The tragic death of Stone Roses bass player Gary “Mani” Mounfield at the relatively young age of 63 has come as a terrible shock to music fans all over the world. The band made but the two albums, 1989’s stellar Stone Roses and 1994’s somewhat disappointing Second Coming but they were, unarguably, one of the most influential bands of their era. My thoughts are with Mani’s family and friends, as well as his and the bands’ many fans who will be mourning the loss of one of their rock heroes.
I was already in my thirties when the Stone Roses came along and while I bought their albums, I was at a stage in my music life where my tastes were already set in stone. I was deeply into the rock music coming out of America, consumed by the complexities of the likes of Steely Dan and the hard rock played by legions of bands, many of whom never really made it in Old Blighty. I loved the band but they were probably in my second tier of favourite artists. The British music I devoured, when I was the age of Roses fans, included the sheer genius of The Clash, arguably our finest band since The Beatles.
So far as I could tell, their fanbase included a large number of twenty-somethings, fresh out of university, pre family responsibilities and crippling mortgages. Their jingle-gangle songs were generally uplifting and they were held together by the band’s driving rhythm section, drummer Alan Wren and ‘Mani’. No more distinctive sound emerged from the place known as Madchester.
I heard the announcement of Mani’s death on BBC 6 Music’s Huw Stephens’ show and when he announced there was ‘breaking news’, in a quiet, very serious voice, you knew it was not good breaking news. For the rest of the show, Stephens read out message after message from grief-stricken fans. It was deeply moving.
For me, this has been a catastrophic year in terms of the loss of family members and friends, as well as musical heroes like Brian Wilson, Rick Derringer, Sly Stone, Sam Moore and many others. And the losses keep piling up for the simple reason the generation of musicians I admired and in some instances worshipped are getting older, as am I. The understanding that this rush of bereavements is not, I fear, a blip. The rest of my life will be dominated, at least in part, by death, including my own. To those, a half generation behind me, the mid to late fifty somethings and even a few sixty somethings, it may feel like this is a one-off and real life will soon resume. Mortality may have other ideas.
All this love for a ‘mere’ bass player? Oh yes. And he was not just any old bass player. He provided the introduction to I Wanna Be Adored and at their shows, especially in their latter years, people sang along with Mani’s stunning bass guitar genius. The bass player may not always get the credit he or she deserves, but Mani showed what a bass player was there for.
Today we mourn a death and we celebrate a life because that is the way things are. The Stranglers sang that there were no more heroes but of course there are many, not least in the world of music and many of mine are still alive and kicking. And it’s probably best to get out there are see our heroes play, as I have done this year with the likes of Toto, the Doobie Brothers and Todd Rundgren, as well as seeking out new music wherever I can find it.
The death of Mani is yet another reminder that we are not going to live forever, although happily for the world, his music will. I don’t really know whether he wanted to be adored, but he was and always will be.
