Gary Mounfield's Writhing, Unstoppable Bass Proved to be the Stone Roses' Secret Sauce – It Taught Alternative Music Fans How to Dance

By any measure, the ascent of the Stone Roses was a rapid and remarkable phenomenon. It unfolded over the course of one year. At the beginning of 1989, they were just a local cause of excitement in Manchester, largely ignored by the traditional outlets for indie music in Britain. John Peel did not champion them. The music press had hardly mentioned their latest single, Elephant Stone. They were barely able to pack even a more modest London venue such as Dingwalls. But by November they were huge. Their single Fools Gold had debuted on the charts at No 8 and their appearance was the main draw on that week’s Top of the Pops – a barely imaginable state of affairs for the majority of indie bands in the end of the 1980s.

In retrospect, you can identify any number of reasons why the Stone Roses cut such an extraordinary path, clearly drawing in a far bigger and more diverse audience than usually displayed an interest in alternative rock at the time. They were set apart by their appearance – which appeared to connect them more to the expanding dance music movement – their confidently defiant attitude and the talent of the guitarist John Squire, unashamedly masterful in a world of fuzzy thrashing downstrokes.

But there was also the incontrovertible truth that the Stone Roses’ bass and drums swung in a way entirely different from any other act in British alternative music at the time. There’s an argument that the melody of Made of Stone bore a distinct resemblance to that of Primal Scream’s old C86-era single Velocity Girl, but what the rhythm section were doing underneath it certainly did not: you could move to it in a way that you could not to most of the tracks that graced the decks at the era’s indie discos. You somehow felt that the drummer Alan “Reni” Wren and the bassist Gary “Mani” Mounfield had been brought up on music rather different to the usual indie band influences, which was completely correct: Mani was a massive fan of the Byrds’ bassist Chris Hillman but his main inspirations were “great northern soul and groove music”.

The fluidity of his playing was the secret sauce behind the Stone Roses’ eponymous debut album: it’s Mani who drives the moment when I Am the Resurrection transitions from soulful beat into loose-limbed groove, his octave-leaping riffs that add bounce of Waterfall.

At times the sauce was quite obvious. On Fools Gold, the focal point of the song is not the singing or Squire’s wah-pedal-heavy playing, or even the breakbeat borrowed from Bobby Byrd’s 1971 single Hot Pants: it’s Mani’s snaking, relentless bassline. When you think of She Bangs the Drums, the first thing that comes to thought is the low-end melody.

The Stone Roses captured in 1989.

Indeed, in Mani’s view, when the Stone Roses stumbled musically it was because they were insufficiently groovy. Fools Gold’s disappointing follow-up One Love was lackluster, he suggested, because it “could have swung, it’s a little bit rigid”. He was a staunch defender of their frequently criticized second album, Second Coming but believed its flaws could have been rectified by cutting some of the layers of Led Zeppelin-inspired six-string work and “returning to the groove”.

He likely had a valid argument. Second Coming’s scattering of standout tracks usually occur during the moments when Mounfield was truly given free rein – Daybreak, Love Spreads, the excellent Begging You – while on its increasingly sluggish songs, you can hear him figuratively urging the band to increase the tempo. His playing on Tightrope is completely at odds with the listlessness of all other elements that’s happening on the track, while on Straight to the Man he’s clearly trying to inject a some energy into what’s otherwise some nondescript country-rock – not a style one suspects anyone was in a rush to hear the Stone Roses attempt.

His attempts were in vain: Wren and Squire left the band in the wake of Second Coming’s release, and the Stone Roses collapsed completely after a disastrous top-billed set at the 1996 Reading festival. But Mani’s subsequent role with Primal Scream had an remarkably energising effect on a band in a slump after the tepid reception to 1994’s rock-y Give Out But Don’t Give Up. His tone became dubbier, heavier and increasingly fuzzy, but the groove that had given the Stone Roses a unique edge was still in evidence – particularly on the laid-back rhythm of the 1997 single Kowalski – as was his ability to bring his bass work to the front. His percussive, hypnotic bass line is certainly the highlight on the brilliant 1999 single Swastika Eyes; his playing on Kill All Hippies – like Swastika Eyes, a standout of Xtrmntr, easily the best album Primal Scream had produced since Screamadelica – is superb.

Consistently an affable, clubbable presence – the author John Robb once observed that the Stone Roses’ hauteur towards the press was always punctured if Mani “became more relaxed” – he performed at the Stone Roses’ 2012 reunion concert at Manchester’s Heaton Park playing a personalised bass that displayed the legend “Super-Yob”, the nickname of Slade’s outrageously styled and permanently smiling axeman Dave Hill. Said reformation did not lead to anything beyond a lengthy succession of extremely profitable gigs – two fresh tracks released by the reformed four-piece served only to prove that whatever spark had been present in 1989 had proved unattainable to rediscover nearly two decades on – and Mani discreetly declared his departure from music in 2021. He’d made his money and was now more concerned with fly-fishing, which furthermore offered “a good reason to go to the pub”.

Maybe he felt he’d achieved plenty: he’d certainly made an impact. The Stone Roses were influential in a range of ways. Oasis undoubtedly observed their confident attitude, while Britpop as a whole was shaped by a desire to transcend the usual commercial constraints of indie rock and attract a wider mainstream audience, as the Roses had done. But their most obvious direct influence was a sort of groove-based shift: in the wake of their early success, you abruptly couldn’t move for indie bands who wanted to make their audiences dance. That was Mani’s musical raison d’être. “It’s what the rhythm section are for, aren’t they?” he once stated. “That’s what they’re for.”

Brian Hernandez
Brian Hernandez

A passionate writer and shopping enthusiast with a keen eye for quality products and lifestyle trends.