Happy Mondays, the Sly & The Family Stone of Salford, release their first album in 15 years on June 18, three band members lighter, several solo projects, two reunions and a whole lot of living later.
As legendary for their lifestyle as their unique collision of rave beats, indie rock and street poetry, the biggest surprise is probably that the band members have even survived this long. But they have, and Shaun Ryder, Bez and Gaz Whelan have a freshly minted deal with Sanctuary Records imprint Sequel and a brand new album tucked under their arms.  The biggest question on most peoples’ lips is, probably, Why now?  According to Gaz, there was no initial plan to record, but after writing some songs “for fun” it just evolved. “It was having the time to do an album,” Shaun explains further. “Everyone’s been busy just living, doing whatever they fucking have to do in their lives. We got back together in 1999 and we’ve been doing, you know, like Showaddywaddy shows. We’d never have split up in the first place if it had just been the three members in the band now back then, but the others wanted to so we did.”
Ryder admits that the shows played by various mutations of the original line-up – the “Showaddywaddy shows” he’s slightly dismissive of – happened “because a promoter asked us” rather than any artistic need, but no excuses are being made for the new album. Rockier than the Happy Mondays’ classic ‘Madchester’/baggy days, it’s still easily identifiable as their own. When they formed in 1985, Happy Mondays built their sound around hip hop beats, funky bass lines, blues guitars, samples and Ryder’s inimitable lyrics, a compelling mixture of street slang, drug gibberish and menacing sexuality. All these ingredients are still present and correct, mixed into a fine new stew by the band and their producer, Sunny Levine (son of Simply Red/Sly And The Family Stone producer Stewart and grandson of Quincy), somewhere between Hallelujah, Wrote For Luck and Step On of old and the psychedelic disco of Shaun and Bez’s post-Mondays band, Black Grape. “I’ve never really stopped doing what I do,” Ryder says, “so I don’t see much difference between Happy Mondays then, Black Grape and Happy Mondays now. We could just as easily called this Black Grape – it would have saved us loads of legal hassles - but because it was Gaz and Bez it just was the Mondays.”
The recording process, Ryder and Whelan claim, was a doddle, thanks to a newfound lack of egos and delight at being free to record what they wanted without record company involvement (they looked for a deal after making the album with their own money).
Whelan: “We kind of get started with this mishmash of ideas, and there’s no egos so we can say and do what we like. With egos you get backed into a corner, and when you’re backed into a corner you end up compromising and come from a place of negativity, er, man. So we don’t do that anymore. If someone says they don’t like that bit, alright, let’s do something else. You can’t take it personal, when you get older you don’t anyway. Well, you shouldn’t…
Gaz is under no illusion about the Mondays’ secret weapon, however.
“Often we get some tracks or musical ideas together we think are really good and then he [Shaun] comes in – he’s going to get all embarrassed now - and he just takes it to another level. You can never imagine where it’s going to go with him, but the thing is you can get away with the music being a bit cheesy because you know that once Shaun’s got hold of it, it’ll be a million times better and won’t be cheesy anymore. Never ceases to amaze me.”
The other helping hand is that the Mondays are – drum roll please – clean and straight, a far cry from their last album, 1992’s Yes Please!, during which their notoriously dissolute lives eventually led to the band’s demise. Ryder in particular is the picture of health, a family man who’s substituted a mountain bike for the bong.  “We’re all too old for that shit now,” Shaun says. “I have to admit, though, that this is the first time I’ve ever been out in this business – and I’ve been in this business since I was 18 – that I’ve done it straight, not using crack or heroin or whatever. It’s fucking terrifying! No, it’s great, until you go and do interviews and sit there and not have anything to say.”
It’s unlikely Shaun Ryder will ever have nothing to say. His lyrics have inspired Manic Street Preachers to namecheck him in song, Blur’s Damon Albarn to collaborate with him on the second Gorillaz album and invite him to tour America with the cartoon band, and given voice to millions of fucked up estate kids just like him. Former Factory records boss Tony Wilson and U2’s Bono have also heaped praise on his lyrics, Wilson comparing Ryder to WB Yeats, Bono claiming the Mondays singer as one of the greatest lyricists of all time.
The self-effacing Ryder, however, would rather you didn’t read too much into what he’s saying.
“You know when people write them Whitesnake songs,” he says, “y’know, songs that are not really about anything significant? Well, that’s what my songs are about. There’s no hidden message or meaning, it’s just good time rock’n’roll, which is what we’ve always done, really.
So you’re the hip hop Whitesnake?
“Maybe the hip hop Black Sabbath, that’s a bit cooler. Or Rainbow,” he says with a self-mocking laugh.
“Stop there, man,” Whelan interjects, “you were on a roll: no bullshit, no hidden messages, no deep meaning, no politics, just good time rock’n’roll. I’ll sign that!”