Record Collector February 1998 Issue





MIGHTY LIKE A ROSE
The RECORD COLLECTOR Interview - IAN BROWN



It's spring 1989. I'm in my final year at Brunel University and bored listless by my degree – I'm studying material science but we don't want to talk about that. Instead, my idle evening hours are whiled away in the shadowy environs of the academy, spinning discs in the warm-up slot for bands.

It's Saturday afternoon and the Stone Roses are playing that evening. I've never heard their records so I pop out to buy their latest 12", "Made Of Stone". Echoes of the Beatles and the Byrds float over gorgeous Johnny Marr-ish fretwork and a shuffling beat. I'm swooning over the singers lilting, mournful tones. And those lyrics are so evocative:

"Sometimes I-I-I fantasise/When the streets are cold and lonely and the cars they burn below me/Are you all alone/Are you made of stone". Genius. I'm hooked.

I pop down to the venue to find four dapper-looking lads picking at pizza. They ooze pop star appeal and I'm wary of shooting the breeze with them – but their animated, neatly framed singer could talk for England.

The Roses eventually take centre stage. They sound as superb as they look and while their pouting vocalist waggles his mike around and sings yearning memories that tap my very soul, the band twist and turn through some of the most graceful music I've ever heard. I float home on a total high, drunkenly pronouncing the event as a religious experience.

It's December 1997. I'm travelling into town on the Vespa to meet Ian Brown. There's trepidation in my veins. As the Stone Roses singer, Brown is one of the few contemporay pop icons that mattered and the memory of the Roses ascent still feels exciting to this day.

At the beginning of the 1989, British indie music looked set to end the decade in a state of backroom lethargy. A year later, the drawstrings of British youth culture were pulled tightly together by a clutch of Manchester bands that played guitars, sure, but empathised with the acid house lifestyle that had swept the nation. By the end of the year, Manchester seemed to define all that mattered in terms of music, fashion and lifestyle, and its figurehead was Ian Brown.

Life carried on, the Roses got into contractual wrangles and prolonged sessions for their second LP kept them out of the public eye. Grunge came and went and when they finally returned in late '94 with "Second Coming", the bubble had burst. The magic had gone.

Three years on, that second LP is stronger than it first seemed – but expectations, you see, were so, so high. Unable to take the pressure, the band imploded. First, drummer Reni departed, followed by guitarist John Squire. Then the Roses staged a double-or-quits headline slot at Reading Festival in 1996. They lost: Brown's voice sounded terrible and the singer swiftly announced the Roses demise. Squire emerged with the Seahorses, bassist Mani transferred to Primal Scream – but everyone wondered about Brown.

Well, they needn't have worried. After arriving at a hotel just off Park Lane, I'm ushered off to a plush hotel room where Ian's been ensconced for ten days to promote his first solo album, "Unfinished Monkey Business". The LP sounds like an experiment for Brown to spread his wings beyond the realms of mere vocalist. Philosophical about the whole affair, Ian readily admits to learning to play instruments from scratch. And to be honest, the album is patchy in places, but "Can't See Me" (based around an old Roses backing track) touches all the right nerve endings.

I break the ice by recalling that Brunel gig with enthusiasm. Brown scrutinises me.

"Didn't you used to have long hair?" he asks.

"Yeah, "I reply in a daze, scarcely believing that an icon of a generation remembers a DJ from nearly a decade ago. How come?

"Well, I never drink," he laughs. "And I never touch powders." He's also one of the most cordial, good-humoured pop stars I've ever met, though I'm surprised by his lack of interest in British music. Instead, we find a shared background in scooters and Northern soul, which develops in turn into the most comprehensive interview about the Stone Roses murky past in the backwaters of Manchester.

RC: It's three years since the Stone Roses issued the "Second Coming". Was your new LP, "Unfinished Monkey Business" , influenced by what's happened in the interim?

IB: I've never really followed British music. I used to go watch the Angelic Upstarts! Mensi – top kid! I roadied for them a few times. I've seen them fifteen/twenty times. Top band.

RC: What about Slaughter & the Dogs?

IB: Yeah, I got into them through that single, "Cranked Up Really High". My next door neighbour was a friend of Rossi, the guitarist. I saw them at Wythenshawe forum and the Belle Vue a few times.

RC: Where are you from originally?

IB: I grew up in Warrington until I was six and then I moved to Timperly, South Manchester. But I've lived all over: Chorlton, Didsbury , Withington, Hulme, Salford.

RC: What were your first records?

IB: "It's Not Unusual", Tom Jones; "Help!", "I Feel Fine", the Beatles; "Satisfaction", "Under My Thumb", "Get Off My Cloud", the Stones; "The Happening" and "Love Child" by the Supremes. My auntie gave me a pile of seven inches. I would have been seven or eight and I had a little Dansette. They were the first discs I had. I've still got them.

RC: Did punk have a big impact on you?

IB: Yeah, the band I most got into was the Sex Pistols. My mate had "Anarchy In The UK". He got it in Woolies for 29p ‘cos after that Bill Grundy show, they put the record in the bargain bin! I loved " I Wanna Be Me" on the other side – that lyric about "cover me in margarine" was great. Then I got "God Save The Queen" the day it came out. I was fourteen. I remember thinking, "oh wow, that Pistols is gonna change the world. And it did, in a way.

RC: The Buzzcocks were Manchester's most successful punk band...

IB: I saw them a few times – at the Mayflower in Belle Vue and at a signing at Virgin Records. I saw The Clash in '77.

RC: How did you meet John Squire?

IB: John lived up the same road. We started hanging out together about thirteen/fourteen. He was into the Beach Boys and the Beatles but he didn't have any proper LPs, just compilations – that one with the surfer on the front and "Hollywood Bowl". I took around the first Clash LP and an Adverts single.

RC: And then you formed the Patrol?

IB: Yeah, that was about a year later – me on bass, Si Wolstencroft on drums, who's now with the Fall and was also in the Colour Field. He was the original Smiths drummer, too, but he left because he thought Morrissey was a weirdo! And Andy Couzens, who was later the rhythm guitarist in the Roses, was the singer.

RC: Didn't you hang out with the Clash for a while?

IB: We were in town in Granby Row, where Pluto Studios was. We heard these drums and it turned out it was the Clash doing "Bankrobber". So we knocked on the door, they let us in and we hung around for a day. They were nice, sound. Topper was just regular. Strummer was a bit of a weirdo. He sat under this grandfather clock, clicking his fingers in time with it. I thought, what a dick!

RC: Were the Patrol styled on the Clash?
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IB: Yeah. John and Si were right into them. They'd go all over to see them. I preferred the Pistols, me. And later the Upstarts.

RC: Did the Patrol do any gigs?

IB: Yeah, we played about five youth clubs with Corrosive Youth, a punk group from Stretford – we played the Lockstock there.




RC: Did you record any demos?

No, only rehearsal things. We did a song called "Jail Of The Assassins" and another called "25 Rifles".

RC: That wasn't influenced by that band, 25 Rifles, was it?

IB: We heard about them later. Weren't they a mod band from Leeds or York? There was another group, the Killermetres (sings) "Why-y-y-y-y-y does it happen to me?" (laughs). They were alright, them, Northern Soul-y.

RC: They did a song, "SX 225", which links neatly to your scooter days!

IB: My first scooter was a Lambretta J 125 from '66. All over the North in the late ‘70s/early ‘80s, there were still loads of Northern Soul and scooter boys. East Manchester was heavy metal, but North of Manchester, it's Northern Soul. There were still loads of clubs..

Didn't you ride a chopper Lambretta?

IB: Yeah, that was a Lambretta GP200 – extended forks, banana seat, leg shields off. Sweet and Innocenti, it was called. And I had a Vespa rally 200 with "Angels With Dirty Faces" painted on the side. I had five or six over time. We went to all the rallies – Brighton, the Isle of Wight, Scotland, Great Yarmouth. Two years later, I got John into it. He had a GP200 that he made up himself.

RC: The Patrol had obviously fizzled out by then?

IB: It wasn't serious. I never really wanted to be in a group so I sold my bass and got a scooter with the money - £100

RC: Do you remember a Manchester punk band called the Worst?

IB: I knew their bass player, Woody! He slept at my house one night. He's ripped me curtains down ‘cos he's cold but when I go in in the morning, he's leaned up against the wall and the bed has burnt right round his body like a silhouette where he fell asleep with a cigarette, and the mattress has melted and it's smouldering. And he was fine! That's was the same night I met Geno Washington, when he told me I should be a singer. That was '83.

RC: How did you meet Geno?

IB: My girlfriend was having a party in Hulme. I had a friend who worked at Salford University who was in his road crew and he brought him down. Geno was like, you're a star, laughing at me, go do the thing. I'd never heard of him apart from that "Geno" song. John was asking me to be a singer at the same time and I wasn't interested but now I was, like, OK.

RC: In between the Patrol and the Roses, John was in the Waterfront....

IB: Yeah. They were like Orange Juice. They were great. They had a song called "On The Beach In Normandy". The Patrol was a racket so I'm into scooters now and all over but John's still doing his band. He played me a tape and it sounded really good. I was impressed I knew somebody who could play that quality. Since ‘78/'79 John hasn't done much except play his guitar.

RC: Wasn't Mani in the Waterfront?

IB: Yeah. I'd known Mani from sixteen. He was from North Manchester, we were from Chorlton. We'd heard about this kid with a swastika on his head, some bonehead who lived near Mani's who was bullying kids. So we got a crew up to sort him out. Twenty of us went to meet Mani's crew in this council house. I remember seeing Mani sat down. I'm thinking, he ain't no fighter. So, one or two of these kids dealt with the bonehead, put him to rest – and that's how we met!

RC: Who else was in Waterfront?

IB: Chris Goodwin, who later played in T Challa Grid and the High. He played with Electronic recently. And Kaiser – Dave Cartey – from Moston on vocals. Me and him were joint singers – I joined for a couple of weeks. This was ‘82/'83.




RC: Then you formed the Roses?

IB: Yeah, we started a few rehearsals and everyone's like, fuck, we can't put up with that. You'll have to have singing lessons. So I went to this old woman over Victoria Station, Mrs Rhodes. She'd get me there at six o'clock, open the window, with everyone coming home from work. She'd have me wailing "After the Goldrush" or "Strawberry Fields" out the window. The crowds looking up and she's saying, if you can't do it, go home. So I thought, fuck it, I'll stick it out. So I did three weeks with her. She had an 80-year-old dear on the piano!

RC: Where did you rehearse?

IB: At a place called The Spirit in Manchester town centre for a year before we played.

RC: Do you recall any early songs?

IB: "Tragic Roundabout". The lyrics were good, about Martin Luther King. "Heart On The Staves". They were all sort of furious. They had some kind of passion.

RC: What were your influences then? The Smiths?

IB: I liked the fact that the Smiths came from our home town and I knew Andy Rourke when I was a kid, so I was happy for them. I liked "What Difference Does It Make?" but after that, no, not really.

RC: Weren't you called English Rose for a while, after the Jam song?

IB: No, I don't know where that's come from. John thought up the name "Stone Roses" – something with a contrast, two words that went against each other.

RC: I heard the Happy Mondays used to kick your scooter over!

IB: We used to go to the beehive in Eccles and the scooter boys used to fight with the lads from that area – where the Mondays were from, Swinton. So yeah, we used to fight them every week. Years later, we laughed about it.

RC: When did you start to play gigs?

IB; We met Reni in early '84 and the first Roses gig was in December in the Moonlight in Hampstead, an anti-heroin benefit that Pete Townshend put on. I'd seen an advert in the paper saying they were looking for bands. I lived in Hulme, where everyone was on skag except me. So I wrote a letter saying I'm surrounded by skagheads, I wanna smash ‘em. Can you give us a show? And they did. The other groups were mercenary Skank and High Noon, who all wore cowboy hats like Gary Cooper! (laughs)

RC: Didn't Reni play with Townshend?

IB: He did "Pictures Of Lily", "Substitute", He was made up – his first ever gig and there he was wth Pete Townshend! We come off stage and Townshend was like, you look really good up there and your drummer's great. Then he said, as an end-of-the-night thing, I wanna play a couple of tunes. Do you want to do it? Reni's like, yeah! We'd do soundchecks and Reni had people with their mouths open!

RC: Did you do any demo tapes?

Yeah, we did one that was limited to a hundred copies but I don't have it anymore. All my stuff got nicked years later so I don't even have a copy myself!

RC: Any other early gigs?

IB: We played the Embassy Club in London with Chiefs Of Relief – the launch party for Dennis Morris's Sex Pistols book. The Ad Lib Club. Exeter University. Then we didn't play until the middle of '85 when we went to Sweden. I was in Berlin and met this kid whose friend was a promoter so I told him we was a big group from Manchester. He set up about eight or nine shows. We were living in his flat in Stockholm for about a month. It was great. We got in the daily papers (laughs).

RC: Were you goths?!

IB: Our bass player, Pete Garner , had long black hair and a ruffle shirt. John wore a bandana and I had my hair slicked back. But, no, we definitely weren't goths. No-one ever crimped their hair and none of us had a goth record. So I don't know where that one came from. But Pete looked like a New York Doll.

RC: The look was very rock'n'roll. Were you into the MC5/Stooges/New York Dolls?

IB: Yeah, we loved the New York Dolls, the first Pink Floyd album, Love's "Forever Changes" and the Pistols. I liked soul and Pete was into the MC5. We liked Jimi too.

RC: You signed to Thin Line Records in '85...

IB: That was Howard Jones, the original manager of the Hacienda, who became our first manager in the middle of '85. He formed the label so we could release the single, rather than go for a deal.

RC: And you worked with Martin Hannett, who'd worked with Joy Division...

IB: We caught him at the wrong time. He was a junkie, basically, a lovely, real nice man, but out to lunch 23 hours a day. He was a good laugh but it was hard working with him. We did a month in the studio for the experience because he had some free time in Strawberry Studios. It wasn't to release an LP.

RC: Looking back, are you happy with your first single, "So Young"?

IB: It's a good noise, but we played the original version in the car. We went for a drive and Reni's nose exploded, blood everywhere – there was so much treble on the record, it hurt! We should have gone with that version but we said, no, it's killer. It was pre-Mary Chain and full of feedback. It was beautiful. His nose just went with the frequency!

RC: You could have had a warning on it!

IB: That's what we should have done! But we went with the safer mix. It's alright. It just sounds like what it is – four lads trying to get out of Manchester.

RC: Did you fall out with Howard Jones?

IB: Yeah. We reckoned he was a bit of a dick, full stop, proper.

RC: The single sold well locally, though...

IB: In Manchester, yeah. It was No.1 in all the record shops and we got our records played in Piccadilly Radio by a guy called Tony The Greek. We used to cover "Open My Eyes" by the Nazz – John was into them.

RC: You also organised all-night parties...

These were around '86. A guy called Steve, who became our tour manager, organised them in the old railway arches in Fairfield Street in Manchester. We used to hire it off British Rail and tell them it was for a party – 3000 people. We had DJs as well. We advertised it as the Flower Show Part 1/Part2/Part3. Then we got our mates to hang outside night-clubs at tow in the morning with little flyers showing people where it was.

RC: There's also the famous story about you spraying "Stone Roses" all around the city. What's the true story?

IB: Me and Reni decided we'd been ignored for long enough. We'll cover the city with "Stone Roses". So we sprayed everywhere about seven/eight o'clock at night. That was ‘85/'86. Reni was spaying the front of a library and there was a copper stood just around the corner – but the copper couldn't see him!

RC: There was no record for two years. What happened during the interim?

IB: We sacked Howard Jones and decided we needed to write some tunes. We had energy but we didn't have the melodies. So we concentrated on learning how to write and shape them. We'd worked out our earlier songs in rehearsals, then I'd come up with the words. This time, me and John would sit down with an acoustic guitar , write a song and then apply a rhythm to it. So we made it more musical. We wanted to do the complete opposite of "So Young", so we did "Sally Cinnamon", which is like bubblegum pop. We were looking around for a deal and now Gareth Evans has become our manager. He ran the International Clubs and found us a deal with FM/Revolver.

RC: Why did you leave Revolver after just one single, "Sally Cinnamon"?

IB: Same thing: we thought they were wankers. We phoned up and said, "we don't recognise the contract". We'd actually signed up for an LP with them.

RC: Were the Byrds an inspiration?

IB: The Byrds came later. John got into them around early '88 but I've never owned a Byrds record. No, the influence was a nice tune. We never deliberately tried to copy anyone. We ended up writing tunes that sounded like the Beatles. We'd have "I Feel Fine" or "Daytripper" but with different lyrics, accidental. So we'd drop them. Me and john went to Italy once just to write and we slept rough – we took an acoustic guitar and sleeping bags. We came back with three or four tunes. Wow, this is great. Well, no, they're like the Beatles!

RC: It never stopped Oasis! In 1988, you signed to Silvertone...

IB: We met a guy called Robbie McKenna, who was A&R for Jive/Zomba. We said, no, we don't want to be on your label. You've only got Samantha Fox and Billy Ocean. He said, we'll set up your own label for you and bring in Andrew Lauder, who signed the Buzzcocks. Andrew's a real nice man, so we figured, yeah it's a good idea.

RC: Your first Silvertone single, "Elephant Stone", was produced by New Order's Peter Hook...

IB: Hooky was a mate of a friend called Slim who was roadying for us – he used to roadie for New Order. Hooky's engineer, Michael Johnson did most of it but Hooky played a part.

RC: "Elephant Stone" has a very strong drum sound. I always assumed that was the Peter Hook influence...

IB: I'd say it was Peter Hook and us. We wanted Reni out there. We wanted people to hear what he could do.

RC: Didn't you also headline a double bill with James?

IB: Yeah, we did an anti-Clause 28 benefit gig – remember that thing about homosexual literature in schools? That was in May/June '88.

RC: ....And in Sefton Park with the La's?

IB: Yeah, the Liverpool Festival in 1987.

RC: How did you meet producer John Leckie?

IB: We nearly signed to Rough Trade. In fact, Rough Trade signed us to do "Elephant Stone" with Peter and, as we were doing it, (Rough Trade boss) Geoff Travis said try John Leckie, I think he'll be good for you. Zomba then bought "Elephant Stone" off Geoff.

RC: So why didn't you sign to Rough Trade?

IB: Because Zomba were offering us eight LPs and Rough trade were only offering an LP or two. But we met John Leckie and we got on.

RC: Were you aware of previous John Leckie productions?

IB: We thought the Dukes Of Stratosphere LP had a good range of sounds – a clever mind that's made it. So, he obviously had some knowledge of equipment.

RC: Tell me about the sessions for the first albums.

IB: They were great. We did them in London – we were living in Kensal Rise that summer. There were three sessions: June/July '88, September '88 and January 1989. We did the songs in blocks: "Adored", "Made Of Stone", "Waterfall", "She Bangs The Drums". Then we did "Badman", "Shoot You Down", "Resurrection", "This Is The One".

RC: How about the backwards track, "Don't Stop"?

IB: It was accidental. We got a tape of "Waterfall" on the portastudio, which plays both sides. It sounded great backwards. We could hear lyrics coming out, words suggesting themselves. We went back into the studio, turned the tape over, put the vocal down and then put a forward drum over it. That's my favourite thing on the first LP. There's twenty seconds at the end that's killer, the little rhythm that comes in.




RC: Some of the songs were reminiscent of 60s pop...

IB: "Waterfall" sounded like a Simon & Garfunkel song, "April She Will Come". We've never consciously stolen or copied anything. "I Am The Resurrection" had a Motown kind of beat. It reminded me of "You're Ready Now" by Slaughter & The Dogs – (sings) "you're ready now, you're ready now"! Remember that?

RC: Yeah, a cover of that old Northern Soul track by Frankie Valli. The album was a slow burner – it stayed in the charts for ages – but every month during 1989, the Roses seemed to climb another rung on the ladder. Were you surprised at how quickly it all escalated?

IB: No, because the songs were good. It's all down to music and the music was powerful. As each record got better, we got more attention, which should be the way. Suddenly, we could get a crowd outside Manchester. Before then, we'd be lucky to get 30 in Liverpool if we got 3,000 in Manchester. But now we'd go to Portsmouth and get 300.

RC: The album, and B-sides like "Going Down" and "Mersey Paradise", had a soft, 60s pop centre. Your sound then hardened up for the first time on "Standing Here", the flip side to "She Bangs The Drums". Was shifting more towards Hendrix and less towards the Byrds, perhaps?

IB: Probably, yeah. We were just learning how to make records. Also, to us, that first LP always sounded flat. I think Q magazine said it was monochrome and that's how we felt about it. As we were rehearsing, the bass and drums got into your belly every time, but, as it turned into a record, it sounded like another 60s thing to us. We're not happy with that first LP. We had all this praise but it sounded like some limp 60s thing to us. I've got the original rehearsal tapes where it's a definite band beating away.

RC: The photos on the album were taken from your performance on Factory boss Tony Wilson's Granada TV show, The Other Side Of Midnight.

IB: Yeah, we did "Waterfall". Wilson did the Hacienda and our manager did the Internationals and they were rivals so Wilson never used to give us any space. The only reason we got on was because Paul Ryder told Tony Wilson we should be on his show.

RC: So the Roses and the Mondays were like Manchester's Beatles and Stones. By Summer 1989, you'd been touring for months but then you chose to instead to stage high profile one-off gigs...

IB: We wanted to make it special, use our position to give people a proper night out. We didn't want to appear at a venue where X would appear one night, and we'd be on the next.

RC: The first big concert was at the Blackpool Empress Ballroom. What was that like?

IB: It was great, yeah, 5,000. I think nearly everybody had been on ecstasy. My mother and father were there, though, and I don't think they were! We thought it would be a full day out. We knew Blackpool because we were from Manchester but some kids had never been. You can amuse yourself all day long and then that night, you get the Roses.

RC: Were you nervous?

IB: No. I can remember. As we went on stage, that was the night we felt the Roses were going to do something. I know we'd had press and I remember our road crew shaking with nerves, but we were super calm.

RC: Cressa was the Roses equivalent of the Happy Mondays' Bez. How did you meet him?

IB: I've known Cressa since I was fifteen/sixteen through scooters. He was just our mate, we were with him every day and it was, like, you might as well do something as hang about. Here you are, make yourself useful, change the guitar effects for John.

RC: After Blackpool, you sold out Alexandra Palace, which is a cavernous place at the best of times...

IB: We made the mistake of using our mate as the sound engineer. He'd done the tour but the place was too big for him. We should have got a professional guy but we stuck with our mate. But the atmosphere was great.

RC: The Roses were synonymous with Manchester's famous ‘baggy' look of floppy hair, snocks and flares...

IB: That was just Manchester style. We were wearing semi-flares in '85. All the boys in Manchester had them. They were saying Ian Brown's this fashion God/guru, but I could have shown you a thousand kids just the same.

RC: "Fools Gold" was the next big step – it's still the Roses most famous song. It reminded me of the Jam issuing "precious" – a funky track double A-sided with a more traditional song.

IB: Originally, "Fools Gold" was the B-side but as we're in the studio, it's sounding good. Then it's sounding better than "What The World Is Waiting For" to us, more what we were about. That was the first one we wrote over loops. Then John came in with the riff (sings) "dung, dung, ding, dinga linga ling". Then we wrote the lyrics.

RC: Were you going to clubs at the time?

IB: John wasn't. Me, Mani and Reni were. We used to go to the Hacienda, the Thunderdome. It was nearly all acid house. We used to go to the acid house clubs in '88 – Spectrum, Shoom, Land Of Oz.

RC: Was that an influence on "Fools Gold"?

IB: I'd say it was just the climate of the times, really.

RC: There was that excellent Top Of The Pops episode when both you and the Happy Mondays were on. That must have felt like a vindication of sorts?

IB: Yeah, that was great. We shared a dressing room. Shaun was browned up the max (laughs).

RC: The Stone roses seemed to be on top of the world by the end of '89. But the you came back in summer 1990 with "One Love", which was viewed as an anti-climax by critics...

IB: And by us. We went to master it the first time and the engineer had accidentally pressed the mono button. The guy at the mastering suite said, I'm not making a mono record. We said, no, it's great really loud. So we re-mixed it but looking back, we tried in vain to make an anthem to cover all bases – we wanted to appeal to everyone in clubs and indie kids and whoever. But it was a poor chorus, I think.

RC: In summer 1990, you played what, in hindsight, felt like a farewell concert – Spike Island. The only new song was "Where Angels Play". Was that going to be your next single?

IB: That was going to be on the second LP but Silvertone released a rough demo on that "Complete Stone Roses", so we dropped it.

RC: John was obviously getting into the multi-layered guitars and solos by then...

IB: Yeah. I though that was going to take away from Reni and Mani. They'd lost a bit on the first LP because Leckie turned the vocals and guitar up. I was hoping "Second Coming" could be the chance for them two to get themselves through. I still figure they're the best rhythm section to come off this rock -–England. On "Second Coming", the bass and drums were laid down and they were beautiful and John's gone and covered it all over. I'd love to hear a remix of that LP. The bass is like a spine – it's great.








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