Johnny Marr (15 page)

Constantly asked to look over his shoulder, Johnny threw himself immediately forwards into his work as a jobbing guitar player. Distracting attention away from
Strangeways
, September had also seen the first fruits of Johnny’s work on Bryan Ferry’s album
Bete Noir
when the single ‘The Right Stuff’ was released. Based on the Smiths instrumental, ‘Money Changes Everything’, it was born of studio trickery when Johnny re-learned a riff played backwards on his four-track cassette recorder. With Ferry’s lyrics added to create a totally new song, the repeated influence of Bo Diddley in Johnny’s work is heard again.

“Someone at Warners thought it would be a good idea for me to work with Johnny,” said Ferry. “[They] sent me a cassette of some of his music, and I liked it very much.” Ferry liked Marr very much too. “When I met him we got on very well,” said Bryan. From the north of England himself, albeit the other side of the Pennines, Ferry found Johnny lively and genuine. “There’s a kind of Northern honesty about the cut of his jib, which I liked very much,” he said.

“That song is very much phonetic and rhythmic,” Johnny reflects. “The fact that Bryan didn’t write anything radical didn’t worry me because phonetically he got it right, and with those really high backing vocals it sounded perfect.” With Andy Newmark, late of Sly Stone’s band on drums, Ferry’s band nailed the track to Johnny’s eternal delight. The album was a critical and commercial success on its release in November.
Melody Maker
’s Chris Roberts chastised Ferry for roping in “some dickhead indie guitarist” as a cynical move to endear himself to a younger audience than his
traditional one, but the comment was entirely in keeping with the tongue-in-cheek article that in fact praised the album highly as “the sophistry of old-style ‘romantic bluff.’” Despite Johnny’s typically in-and-out, job-done role, the album was actually a year and a half in the making, though of course Johnny’s contribution lasted nowhere near as long. Typically enthused by whatever he has worked on since The Smiths, Johnny thoroughly enjoyed the experience and the vibe of being in Ferry’s band, which he joined in the USA for an appearance on
Saturday Night Live
. As with Marr’s work with Talking Heads, yet to be released, the guitarist had been brought in to add something new to a project that Ferry was carrying around the studios of the world as he tried to refine new ideas and develop new moods for his own work.

If the jingle-jangle moaning of The Smiths was to be put to bed, then there was – as always – more work to be done. Fulfilling what might have been a lifelong ambition – he had loved the early guitar sound of James Honeyman-Scott and had used their guitar lines as warm-up routines for years – Johnny Marr joined The Pretenders. Gun-slinging band-hopping is nothing new – Mick Ronson’s joining Mott The Hoople and Robert Smith’s temporary membership of Siouxsie And The Banshees are just two examples of guitarists filling a necessary slot in an established band when needs must. Both Johnny and The Pretenders were at the time managed by Ken Friedman, and joining Chrissie Hynde’s band gave Marr a professional continuity, and while his presence helped the Pretenders out on tour it also gave him an immediate working relationship with a profoundly talented performer and writer in Hynde herself, who became a life-long friend. Better working than not – better a US tour with a top
band than moping around South Manchester bemoaning the demise of his own.

Johnny looked back on his relationship with Chrissie Hynde years later. “One of the things that people don’t know…” he said of his time in the band, “[was] that my part in The Pretenders is ten per cent about the band and ninety per cent about my relationship to that woman.” Battered by the press and by the experience of leaving The Smiths, Johnny was brought down to earth with a bump when he opened up to Chrissie. “I’m going ‘Oh things are tough… Oh I left my band,’ and her vibe was ‘Well, two of my fucking band died… and I don’t even really know who your band are. Let’s go see some life.’” It was exactly what Johnny needed to help him get back out in the world.

The only published fruit of Johnny’s time with The Pretenders is his appearance on their single ‘Windows Of The World’, released in April of 1989. With Hynde’s vocal as characteristic as any in rock, and the ‘Pretenders sound’ certainly as distinctive as The Smiths’, it’s no surprise that the track sounds far more ‘Pretenders’ than ‘Johnny,’ but beautifully arranged and as emotionally compelling as can be.

As the dust settled on his independent status in 1988, Morrissey was quickly out of the traps with his first solo single ‘Suedehead’. With fellow Mancunian Vinni Reilly on board, and Stephen Street back in the fold, the disc was a triumph, with ‘Hairdresser On Fire’ soon established as a firm fan favourite too. Ironically, given the Smiths’ reputation as a singles band, the track confidently
sauntered into the UK top five, and Morrissey’s status as a solo artist was established in a trice.
Viva Hate
, his first solo album, received similarly gushing plaudits. “Still the bees knees,” said
NME
, while for
Melody Maker
it was a great album by “our last star.” Nearly twenty years on, with
Ringleader Of The Tormentors
, Morrissey was still being referenced as such.

Johnny was by no means adrift himself. He exited The Smiths a better guitar player than when he started the band. After learning the ropes from John Porter, Johnny’s experience as a producer was extensive and his understanding of studio and recording techniques equally so. Regularly listed in the end of year polls as ‘Best Composer’ Johnny’s reputation as a writer was second to none, and with an increasing CV of contributions to other people’s records under his belt, there was a list of people with whom he was either going to work, had worked already, or was rumoured to be working with. His name would open any studio door in the world.

On a personal level, Marr had the mettle to take advantage of these strengths. With his background hustling around the Manchester clothing scene, he had clearly learned a tough business sense that put him in good stead when it came to managing anything. Still married to Angela, he had the stability of a long-term relationship to fall back on, and the support of someone who had known him from the days before his name was famous. He had managed all this, helped friends through addiction and sorted himself out of a potentially worrying situation with alcohol too. The Johnny Marr who kicked off 1988 with a contribution to the Dennis Hopper movie
Colours
[although he wasn’t happy with the way it had worked out], had one hell of a career behind him already, and he was still only twenty-five-years old.

Marr’s first full year as an ex-Smith allowed him the freedom to work in any field he chose to wander, yet the shadow of his erstwhile band continued to fall across his working life. For a while, Johnny considered moving to Los Angeles or New York to escape the pressure of people in Manchester continuing to harass him for leaving The Smiths, but decided to move back to his home town permanently, where true friends and family were only minutes away. As well as personal connections, when Johnny looked around the world for the most happening place in terms of music, it was Manchester that stood head and shoulders above the rest.

Away from the day-to-day grind of co-managing the business of The Smiths, Marr also soon found he enjoyed a greater sense of security in working as a contributor on other people’s projects. If The Smiths had been ‘a matter of life and death’ then better to concentrate on the former. “I’m happier,” he said, with typical understated modesty, “now that I know where the rent is coming from.”

Manchester itself was – largely down to the shadow that The Smiths had cast over the city – continuing its rebirth as the UK’s premier rock city. Coming home, this was another reason for Johnny to get involved again in Manchester life. From a distance it seemed to Johnny that – wherever he looked in the world – the best music, the most inspirational stuff, was once again coming from Manchester. The city was alive again, without his band having to shine all the lights at once. Shaun Ryder’s Happy Mondays’ debut LP
Squirrel and G-Man Twenty Four Hour Party People Plastic Face Carnt Smile (White Out)
had been released in 1987, and their follow-up EP
Madchester Rave On
established not only the city’s profile in blending rock and dance rhythms but also
gave a name to the Madchester phenomenon. Factory Records released
Bummed
, their critically acclaimed second album in 1988, and by their third –
Pills And Thrills And Bellyaches
– Madchester was a firmly established cultural concept. Alongside The Mondays came The Stone Roses, whose first Silvertone album was released in 1988. An overnight success – that typically took five years to happen – The Roses had formed around the same time as The Smiths, but although they had a near-guitar-legend of their own in John Squire, it took them much longer to establish a public face. In comparison with The Smiths, these two Manchester bands were notorious: Ryder’s much-publicised drug intake made for a public profile based more upon his ability to make headlines than his undoubted ability to make great records, while The Roses’ various tiffs with record companies meant that there were six long years between the releases of their first and second albums.

Through the summer, Johnny made occasional trips to join New Order in the studio as they were recording their album
Technique
, cementing the friendship with Bernard Sumner that would evolve into Electronic. Ironically, it was through the Madchester scene that the true revolution in the singles chart that The Smiths had wanted to bring about actually happened. What Morrissey and Marr had wanted to do – to completely revitalise the world of the seven-inch single – came about as the phenomenon of house music seeped into clubs like The Hacienda. While the music of Detroit and Chicago slowly gained credence, and while DJ-ing became as much a celebrity activity as being in a group, it was the guitar bands like The Mondays and Roses who dipped into the cultural meld and charged their more traditional rock with an immediate and contemporary dance consciousness. When house
morphed into acid house, it became a national phenomenon, and the E-scene was emblazoned across the front pages of the tabloids.

Madchester and ‘baggy’ deflected attention away from the legend of The Smiths and towards a new hierarchy of Manchester bands, albeit most of them heavily influenced by them. Marr was able to begin rediscovering himself, finding out what made ‘Johnny Marr’ happy instead of having to keep the fan-base of his former band content. Within the band Johnny had often been uncomfortable in the role of ‘talking head’. As Johnny’s sense of dislocation increased, he had felt able to give interviews only when he felt ‘up’ and it had become harder and harder to find opportunities where he felt he could actually be himself. Now, with the attention of the world focused on other Mancunian mega-stars, Johnny could quietly rebuild his sense of his own self.

One brief project was to provide the riff that acted as theme tune to the short-lived TV music show
APB
. To great critical reviews, in March the fruits of Johnny’s work with Talking Heads was released. The Heads were one of the first American immediate post-punk, CBGB bands to develop a world-wide profile, due largely to their sparse instrumentation and the lyrical intrigue of nervy front man David Byrne, whose performance was an art form in itself. Enlivened by the input of Brian Eno, Talking Heads had been one of the most influential bands in the world for a decade, but as Byrne became more involved in extra-curricular work outside of the band, the sands were running out for the group.
Naked
proved to be their last studio album, and though he thoroughly enjoyed the sessions, Marr himself felt that the atmosphere within the band was “slightly odd,” and perhaps their closing moments as a recording unit were hard for an outsider to penetrate.

‘The Heads’ themselves were delighted with Johnny’s input to the album. He was brought onto the project by the album’s producer Steve Lillywhite, initially to augment ‘Ruby Dear’, the Bo Diddley rhythm of which cried out for Johnny Marr. Johnny’s input was, in fact, included on four of the released tracks. The album was one of the later-Heads’ strongest, augmented by anything up to three or four extra musicians at any given time. To get away from New York, the band decamped to Paris, where day-long sessions at Studio Davout were devoted to each individual track, with melodies and lyrics to be added in New York once the tracks were down.

“What was rather amusing to us,” remembers Heads’ drummer Chris Frantz “was that Johnny came with a giant flight case of guitars, and a famous guitar tech that we had met before at Compass Point Studios in the Bahamas when he was working with The Rolling Stones. This guitar tech was an old pro who regaled us with stories about ‘Keith’ and ‘Eric’, ‘Jimmy’ and ‘Pete.’ Clearly Johnny had reached the big time.” Chris recalls.

The first track on which Marr worked was ‘(Nothing But) Flowers’, knocked off at lightening speed while waiting for the band to settle down for the recording of the second track ‘Ruby Dear’. Johnny’s twelve-string is evident throughout the middle section of the song, as well as in the distinctive introduction. ‘(Nothing But) Flowers’ typified much of the collection, and Chris Frantz remembers that twelve-string contribution as his favourite piece of Johnny’s. The track was a softer song from a band very much looking for more earthen textures than the earlier, clipped industrial sound of their previous albums. As mentioned, ‘Ruby Dear’ was a Bo Diddley-based track on which Johnny’s trademark
guitar is evident throughout the song. On ‘Mommy Daddy You and I’ Marr provided ‘Twang Bar Guitar’, giving the song a unique, antique flavour that matched the nostalgic lyric. As well as Johnny, Talking Heads had also invited Kirsty MacColl onto the album, which was produced by her husband Steve Lillywhite, and on ‘(Nothing But) Flowers’ Marr and MacColl appeared together again. ‘Cool Water’, Johnny’s fourth and final contribution to the album, is a sombre, atmospheric number, driven again by riffing guitars but bearing an Eastern European flavour and more than a hint of Eighties-era King Crimson in its minor key urgency. Byrne encouraged Johnny’s detuned drone that characterises the song, played without traditional fingering or notation, a truly experimental bit of improvisation.