I Survived the Happy Mondays’ Tour Bus

That headline would have been most impressive in 1992.  In 2012, though, not so much.  

Hold on.  Back up.

A couple of years ago, Mondays drummer Gaz Whelan was fed up with Manchester and England in general.  His wife, having seen a real estate show on the telly about homes in Canada, declared “We’re moving.”  So the family ended up in northeast Burlington.

Gaz formed a band called The Hippie Mafia, gigged around southern Ontario (opening shows for Liam Gallagher’s Beady Eye) and recording some very good music along the way.  “The Mondays?” he told me.  “Done.  Finished. I want no part of that lot.”

And he seemed serious.  The Hippie Mafia was gaining momentum and secured some high-powered management.  But then the Stone Roses got back together, recpitating offers for a Mondays reunion.  Eventually, the opportunity became too lucrative and for the first time in 18 years, the original Mondays lineup reconvened for a tour.

As a longtime fan, I made arrangements with Gaz to fly here to London for one of the shows at the Brixton Academy.  This, I thought, could be mad.  

I was a guest of the band, elevated to the rank of “Family” (check out the backstage pass).

As I was talking to Gaz in the alley, a car pulled up.  Bez tumbled out.  

I looked at Gaz.  “I thought he wasn’t part of this tour.” 

“The press got it all wrong.  He’s here.  He came out and danced for a couple of songs during the last show.  It’s just that he hasn’t slept in four days.”

“Four days?“

“I don’t know how he does it.  Bez!  Mate! Get any kip?”

Bez:  “Fook, a bit but I canna get any kip any more.  My fookin’ head’s done in, innit?”  

There was more, but it was delivered in a Manc accent so thick he might as well have been speaking Martian. Whatever he said was apparently very funny because everyone around me laughed.  I smiled politely.

Soon it was time to go in.  As the possessor of a “family” pass, I could watch the gig from anywhere, so I took a spot stage right just beyond where the bands entered.

It was a terrific gig, beginning with a set from the Inspiral Carpets who roared through classics like “This Is How it Feels” and “Draggin’ Me Down.”  I must have missed “Commercial Rain” at the top of their set.

When they finished, a DJ took the stage, playing Pistols, the Jam, Stone Roses, Specials and Charlatans UK. It sounded and felt great.

(Sidebar:  I still believe that the English are the greatest music fans in the world.  Imagine a Canadian crowd pushing to the front of a venue as a recording of “The Only One I Know” is played, all whislt singing every word at the top of their lungs.  The energy of the crowd and the music was incredible.)

Inspiral Carpets Brixton Academy 11 May 2012

Then it was the Mondays’ turn.  Bez introduced the Mondays (“The boyeeeeez are baaaaaaack!”) and they proceeded to swagger through 80 minutes of material.

This was not the shambolic, barely conscious Happy Mondays I remember from 1992.  They took the stage on time.  Shaun Ryder was fully present.  The songs were played with absolute precision.  Rowetta looked stunning. Even Bez entered right on cue to dance during “Step On” towards the end of the set.

Happy Mondays Brixton Academy 11 May 2012

I should also point out that there wasn’t one whit of nostalgia to what they did.  This time around, it’s all about the strength of the music and not the chaos that surrounded the band in the early days.  And the crowd was much, much younger than expected.  Yes, there were plenty old baggy fans amongst the punters, but the vast majority of the crowd consisted of 20-somethings.  Most of them sang long with every song, too.

After one encore, the show wrapped up exactly three minutes before curfew and everyone headed upstairs to the dressing rooms.

“Aha!” I said to myself, “Now I’ll get to see the legendary Mondays backstage behaviour!”

Flashing my “family” pass, I found the dressing rooms:  one for Shaun, one for Bez, one for Rowetta and one for everyone else.  Gaz pop out through the last door and grabbed in me in the hallway.  “Come on in!” he shouted.  

I stepped inside and…was handed a cup of tea.  

Tea?

“Sugar?” someone asked.

“Uh, yes, please.”

“Here you go, mate.  Help yourself to some crisps on the table.  And we have some Mars Bars, too.”

Mars Bars? Where was the smack, the gak, the dope and the alcohol?  And was everyone sober?  Yep.  As a judge.  And not “Judge Fudge,” either.

Rowetta bounced in.  Gaz:  “This is my mate from Canada.  He likes scotch.”  Rowetta pulled out a bottle of whiskey from her bag and poured a couple of fingers for me and her.  She cut hers with a healthy amount of Diet Pepsi and ice.  “This is it for me tonight.  Cheers, love.”  And she left.

I looked around the dressing room.  There were about a dozen bottles of beer on the counter, lonely and untouched,  There was also a bottle of French red, unopened.  The most powerful thing being ingested was Red Bull.

“Uh, Gaz.  This isn’t what it used to be like, is it?”

“Oh, no.  But I wouldn’t have agreed to do this if it was going to be chaos like the old days.”

Bass player Paul Ryder:  “I couldn’t do it now.  I don’t want to do it now.  I just want to play music.”

Guitarist Mark Day:  “I’m off.  Meet you on the bus.”

Gaz finished his Sprite.  “Right.  Let’s go.”  He beckoned me to follow him to the tour bus.  We’d been backstage for all of fifteen minutes.

“We’re on our way to Birmingham.  We’ll drop you off in North London and you can get a mini cab back to your hotel from there.”

A chance to go on the Happy Mondays tour bus!  Incredible!  What wonders would I behold?

But as soon as we got on the bus, Gaz made me another cup of tea.  Paul, his wife Angie and their two sons joined us, munching on crisps and brewing their own tea.  Mark came in, said his goodbyes and retired to his bunk.  I can’t recall anyone so much as lighting up a cigarette.  There certainly wasn’t any alcohol or other substances.

Rowetta bounded in with a huge bag of Red Bull, which appears to be the only stimulant being used on this tour. “Never leave any behind, I say.”  She then sat on the floor next to me, eating a tuna sandwich from the fridge.

“What kind of sandwich are you eating?” she asked Gaz.  

“Something with bacon.”

“Pork?  You shouldn’t eat pork.  It has all kinds of poisons.  It does stuff to your brain.”

“Yeah, but it tastes good, innit?”

There was a short silence.  “Fookin’ hell,” said Rowetta, “I thought the Happy Mondays was a drug band.  And we’re talking about pork poisoning your brain?” 

Everyone lapsed into another silence consider this truism.

“Where’s Bez?” someone asked. 

Angie:  “Mark was trying to keep his daughter, Jasmine, away from him.  She’s 21 and absolutely gorgeous.  But he failed.  Bez convinced her to go ‘clubbing’ with him.”

Paul:  “That may not end well.”  There was much sober head-shaking.  

Rowetta broke the grim silence that followed.  “What movie are we going to watch?  I went through the DVDs and I want to see Best in Show.  It’s the Spinal Tap guys but it’s about a dog show.”

I couldn’t hold it in any longer.  “Wait a sec!  This is the Happy Mondays’ tour bus!  Everyone is drinking tea and eating Mars Bars.  No one is smoking anything.  There’s not a speck of dust or powder anywhere.  And now you’re going to spend the ride to Birmingham watching a family-friendly movie?”

Everyone looked at me as if I was Satan.

“It’s not like the old days, mate,” someone said.  “We’re adults.  We have a job to do.”

A few minutes later, the bus pulled up at my stop.  “Thanks for coming, love,” said Rowetta, “You take care now.”

“Be careful making your way home,” said Angie.

“Good to meet you,” waved Paul.

“Behave youself,” said Gaz, “I’ll call you when I get home. Stay safe.”

The bus door closed leaving me on a street in Shepherd’s Bush, right in front of a mini cab storefront, just as they promised.  And then they were gone.

As I watched the bus leave, I wondered about Bez and Jasmine.  Would it be too late to catch up with them?

Bad idea.  I cabbed it to the hotel, ordered a tuna sandwich from room service and went to bed.