The Stone Roses: War and Peace

by Spence, Simon

  The European leg of the tour continued to be peppered by fractious on-stage moments as the band played in Sweden, Germany, Holland, Belgium, Switzerland, Italy and Denmark. ‘Something Rotten in the State of Denmark,’ ran the NME headline above a review of a show in Copenhagen, at the 1,000-capacity Pakhus 11 club, during which Squire smashed up another guitar. The review said the gig was ‘tedious and an utter disappointment’. Brown’s ‘weak’ vocals were singled out for criticism. Brown had not found anything like his old form, and often didn’t even attempt to sing for a succession of songs – standing proud, shaking a tambourine. ‘Every gig was a minefield,’ said Maddix. Squire was smashing up thousands of pounds’ worth of guitars.

  The band’s peculiar on-stage chemistry was not the only eye-opener. For this huge world tour the band had surrounded themselves with a familiar crew of roadies. Many were old mates who had never handled events on this scale. Adge was in charge as tour manager, Chris ‘The Piss’ acted as production manager and Second Coming producer Simon Dawson looked after the live sound. One-time Baldrick, and close friend of Squire, Al Smith was designated to look after Maddix’s drum requirements. As the European tour continued through France and Spain, Maddix began to wonder if this cosy set-up was actually working to the band’s benefit. The crew appeared to be suffering from the same sense of malfunction as the band. Maddix had asked Smith to organize replacement cymbals, and a frame to hold his kit in place, and waited – and waited. ‘No one was listening,’ he said. ‘Our support, technically, was poor – no one really knew their shit except for John’s guitar guy, Martin, who had worked with vintage guitars. Mani went round the world from the day he smashed his bass amp with gaffer tape on the speaker.’

  With all-important American dates imminent, Geffen sent A&R representative Susanne Filkins to check out the new line-up. She had been Tom Zutaut’s assistant, and now took his position as the key link between the label and the band. The Roses had never been close to Zutaut, but they warmed to the young, likeable and offbeat Filkins. Squire, in particular, struck up a close relationship with her.

  The band’s finances were in a perilous state. The profits from the tour would largely go towards paying off the debt caused by the settlement with Evans. Maddix had a keen interest in the business side of the band, having turned down an offer of £50,000, up front, for the tour, in favour of sharing equally in all future band revenues as a member of the Roses’ limited company, Pierstone. He quickly realized the importance of impressing Filkins. ‘The only time we’re going to get any money is if we finish the tour and then, maybe, Geffen are gonna give us more money to record the next album,’ he said. ‘And that’s only if Geffen want us to carry on.’

  Filkins needed to deliver good news back to Geffen, but it was difficult to see how there would be any, given the band’s unpredictable performances and attitude. Brown was in a tempestuous mood off stage. He pulled the band out of a promotional appearance on a TV show in Rome after overhearing a member of the show’s crew making a racist comment. Yet there was still a remarkable demand for the Roses. Jive/Zomba continued to make purchase on the band’s back catalogue, releasing a compilation album in May 1995, The Complete Stone Roses, which hit number 4 in the UK and went platinum with sales of over 300,000. ‘Fools Gold 95’ was also released as a single, peaking at number 25.

  The American leg of the tour did not start well. In Atlanta, Georgia, on 14 May, in front of a festival crowd of over 20,000, Maddix’s drum kit fell off a raised part of the stage as he was playing. His repeated request for a frame to hold it in place had gone unheeded. He kicked over his drums and walked off stage. Mani smashed up another guitar. It was the start of an increasing period of tension, revolving around issues with the road crew. Maddix, for instance, wanted to book rehearsal rooms in America, so the band could practise on days off: ‘The crew never wanted to do more work, so it was like I was seen as a troublemaker.’ The problems escalated over the issues of wages, made all the more contentious because of the friendships between Squire and many of the crew – and exacerbated by the lack of a manager. ‘If you asked John he’d say, What does Ian think? And Ian would say, I don’t want to talk about it today,’ said Maddix. ‘So nothing gets done.’

  After the disaster in Atlanta, a gig in Washington was cancelled because the venue was seated and would prevent the Roses creating ‘the right vibe’. This was followed by a more promising show in Toronto, where the band broke box-office records, selling out the 3,500-capacity venue in five minutes. Next came the band’s crucial New York show, playing to 2,500 people at the Manhattan Ballroom. Geffen boss Eddie Rosenblatt, and Eric Eisner, the label’s business manager, would be present to check out their investment – and decide whether or not to give the band the $4 million advance for their next album. Before the show the Roses were not confident. They came together in a familiar huddle backstage, just the four of them, and Maddix began pumping up the positive vibes to elevate the mood. They were due a good show, and this was their best yet.

  ‘The fans, after so many years, were thrilled that somebody came to play that music,’ said Rosenblatt. He saw enough to decide that the band was worth persevering with – but was not entirely convinced. ‘We wouldn’t have laid down our bodies because reviews were not great. We just hoped to give them a good feeling, create some kind of a relationship and go after the next record. How else do you handle it? It became a verb. The A&R guy brings in a band, and you say, Well, is this going to be another Stone Roses?’

  The Manhattan gig was reviewed by Melody Maker, who commented on how Squire dominated proceedings to such an extent the band ‘may as well be rechristened “The John Squire Blues Explosion”, suggesting that the Roses’ new sound required a singer as histrionic as Robert Plant. Melody Maker was not the only publication to notice how Brown struggled on stage with his vocals. The relative success of the New York show was only a brief respite from the ever-present tensions among the crew and band, with fractious shows following in Boston, a second New York date in the smaller Webster Hall club, Philadelphia, St Louis and Chicago. American reviews of the band were often negative, criticizing them for what seemed like an indifferent stage attitude, particularly from Brown.

  The Roses’ talisman had a vocal tone that made the band unique, but many of the Second Coming songs were in the wrong key for his voice. Squire also seemed determined to undermine him by turning the guitars up to deafening volume, and during his long guitar solos would leave Brown hopelessly exposed. From the start of the tour he had been missing notes on stage, and his confidence had never recovered. ‘It was suggested Ian could do better, but nobody would dare tell him,’ said Maddix.

  Brown was growing increasingly frustrated by the myriad faults within the band, his own poor performances and the often lukewarm reaction the Roses generated among the audience. In Philadelphia his legendary temper exploded. The small scale of the venue meant that only half of the band’s normal sound system was required, but Brown did not see it that way. ‘Ian wanted to rip their heads off with sound, and he’s seen a small rig – and some other things were pissing him off – so he literally started kicking the rig down,’ said Maddix. An armed officer was policing the venue and, unsure who Brown was, as in his fury the singer pushed over the tower of speakers, the cop ran forward threateningly with his gun. ‘It was chaos: Ian’s shouting, You’re taking the piss, we warned you,’ said Maddix. ‘The gig wasn’t very good.’

  Behind his back, a vocal coach had been hired for Brown and casually introduced into the touring set-up. The band and crew were worried how Brown would react, but he was pleased by the offers of honey-and-lemon drinks to soothe his throat and by – for him – the novel idea of doing a vocal warm-up before going on stage. Brown was led to believe the coach was just a friend of a friend who liked the band, but it didn’t take long before the whole charade was revealed.

  The Roses were readying to soundcheck in Los Angeles at the 5,000-capacity Palladium when Brown kicked open
the dressing room and confronted Squire. ‘I saw the fear in John – not that he was going to get assaulted, but that he’d let Ian down, a bit of a no-no,’ said Maddix. Squire told Brown it was Maddix who had hired the vocal coach. Brown was furious, kicking out at doors and swearing – why had Robbie gone behind his back? ‘I’m stood there, like, What do I say?’ said Maddix. ‘Do I say, Look, John did it? I looked at John, he looked at me, I looked at Ian and didn’t say anything. Ian said, He’s got to go.’

  The Palladium was another major showcase for the band, in the city of Geffen’s HQ and attended by hip acts such as Beck and The Beastie Boys. The mood among the Roses had never been worse. Before the argument over the vocal coach, Brown and Mani had been upset that Squire had taken it upon himself to visit Geffen on his own, for what should have been a band meeting. Brown’s mood was further aggravated by the discovery that the set-up on stage at the Palladium was noticeably different, with Squire placed in a more pronounced position.

  ‘Deep down I knew there was something not right,’ said Maddix. It was a feeling shared by Brown and Mani. The Palladium show did not go well. ‘It was shit,’ said Maddix. ‘We had some bad ones, but this was really bad.’ Afterwards a disgruntled punter came backstage and openly stole an ounce bag of weed from Brown, claiming it was the least he was owed after such a poor performance. Mani waded in and punched the guy on the back of his head, seriously damaging his own hand. A trip to hospital resulted in a finger on his left hand being put in a metal splint and his arm rested in a sling.

  The following night, on 31 May, the band were in San Francisco for the final night of the American tour. ‘I’m sure Mani was crying in pain through some of the gig,’ said Maddix. ‘I couldn’t believe he managed to play.’ After all the arguments of the past two weeks, and despite Mani’s broken finger and the unspoken suspicions about Squire’s true intentions, the show in San Francisco was the highlight of the tour. The band played the set list backwards and rediscovered the idea that they were supposed to be having fun. The next day Squire and Al Smith went mountain-biking in San Francisco. Squire crashed, breaking his collarbone in four places, and the ten Japanese dates due to start on 5 June were immediately cancelled.

  It was another classic case of one step forward, two steps back for the Roses, who had all been keenly looking forward to the visit to Japan, where they were guaranteed an ecstatic reception. The cumulative effect of the negative live reviews that had featured in the UK press, and persistent rumours of the band’s lack of togetherness, led to suggestions that Squire’s injury was a ruse to avoid the headline slot at Glastonbury scheduled for the end of June. In the respected US magazines Billboard and Cashbox it was reported that the band had actually split up.

  The Roses held out some hope of making Glastonbury, but when it became apparent Squire would not recover in time a bizarre advert was placed in the NME, featuring an X-ray of Squire’s broken collarbone. ‘People don’t believe the Roses any more,’ said an NME report. Slash, the Guns N’ Roses guitarist, also signed to Geffen, offered his services as Squire’s replacement for the gig, but the Roses refused.

  At the start of July, quietly, tentatively, they began rehearsing again in Rockfield Studios in Wales. Geffen was putting pressure on them to record a new album, but an extended spell in the studio was not an idea that appealed to the band, who had just spent the better part of three gruelling years on Second Coming. The Roses wanted to continue touring. The cancelled Japanese gigs were rescheduled, dates in Australia added, and a UK tour was being finalized.

  Initially the rehearsals featured just Mani and Maddix, both now living near Rockfield in Monmouth, and keyboard player Nigel Ipinson-Fleming, who had come to several gigs on the Roses tour and had worked with Maddix for many years as part of Android Productions. Brown was the next to arrive, driving down from Lymm, a picturesque village in the Warrington borough of Cheshire, where he had a house.

  When the recuperated Squire arrived in Wales, Brown, who had been impressed with the sound cooked up by bass, drums and keyboards, suggested to Squire he should check out Ipinson-Fleming, who played Squire’s ‘Ten Storey Love Song’ as a piano piece. ‘John liked it and started to play along,’ said Maddix. It was suggested to Squire that with Ipinson-Fleming riffing along, it would fill out the band’s sound and be easier for all to hear where they were during the guitar solos. Squire agreed it was a good idea.

  At the end of July, after a two-month enforced break, the Roses were back on the road – with the upbeat and enthusiastic Ipinson-Fleming. They played the Lollipop Festival, Stockholm, followed by three dates in Finland. Next, on 5 August, the Roses played the Feile Festival in Cork, a headline gig shared with Shaun Ryder’s new band Black Grape. ‘It was the most enjoyable gig we’ve done,’ Brown said. The NME called the Cork gig ‘ecstatic’ and ‘exhilarating’. The set, with Ipinson-Fleming’s keyboards adding a new texture, was recorded live – as Geffen eyed the option of releasing a stop-gap live album. Four tracks from this gig, ‘Daybreak’, ‘Breaking into Heaven’, ‘Driving South’ and ‘Tightrope’, would surface on a live EP, Crimson Tonight, released in Australia and Japan in February 1996. It was heartening to hear Brown talking up the band again. ‘I never feel we’ve been overtaken by anyone else. Things have gone backward not forward. There’s been a lull and we’re here to bring things forward – we do what we want. All these bands who want to sound like Ray Davies or Paul McCartney, that’s just retro shit.’

  In August, Mani became a father and the Roses did venture back to the studio, albeit for one day, to cut a new version of ‘Love Spreads’ to be included on the charity album Help. Oasis, Paul McCartney and Paul Weller also contributed tracks to the album, which raised over £1 million for the thousands of families caught up in the Balkans war. Brown and Maddix were pictured on the NME front cover to promote the album, while Squire contributed the cover art.

  On 1 September, before heading off for twelve dates in Japan, the Roses played at the annual Pilton village party in Somerset. The event was organized by Glastonbury boss Michael Eavis, and all profits went to the local villagers who suffered the disruption of his nearby festival every year. The Roses felt they owed Eavis for pulling out of Glastonbury, and their appearance guaranteed a sell-out of the 1,000 tickets. The NME reviewed the show, again heaping praise on the band, saying they had ‘recaptured their magic’. Much of the praise was directed at Squire, with further doubt cast over Brown’s vocals.

  The Roses smashed Japan. Second Coming had sold over 250,000 copies in the country, and Vox magazine travelled to Japan to witness the hysteria, reporting that Brown and Squire were writing new songs about ‘positivity’ and ‘injustice’. In a club in Tokyo, on the band’s final night in Japan, despite the presence of his minder, Noel Walters, Brown was grabbed behind the head and punched in the mouth by a burly Australian. The next morning when they were boarding flights for Australia, Brown’s face was a mess.

  Squire had already got his own personal security man, whom the others referred to as the guitarist’s ‘valet’. Maddix was angry that Walters had not stopped the attack on Brown. ‘I said to Ian, This is not the first time, look at all the people who have wanted to have a fight with you on the tour,’ said Maddix. He arranged for his cousin, Martell Prince, to join the crew to prevent any such further incidents.

  Although the gigs were getting better, organization continued to be a problem. In Australia the band members were forced to share twin rooms – the same as the crew. The dates in Brisbane, Sydney, Melbourne and Perth, in theatre venues that held around 2,500 people, were well received, and demand for the band high. The Roses could easily have sold out four or five nights at the 2,500-capacity Metro club in Melbourne alone.

  In November, with the much-anticipated UK tour starting at the end of the month, ‘Begging You’ was pulled off Second Coming and released as a single. It was the first Roses release in eight months, but featured no new songs. Instead, the added tracks on the various formats
were all remixes of the original – six in total. While Brown, Maddix and Mani had all enjoyed the process of the remix work, Squire was not impressed or prepared to take part. The single peaked at number 15 in the UK charts. The video for the single, put together by Geffen, intercut live footage from the tour with four gyrating, kinky-booted, bikini-clad women – each wearing a mask of one of the band members – and indigenous dancing from around the world.

  The UK tour had already sold out, with 53,000 tickets snapped up in twenty-four hours. On the opening date in Bridlington, on 28 November, the band were interviewed by Q. ‘We just plug away,’ Squire said. ‘If we do cross paths with popular culture, it’s by accident. That’s what happened last time.’ Melody Maker slammed the Bridlington show, but after waiting for five long years to see the band play live, every night was magical for the band’s fans. The ecstatic audience reaction filled the band with confidence. There were moments on the UK tour when the Roses reached the heights of their power, when it all came together and there could surely be no better band in the world. Brown said some of these UK shows were the best ever, singling out the second night at the Brixton Academy – where Reni saw the band and said that although it wasn’t the same, he could see the good in Maddix’s playing. The live reviews would pick up too; with headlines such as ‘The Unforgettable Squire’ (NME) and ‘Squired for Sound’ (Melody Maker) it was self-evident where much of the praise was being directed.

  For classicists, the uneasy gel between Squire’s explosive, foot-on-the-monitor, guitar histrionics and Brown’s almost atonal vocals was obvious, especially on the rockier Second Coming material. Brown had the room and the quiet to shine during the acoustic section of the show, coming across as a modern-day Jim Morrison, while Maddix added a relentless power to the old classics that Squire appended with excessive guitar. It was now, however, all just a show; an altogether different experience from being at Blackpool in 1989 or Spike Island in 1990, when it was a happening, and the band had the power to cleanse. Now you felt dirty believing that had ever happened. The Roses had to accept they were now just another band. The treadmill of album, tour, album, tour ad infinitum lay ahead.