I first met Mani in the winter of 1989. I was up in Manchester for a Jesus and Mary chain concert. Afterwards, a friend suggested we go to the Hacienda. First person I saw when I walked through the heavy industrial rubber doors that separated Whitworth Street from the dance floor was Mani. He welcomed me with a huge smile and made a big fuss of me, complimenting me on Primal Scream's latest single Ivy Ivy Ivy.

At the time, the Stone Roses were the hottest thing in British music. the music press and thousands of fans loved them and they were high in the charts with the classic single Fool's Gold, Primal Scream in comparison couldn't get arrested but Mani's warm and welcoming manner treating me like an equal made me feel like a million dollars and I've never forgotten that.

I can confidently speak on all of our behalf’s and say that Mani had that effect on effect on us all Mani had the magic touch for people it didn't matter If you were the CEO of a major record company or a cleaning lady in a hotel, he was friendly to everyone and was inclusive. He wanted everyone to join in, get along together, and enjoy the fun and fun we had.

I next encountered Mani and Brighton after Stone Rose's gig. I think it was December 1995. We went to the escape club afterwards and hung out till the early hours of the morning. The following afternoon, I was just a bit recovering from the revelries of the night before when I received a phone call at home. It was Mani asking me to meet him at a pub in town. I went along to meet him and we started up where we left off the night before.

The next thing I knew, I woke up in a strange hotel room with a crushing hangover. I looked out the windows. I could only see trees, no cityscape. After consulting with my mate Terry McQuade, it transpired we were in Newport, Wales. Mani had kidnapped us, onto the Roses crew bus in our celebratory state. It has to be said that we didn't put up too much of a fight. willing accomplices with Stockholm syndrome.

I guess the following summer I heard through the grave vine that the roses were in the process of splitting up and I remembered some of the things Mani had said to me and that fateful bus journey from Brighton to Newport.

I reached out to him through a mutual friend and let it be known that we love him in the band. A month or so later, Mani joined Primal Screen. Result. Along came Mani with his brother Greg to the studio. We played him a new track we were working on. Asked him to make a baseline for it.

It was an abstract piece of music with no chords to hang a baseline on, just a lot of whispered vocals, creepy atmospherics. It did, however, have a rolling hypnotic tribal drum rhythm. Out came his beloved Rickenbacker bass guitar. Mani had a listen, messed about for a bit trying to find a place for himself in the track and on the third take he nailed it. We titled the song Kowalski and it was released as the first singlef rom our Vanishing Point album and it crashed straight into the charts at number eight powered by Mani's Pummelling baseline. What an entrance pure Mounfield.

I'll give you a football analogy here. It was like scoring a goal in his first match for a new club that he just signed to. Best free transfer ever. What a superstar.

And then and there it began. Mani and I spent a lot of time together traveling to Europe and America on
promotional duties for the Scream. After a few weeks of this, I felt like I had known him all of my life. He became like a brother. We shared a love of football, clothes, music. We discovered we had both seen major punk rock bands like The Clash, The Jam, Stranglers, and Buzzcocks on the same tours in 1977 to 1980.

Me and Glasgow, him and Manchester, two cities that have very much in common. Mani brought so much to our band and to to my life uh that it's hard to put down in words. His enthusiasm and positivity was contagious. He was always up for a bit of action and his lust for life was inspiring.

He was a ball of non-stop high energy in possession of both a keen intelligence and a bonkers sense of humour. No one and nothing was safe from his observations about the absurdity of life and human behaviour. Nothing was taboo and no one too important to escape his lasered ability to cut the pretentious
and self-important down to size. Myself included. His ability to make laughter out of any situation was of great value wherever we we found ourselves in the world.

There is a Glaswegian term Gallas which is descriptive of someone who carries themselves with swagger and is confident in their own abilities. For example, Diego Maradona and Eric Canina were both Gallas.

Mani too was Gallas. His musicianship was of a very high calibre. He was a funky little mother with a rock and roll heart. He stalked the stage with the stealth of a panther and with the grace of a dancer. How fortunate we were to have him in our band and in our lives. His bass playing was powerful and precise, subtle and soulful, whatever was needed for the job in hand. He always played for the good of the song. He could swing with the best of them and punk out if needed in the classic aggressive Mancunian style of Garth from
Buzzcocks or Peter Hook in his Warsaw days.

Mani was proud of his Irish Republican revolutionary heritage and working-class background. And most of all, he was proud of being a Mancunian. I lost count of the times he referred to his beloved hometown as Mani Chester. and must pay equal tribute to his beloved wife, Imelda.

Imelda was his rock and as big a character as Mani was with a huge heart to match. They were a formidable and amazing couple and to be in their company was always memorable. We saw them get through the difficult journey to start a family together and we're all so thrilled when the beautiful twins Gene and George arrived. Imelda was a wonderful wife, mother, and friend. and her passing in 2023 was a huge tragedy felt by all who knew her, most of all by Mani, Gene, and George.

I'm going to finish up by saying that Mani is not dead. He's just gone. He will always live forever in my soul and in my mind. I carry his spirit in me. Things he said, things he did. I will remember them forever. Mostly with a smile on my face and a chuckle.

Farewell, comrade.
I love you, Mani Mounfield.