I first met Mani when the Stone Roses’ manager asked me to produce them. We did Elephant Stone and they were lovely. Then as Manchester turned into Madchester I got to know them really well. I went to the great gig they did in Blackpool; I went to Spike Island. It was a fantastic time to be together and the Haçienda was the glue. There was no VIP area in the club, so punters would walk around and think: “There’s Mani!”
Peter Hook. Photograph: Bass Guitar Magazine/Future Publishing/Getty Images
I had the Roses in my Suite 16 studio doing demos for what was going to be the second album, until they scrapped it. I got to know Mani and his wife, Imelda. We had a wild period. Then after our various bands stopped playing live we started Freebass, with three bass players: myself, Mani and Andy Rourke, who’d been in the Smiths. The band was ill-fated – too many chefs – and eventually we fell out badly after a row over a gig. Mani slagged me off but God bless him, the very next day he phoned me up and apologised. That was Mani. Once we were no longer working together, we became friends and after that every day spent with him was a total pleasure.
When people say Mani could be a clown or joker, it isn’t the right word. Yes, he was very entertaining. He was a man of the people, very funny and very irreverent. But he also had an intensity and didn’t suffer fools gladly. He was very passionate about things he believed in, whether Man United or standing up for his mates. If he felt something was wrong, or there was some sort of injustice, he was very tenacious. Once you had Mani on your side, you were rocking. He was a fighter and never gave an inch but he was everybody’s friend and nobody had a bad word about him.
When the Roses reformed, he was desperate for it to be like it was at the start – it broke his heart when it wasn’t
When he was on form, he was a wonderful soul. He’d been too young to be a mod so always had a thing about scooters. Once day he came to my house with one of those “human cannonball” crash helmets on and looked like Crazy Frog. An hour later I heard this strange noise and it was Mani, kicking his flooded scooter, because it was a wet day and the moisture had got in the engine. He must have kicked that scooter for an hour and a half but then, incredibly, it started. That’s the magic of the man: he never let anything beat him.
From a bass-playing point of view, he was the best. Everybody wanted to be him. Mani joining the Stone Roses made the difference. He was a groove artist and into groovy music. I recently watched him playing Fool’s Gold on Instagram and thought: “How is he playing that?” Like Andy Rourke, Mani played very melodically – which I do, but Mani was much subtler. I always tried to compete with the guitar but Mani wove around it. That’s a great skill, but I didn’t care what he played. He could have banged the thing on the floor for all I care: he was Mani.
He was in two of the coolest bands of all time: the Stone Roses and Primal Scream. I actually auditioned for the Primals and they said I was too much like New Order, so when Mani got the job he was straight on the phone to me. “Hey No 2” – he always called me No 2 – “it’s No 1 here.” Rourkey was “No 3”: the level of banter between the three of us was amazing.
‘The music he DJ’d reflected his bass playing’ … Mani DJing in 2003. Photograph: Jim Dyson/Getty Images
All Mani wanted to do was play and most of all he loved playing to people. When the Roses reformed, he was desperate for it to be like it was at the start and it broke his heart when it wasn’t. But it was nice after all they’d been through, financially and otherwise, that they got that final payday that enabled him and Imelda to have a lovely life. Once they got their boys, they were absolutely made up. They were a great little family.
When he was no longer playing, he started DJing and the music he played reflected his bass playing: funk and soul. He never stopped working and was so looking forward to the speaking tour he’d just announced. It’s heartbreaking that he’s gone before it started and my heart breaks for those two boys, losing both their parents so soon after each other.
The outpouring of grief and sadness when Mani died has been really quite remarkable. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it, for a pop star, certainly not for a long time. At the moment every Manchester legend is asking themselves “Will I get that when I die?” But I can safely say that Mani will never be forgotten.
As told to Dave Simpson