Hello Goodbye
It began with psychedelic shirts, pointy boots and props from Dangermouse. The end came gradually, amid depression and betrayal. This month, it's bowlcuts and heartbreak for...
HELLO
OCTOBER 1987 I knew Ian Brown and John Squire already. We were ex-punks kicking about on the Manchester scooter scene, digging Motown and Northern soul. I'd been in a band with John - The Waterfront with Andy Couzens and Chris Goodwin - so he knew I was capable.
I found out that the Roses neede a new bass player through my brother Greg. I got hold of Squire's number and called him up. "The job's mine," I said. Simple as that. They were sick of auditioning bassists and John sounded relieved. "We should have come to you first," he said.
After the call I got myself down to the rehearsal studio, two bus rides struggling with my bass. We rehearsed daily; we didn't have anything better to do. Only John had a job, making puppets at Cosgrove Hall. His flat was full of props from Wind In The Willows, Cockleshell Bay and Dangermouse. We'd sit on his bed jamming songs over the Portastudio. Nothing needed saying, we just gelled.
Back then, we never fought. It was the unwritten rule. Ian was Hong Kong Phooey with his black belt in Karate, Reni was a nutcase, I'd pick up the nearest object and hit you with it, and John would plot for months, then get you from behind. So I had to be careful telling them they didn't look good. They were gothed up in paisley shirts, pointed boots and silly hairdos. "You've got to look like proper scallies," I said. So Johnny sat at home making matching shirts for us, cutting out shapes in potatoes, so for our first gig we all had the same image: mad psychedelic wear with wicked Byrds-style bowlcuts. We played to 15 people at the Hummingbird in Birmingham. Ian went on one of his walkabouts with his mike - up to the bar, ordered a pint, sat at someone's table, drank it. Next night I was in front of 1,000 punters at the International in Manchester. We knew we'd made it.
GOODBYE
OCTOBER 1996 It ended at Reading, but the cracks first began to show during the Fools Gold sessions. John had doubts about Reni's drumming and thought I wasn't working hard enough. But I couldn't be a robot like John.
Recording Second Coming was a nightmare. My father had just died, I was depressed and the band expected me to carry on as normal. Only Reni noticed. Actually, he told me a couple of weeks ago that Squire was after sacking me at that point. Squire thought he was in charge, working everyone with his foot pedal. Ian became guarded. He wanted to push his own songs and Ian felt let down by being excluded from the band and John's life.
Reni left because of it, and Robbie Maddix came in two weeks before the world tour. It wasn't the same. Then someone fucked up the flights from San Francisco to Japan. Ian, Robbie and I went out for dinner and a beer. John went mountain biking with our roadie Alan Smith. He fell off (and broke his collarbone): seeing the lad in hospital was one of the worst times. Glastonbury had to be cancelled, then the call came that John was leaving. I spent three hours telling him it wasn't just about him. He said he felt like he was faking it. I was like, Do we mean so little to you ? Obviously, as he walked away. He broke my heart. Now it's like meeting an ex, awkward. I want to shake him and say, What the fuck did we do ? As for Reading, it was a case of staying loyal to a friend. Ian knew I was going to join Primal Scream but there was no way I'd desert him after John did the dirty.
Interview by Lois Wilson
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