Madchester

Geek obsession: Madchester
Why it’s daunting: Earlier this year, The Stone Roses announced they were reuniting after a 15-year breakup. It took a long time, but it was a no-brainer that it would happen sooner or later; after all, The Stone Roses are one of the few truly timeless bands to come out of England in the fertile period of late ’80s and early ’90s. But the group was most closely associated with a trend that wasn’t quite so timeless: Madchester. The clunkily titled movement originated in Manchester in the wake of the city’s early-’80s scene, one that produced dance-oriented outfits such as New Order and A Certain Ratio. But where its predecessors harbored a starker post-punk vibe, The Stone Roses and other Madchester bands were warm, loose-grooved, and flush with sunny psychedelia. The drugs helped; popularized by the rave scene that was emerging parallel to Madchester, ecstasy helped fuel some of the more colorful and feel-good music to emerge from the scene. But as dramatized in the 2002 film 24 Hour Party People—titled after a song by the definitive Madchester outfit, Happy Mondays—there was a dark side to Madchester’s sudden ascendance (and underground yet widespread appeal in the U.S.): The bands just couldn’t keep up. To this day, a good percentage of the few who even know what Madchester means are quick to downplay it. There is, after all, that horribly stupid name. And clothes. And haircuts. But the music, while not universally ageless, still has plenty of joys to offer.
Possible gateway: The Stone Roses, The Stone Roses
Why: When it comes to The Stone Roses, it may be tempting to start with a greatest hits or singles collection. But don’t. By any metric, the group’s self-titled debut from 1989 is its crowning achievement. While it might not include some of the band’s more dance-floor-friendly material, The Stone Roses remains a nearly flawless record, one that showcases just how broad of a range the band had. From the keening, dreamy self-mythology of “I Wanna Be Adored” to the epically funky “Fools Gold,” the album set the stage for ’90s Britpop—but its tradition-celebrating traces of Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, and British folk placed it above and beyond the Madchester pigeonhole.
Next steps: A veteran of Manchester’s flagship indie label, Factory Records, since 1985, Happy Mondays are the second essential Madchester band. But unlike The Stone Roses, no single studio album strongly represents the outfit. In fact, all of the group’s full-lengths abound with various amounts of filler. Of the four Happy Mondays collections, Greatest Hits is the only one covers all the bases: the bubbly delirium of “Step On,” the loping disco of “Kinky Afro,” and the infectious “W.F.L.,” which features frontman Shaun Ryder’s shambolic, Mark E. Smith-on-’shrooms delivery. Happy Mondays were also the Madchester band that used remixes to the best advantage, and Greatest Hits smartly includes the club mix of the soaring “Hallelujah” by the up-and-coming Paul Oakenfold and Andrew Weatherall—the latter soon to make his first big mark on Primal Scream’s Screamadelica.
Like Happy Mondays, James joined the Factory roster in the early ’80s, but the Smiths-sounding group jumped ship in 1986. So when James suddenly latched onto the Madchester sound with 1990’s Gold Mother, it seemed a little opportunistic. The quality of the album, however, outweighs any issues of authenticity. Led by the supple, sugary voice of Tim Booth, Gold Mother became the launch pad for a decade’s worth of increasingly excellent and idiosyncratic James albums. It may not be entirely fair to call it a Madchester record, but the shoe fits.