I was working as a freelance rock photographer. The Stone Roses’ PR, the late Philip Hall, had given me their album and all of their 12-inch singles, which I loved. I’d not been able to go to the band’s earlier gigs in Blackpool and Alexandra Palace in London as I had been working in America with Tom Petty and Billy Idol, so when it came to their huge outdoor gig at Spike Island in Widnes in 1990, I thought: “I’m not missing this,” and got myself an access-all-areas pass for the whole event.
I set off for Manchester on the Friday to cover the press conference at the Piccadilly Hotel that evening, followed by a night’s clubbing at the Haçienda. The press conference was a disaster. The band ambled on stage and just sat looking bored, pulling faces behind their microphones because nobody asked any questions. It was a really weird vibe for a room full of so-called journalists. People were intimidated when there was no reason to be. Eventually another photographer, who was a bit feisty, stormed down the front, turned to the crowd and said: “You fucking idiots. What’s the matter with you?” Eventually someone asked a really lame question: “Have you heard of the Charlatans?” who had just released their first single.
