential figure on the development of post-punk Manchester pop. Hannett's spacey, rhythmic productions had peaked at the start of the Eighties in his work with Joy Division, A Certain Ratio and Buzzcocks and, although he was by 1985 pretty unfashionable, Ian Brown later claimed that "he taught us how to arrange our songs and how to pull our melodies out". The resultant single, "So Young" / "Tell Me", had been recorded in the spring of 1985 and was released in August. The sleeve was a colourful collage of junk by John Squire, putting those extra art lessons to good use, and the songs were strong melodies, recognisable (just) as the band who would become the world's most exciting group years later, but were spoilt by heavy-handed riffing and melodramatic flourishes. Ian Brown's histrionic vocals were reminiscent of Kirk Brandon and the following year he wisely took singing lessons.
Sales of "So Young" were almost entirely local, and the band received virtually no attention from the press, though Mat Snow had this to say of it in NME:
"The great lost Martin Hannett produced this record, and a right silk purse too. Pure post punk 'pocalypse, of course, but even that won't persuade me to play it again."
Whatever the merits of "So Young", it is unlikely to ever be re-issued with the group's blessing and now fetches up to £100 on the collectors market.
During late '85, The Stone Roses spent a month working with Martin on an album, but the group were unhappy with the results and also broke with Thin Line at this point, effectively leaving the tapes to gather dust until the bootleggers went to work on them a few years later.
1986 provided a new beginning for The Stone Roses as they fell under the auspices of manager Gareth Evans. Owner of the two International venues in Manchester, Evans was and is something of an eccentric. It's rumoured that most of his belongings remain in packing crates, 15 years after he last moved house. An accountant, he seemed an unlikely Svengali, but his arrival proved a crucial force in switching the Roses from a potentially good rock band into a worldbeating force. The crucial moves in '86 were the departure of Andy Couzens (now a member of excellent new boys The High), the free practise time at the International afforded them by Gareth's management, and the group seeing Primal Scream at their pure pop peak. The Roses absorbed Primal Scream's classically chiming melodies and lightness of touch, combined this with their previous toughness, and emerged with a sound that was tight, punchy, and thoroughly contagious. Although they had some way to go, the Stone Roses of 1987 were already an awesome proposition.
Gigs that year were largely restricted to Manchester, though they played with The Raw Herbs at London's Dingwalls. Gareth gave them as many gigs as they wanted at The International and they soon became sell-outs as their following grew. They were learning as they were going, practising and perfecting sound and performance, growing up in public. Ian was now very much the front man, much more brash and aggressive than he is today.
"I don't take so many amphetamines anymore," he said last Christmas. "I used to try and provoke a reaction from the audience. I'm not so up my arse now, I'm more into the music."
A second single, the effervescent "Sally Cinnamon" was released mid '87 on the Wolverhampton-based FM Revolver label. Dismissed by some as lightweight indie pop, the single was the first great Stone Roses record. Sure enough, it was blessed with a classically catchy melody and suitably airy vocals (Ian's singing lessons having paid off handsomely) but John Squire's thrilling liquid guitar runs and Reni's gorgeous counter-harmonies lifted it way above the standard indie patter of the day. "Here It Comes" on the B-side featured scorching Squire fretwork and an instantly memorable hookline - something that would soon become an Ian Brown trademark - "I'd rather be no one than someone with no one"….. Okay, so it looks clumsy on paper, but live "Here It Comes" was the real thing and a few writers began to latch onto the group. Stephen Kingston in Sounds summed up the love/hate feeling the Roses engendered even then by describing Ian thus:
"He's whirling around like a demented muppet crooning to no one in particular, he does fancy himself as a bit of a star and you want to hate the guy. The songs are so mellifluous, though, that you just get sucked in."
John Robb described another International performance in July as "a celebration of local boys on the crest of a wave, and they received a Man United terrace-style ovation. The Roses are to The Stones what The Smiths are to The Beatles, a collision of rock, pop and psychedelia. The highpoint was the indie smash 'Sally Cinnamon' but there were other standouts too. Stone Roses are on the verge of dominating late night radio."
Still their popularity was restricted to Manchester - at Sefton Park, Liverpool, that autumn they were eclipsed by local boys The La's, though Melody Maker's Penny Kiley filed them under "Next big things", describing them as "brattish pop in psychedelic clothes." And while the Manchester Evening News in November reckoned "Love or loathe the Roses, everyone agrees that they should be huge on the stadium circuit, one day, maybe……" the group were still impoverished, Reni making ends meet by wearing a skirt and suspenders and working as a kissogram (no photographs, I'm afraid).
Around this time Pete Garner left the group, fell in love and disappeared, and was replaced by Mani, their friend from way back, to complete the current Roses line-up. Also, Rough Trade began to make advances and at the start of 1988 it finally seemed like the world would wake up to Manchester's best kept secret.
EARLY in '88 "Elephant Stone" was recorded as a first single for Rough Trade, its cred bolstered by a Peter Hook production.
The months rolled by and nothing happened - eventually, it transpired that Rough Trade had pulled out at the last minute leaving the group with a finished single but no label on which to release it. Eventually Andrew Lauder (who had signed Buzzcocks to United Artists in 1977) stepped in and made the Roses the first signing to his new Silvertone label.
"Elephant Stone" finally appeared in October '88 and it didn't disappoint the faithful: every bit as euphoric as "Sally Cinnamon", it cruised in on a psychedelic siren guitar lick and floated for three minutes of pure hookline, easing up just a couple of times for the "seems like there's a hole in my dreams" punch. Crucially it emphasised the Sixties psych influence implicit on the previous single, and was a pointer to the sound which would finally break the group. Unlike the first two singles ("Sally Cinnamon" didn't receive one national review), "Elephant Stone" was widely written about. Edwin Pouncey in NME suggested that the reader "would be wiser to stick with 'Sister Ray'", and Record Mirror were even less kind describing it as "a physical assault that almost quickens the pulse, but then the vocals come in and it's like Norman Whiteside has been replaced by Larry Grayson wearing an inane grin. If they would only look beyond Lancashire, beyond indie-land itself, they'll realise that there's more to life than lollipops, psychedelia and flakey grey skin."
Naturally, "Elephant Stone" was best appreciated by the Manchester press. Andrew McQueen in M62 said of their most recent International show, "There were no interested onlookers, just 1,000 passionate pop fans who don't need the big business music papers to tell them what to like." McQueen perfectly summed up the passion of Roses fans with his single review:
"Every Roses song has a melody that tugs at your heartstrings and 'Elephant Stone' is no exception. Fresh as a daisy but vitally urgent, the guitar explores every nook and cranny of the song, exploiting every melodic opportunity to the hilt. What's more, unlike many leaden-booted guitar bands, The Stone Roses have a groove and percussive sway that grips your hips and won't let go. There's just a buzz and attitude around them that's so exciting. Single of the year." And it was.
"It's our third single but we're looking on it as a debut as it's the first one we all feel really behind," said Ian at the time, and in a number of ways it was a(nother) new beginning. For starters, there was the sleeve, a John Squire action painting framed by the band name and the song title, which would become a house style from this point on. Secondly the 12 inch included a track called "Full Fathom Five", a spacey chunk of pure psychedelia which was basically "Elephant Stone" in reverse with a touch of studio trickery. They would return more successfully to this strain of psych pop in the months to come.
With the weight of a major behind them, The Stone Roses must have been hopeful of tickling the bottom of the national charts. At the end of October it entered the indie chart at 27, with huge sales in the Manchester area, and was nowhere to be seen the following week. Sales in the rest of the country were virtually non-existent and "Elephant Stone" sank without trace.
In retrospect, the step from local to national prominence seems logical. Inspiral Carpets had just paid tribute to the Roses on their debut "Plane Crash" EP with "Garage Full Of Flowers" (a line from the ancient "Tell Me"), and hundreds were being turned away from the frequent International shows. Yet other Manchester crews had been in similar situations before: James had remained huge in their home town throughout the Eighties while their fortunes fluctuated nationally. More poignantly, The Chameleons - a probable early Roses influence - could pack out Manchester clubs but eventually gave up in the face of national indifference.
At the end of '88, The Stone Roses could be seen at the shoebox hall of Central London Polytechnic playing with The Sun And The Moon, a Chameleons offshoot, to a measly crowd of disinterested students. "If I thought we were going to remain selling 2,000 records I'd give in now," Ian Brown told Sarah Champion, "but I seriously think we're going to be huge. You can't keep a good band down." Although they remained cocksure in interviews, they were very disappointed with the showing of "Elephant Stone" and were privately sceptical of what 1989 held in store for them after so many false starts. Friends who heard the demo of an astonishing new song called "Made Of Stone", however, had no doubts that 1989 would be a good year for the Roses.
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