SCENE 7

A cellar in Andy Couzens house ready for band practice : Pete Garner & Ian Brown are playing snooker– enter John Squire who begins setting up

Andy Couzens
John

John Squire
Hello boys, how are all today

Ian Brown
Not bad, not bad, did that drummer call you
The one from Wythenshaw

John Squire
No he didn’t

Pete Garner
Don’t worry lads, a drummer will turn up

Ian Brown
I’ll just bang on a tamborine, then, yeah?
A bit of a beat is better than none

Andy Couzens
These thoughts of feeling hopeful to our fate
Achilles amid mangl’d Myrmidons
Pompey upon the plains of Pharsalus
With all our inner planets unalign’d
This lack of drums are like the testy waves
Swallowing, confounding navigation
Over waters of creative playing
Where sail these songs of ours, how can we steer
This ship with a casio backing track
When Jutland Jellicoes can take command
Of mighty & magisterial fleets
We need a rhythm admiral, what’s bass
Without a driving pilot, & in time

John Squire
Our muse, it seems, is under house arrest

Pete Garner
Why don’t we somewhere put an advert up
Inviting the right drummer to our song
& chaff timewasting wheat with piquant words

John Squire
Try the A1 on Oxford Road, their kits
Are quality, & should in fact attract
The better mould of beatsman, from which hub,
Let information matrix make the call
& let the question ripple thro the realms
For if The Smiths can do it so can we
Locally rehearsing then important
Band on Top of The Pops

Andy Couzens
Their drummer’s tight

Ian Brown
Its time to ask the gods, you’re right, the gods
Help those who help themselves – but need a name
Upon that point procrastinate no more
Who’d join a band that doesn’t know its self
For ‘tis a name that defines the entire

John Squire
I think I’ve got one

Pete Garner
O yeah, what is it?

John Squire
I’ve listen’d to the whispering world-trees
Then listen’d to our style, punctur’d by punk,
But pepper’d with melodious petals
Of lyrics sharp as daimond-braided drills
Or willow-mellow on the meadow lawn
So something hard with something soft should be
The image that’s projected in the mind
Whene’er our band’s name utter’d, thus therefore,
I’m thinking Stones & Roses sums us up
Earth’s headiness comes with a rose distill’d
Earth’s steadiness made on a bed of stone

Ian Brown
The Stone Roses, yeah, not bad

Andy Couzens
I like it

Peter Garner
It’s definitely not a shit name, but
It’s a bit Rolling Stonesey, is it not

John Squire
I notic’d, yeah, but is that a bad thing
I mean, Exile on Main Street, Paint It Black,
& Jumping Jack Flash, pure perennitas,
Proper tunes, they’re not Shawaddywaddy

Ian Brown
The Stone Roses, yeah, fuckin hell, it works

Andy Couzens
Alright, then, fellow Roses, let us play
What about Trust A Fox

Ian Brown
Yeah, lets do it

John Squire
I’ve been working on a new riff for that

Andy Couzens
Ready Pete

Pete Garner
Yep

Andy Couzens
John

John Squire
{fine tuning his guitar}
Hang on a sec

Ian Brown
Hows the animation coming lads

Pete Garner
Slowly

John Squire
To get five seconds of footage
It takes five hours,

Pete Garner
& only Sundays
Are we allow’d to work in Cosgrove Hall
So it’s taking proper ages

John Squire
Its fun tho’
Anyway, I’m in

Ian Brown
Reyt then, Trust A Fox
Pete come in after four – one, two, three, four

The Stone Roses play Trust A Fox with Ian Brown playing tamborine

---

SCENE 8

Afllecks Palace – Phil Saxe is keeping his stall

Phil Saxe
Ah! Nineteen Eighty-Four, no George Orwell
Dystopia, but worse than that I feel,
Music & accompanying closets
Bore bland as Barnhill stout on Jura bleak,
But yet unconquer’d by the drain of time
Still brave the first defenders of the breach,
Refusing resolutely not to fail;
This is my shop, my Gangway, & my shield
The epicenter of the Perry Boys
On Arndale’s upper level, selling clothes
No other shop would e’er admit to hang
For fear of losing street-cred in an age
Where streets more morgues, let fashion splash oer lives
Of strange days in day-glo, long overcoats,
Too much mascara, everywhere stiff hair,
Condemn them all like the Crescents of Hulme
For grooving as a guru of good taste
To tunes rarer than a rocking horse shit
I’ll sell that tip-top clobber to robbers
Down alleys, students & scallys..

Enter Donna & Lucy with palm tree haircuts – hair scraped back bunched up & tied on top of their heads

Donna
Oi mate!

Phil Saxe
Alright girls

Donna
You got any flares

Phil Saxe
You what

Lucy
You deaf or summat

Donna
You got any flares

Phil Saxe
I heard you the first time, no-one wears flares
These days

Lucy
Precisely, that’s why we want them
Dogs might gorge on carrion, but not wolves,
We aint no sheeple, we’re shepherdesses
In foxy dresses, whatever feels good,
& honestly, everyone looks like dicks

Donna
So mate, have you got any flares or what?

Phil Saxe
Its funny you should ask, it’s all as if
Three Serendip princesses seize my stall,
This morning, in a random box, I bought
Off some Iranians, I found three pairs
Of levis just your size – you want to try
Them on, they’re looking a little bit tight,
But you girls are slim, you should pull ‘em off

Donna
Yeah, nice one, let us take a look at ‘em

Phil Saxe
Wait there a minute, I’ll just dig ‘em out

Enter Alisha clutching the Blue Monday single

Alisha
I got it

Donna
Nice one

Phil Saxe
Here you go ladies
Ah, Blue Monday, that’s such a wicked track

Alisha
I know, heard it on my holidays last week
Its all over the Benidorm beaches
I can’t believe we miss’d it first time round

Phil Saxe
Better late than never – just like these flares

Lucy
Cheers, we’ll just try ‘em on here – that alright?

Phil Saxe
Guess so

Donna
Oi mate! Change that music its shit

Phil Saxe
I’ll have you know that’s…

Alisha
We don’t care, change it

Lucy
Something decent we can sing a long to

Phil Saxe
Alright, alright, stifle your stingers girls

As the girls start getting changed Phil changes the music

FUNKY FLARES CREW

You’d better believe us when we say
We are the last ones feeing the vibes
Who never say never to come out & play
If the disco beat is alive
Then there’s the seventies vibe

See us strutting around as we’re making up rhymes
Knowing that she’s looking fly girl
Gazing around at your dumb fashion crimes
Pulling the fun outta my world
It’s a trip when you rip up society

18 inches of glory up over my boots
I’m bellbottom denim running down to my roots
Gonna stitch the sixties into my jeans
Goin’ topless, bangin tamborines
Inside a seventies scene

See us strutting around as we’re making up rhymes
Wham bam glam of a geisha
Gazing around at your dumb fashion crimes
Mad Donna, Lucy D & Alisha
It’s a trip when you slip from society

Who wears flares
We do
Who wins dares
You gotta be true
Who wears flares
We do
Who Wears Flares
The Funky Flares Crew

Alisha
Yeah, they look great, we’ll take ‘em

Lucy
How much mate

Phil Saxe
Eh, give me a tenner for the lot girls

Donna
Bargain, thanks

Alisha
Here you go Mr Saxe

Phil Saxe
Thank-you

Donna
Any chance you can get any more in

Phil Saxe
Probably, there’s warehouses full of flares
Out Oldham way

Lucy
Well, we’ll be back next week

Alisha
Laters

Donna
Shall we go & get some scran now

Exit the girls just as the Happy Mondays & Cressa enter the shop wearing paisley shirts flowery shirts little beards

Donna
Alright boys

Cressa
{pointing at the flares}
Where d’ya get those babies from

Alisha
{pointing to Phil}
He had some

Cressa
Yo Phil, got any more flares

Phil Saxe
Not you as well – give me a week or two
I’ll source some out – Alright Shaun

Paul
Alright Phil

Phil Saxe
Paul… & the rest of you scooby-doo beatniks
Can I help

Gaz
We’re just having a bimble

Shaun
Is it true you dj’d the Twisted Wheel

Phil Saxe
It is, yeah, original northern soul
Before twas even call’d that

PD
Yo Phil
How much is this shirt

Phil Saxe
That’s fifteen quid mate

Shaun
I heard you love your Stax

Phil Saxe
The faster stuff
I used to import from America
Before you know it everyone’s Bruce Lee
Karate Kicking to Otis Redding

Mark
That’s cool that mate, so you know your music

Phil Saxe
You could say that, well I know good music

Paul
Can we give you a tape

Phil Saxe
What of

Shaun
Our band

Phil Saxe

What, you’ve got a band, you bunch of Scallys

Shaun
We do

Cressa
We’re the Happy Mondays

Phil Saxe
The what

Shaun
The Happy Mondays

Phil Saxe
That’s a daft name lads

Shaun
Yeah, but its our name, anyway, its here

Phil Saxe
Alright, I’ll give it a listen today
If its any good I’ll pass it to Mike

Paul
Mike?

Phil Saxe
Mike Pickering, a good mate of mine
He books the bands for the Hacienda
Might be able to get you a gig one day

Shaun
That’d be mint mate, nice one

Paul
Our number’s
Well us mam’s, is written on the cassette

Phil Saxe
I’ll fling a tinkle if its any good

Shaun
That’s sweet that – well, its time to do one, mate

Mark
Thanks for listening Phil

Phil Saxe
Not a problem

Shaun
Come on lads, lets find those flare-wearing girls
By the hope I have of heavenly bliss
I sense the blond doth fancy me, I swear

Gaz
Fucks sake Shaun yer like a rampant rabbit

Exit the Happy Mondays & Cressa – PD has stolen a shirt

---

SCENE 9

1984 Werrington House Detention Centre, Stoke – the goveRnor’s office – he is sat at his desk – there is a knock at the door

Governor
Come in, come in!

Enter Guard & Bez

Guard
Govenor Williams

Governor
Aha – Mister Berry – we meet again

Bez
Sorry sir, I’ve been keepin my nose clean

Governor
I have noticed as much, well done young man
But why on earth inject such incidence
Into your world as that little outburst
Your release date’s rapidly approaching
But set it back at least a fortnight
So tell me what John happen’d exactly

Guard
Well, sir, we were handing out the letters
When he refused & said, do you recall
Do you remember what you said

Bez
I do

Guard
Can you repeat it for the governor
{Bez remains silent}
I Have written it down word for word sir
‘I’m not feffing sitting like a kid with my finger on my lips waiting for no feffing letters anymore. I don’t want any feffing letters anyway & I don’t want to send any effer a letter either. Eff the lot of you

Governor
That’s a lot of effing & jeffing Mark

Bez
Sorry, Mr Governor, sir, it just
Its just I’m wound up to the maximum
I’m seeing a procession of people
Flit from this joint who came here after me
Days on days of shabby desert weather
Have totally been doing my head in

Governor
Well, Mark, look, Mark, I will only add one week
To your total, which means there’s but a month
To go, when all of this shall be over
For you at least, control your self til then
Do I have your word

Bez
You do sir, promise

Govenor
Good – I’ve met your father you know – good man
Brilliant officer, & how on earth
Would sons of such fine policemen turn’d to crime

Bez
My dad is like double authority
& I was born with a rebel streak, sir

Governor
Has it remained, or has the short sharp shock
Of liberty’s loss refurbish’d thy strains

Bez
Sir, I’ve never cleaned so much in my life
& shave my face each morning, all despite
No hairs there ever venture cheek & chin
My boots are always spotless, yes I’ve chang’d
& know I never wanna waste my daylight
Inside a cell again

Governor
That’s good to hear
If I return thee to society
Without proper skillsets to march in time
I’d be showing contempt to mine office
So when you leave this house of detention
What intends thee, truly, in the jungle

Bez
I wanna dance sir, & fly with the birds
Proper nice birds, never squirm with the rats,
Because, from dawn til dreaming, all the day,
I love tunes, its all about the music

Governor
Do you play anything

Bez
No

Governor
Dj

Bez
No

Governor
Can you sing

Bez
Definitely not

Governor
Perhaps
You would want to open a record shop

Bez
Can’t, sir, I’m a dyslexic with numbers

Governor
There does not seem to be many options
For you to forge a career in music

Bez
But sir, I got it beating within me
I can feel it

Governor
Well, very good Berry
Are you going to go graffito crude
Or write your name in glory cross the stars
A child with integrity prospers well
Now off you go, & behave yourself, yes

Bez
Yes sir

Guard
Come on fella, back to your cells

Exit Bez whistling the guitar melody of Wrote For Luck