RIP Gary “Mani” Mounfield (1962 – 2025)
Not long since the news came in. I suppose when you get to my age, it’s going to happen more frequently.
First Ozzy, then Dave Ball of Soft Cell and now this….
Things come in threes and this year I’ve been hit with three musical heroes departing planet earth.
Just four days after his 63rd birthday.
Bassist, groove merchant, professional mischief-maker, and all-round Northern diamond Gary Mounfield — has left us. And if indie music had a flag, it would be flying at half-mast today (probably next to an oversized lemon).
A true icon of the Madchester era, Mani was the beating heart beneath The Stone Roses’ swirling guitars and cryptic lyrics. Other bassists played lines. Mani owned them. Half the Roses’ catalogue simply stops working if you take his bass away — like removing the rum from a rum and coke.
I’m gutted. Genuinely. But I’m also smiling, because Mani would never want a tribute without a bit of humour and cheek.
So, here’s The Listening Log’s send-off to one of the most vital — and most gloriously chaotic — musicians Britain ever produced.
🎸 The Groove That Built a Movement
Let’s be honest: The Stone Roses’ rhythm section was their secret weapon.
Mani’s bass wasn’t flashy. He didn’t slap, tap, hammer-on, or perform any YouTube-friendly nonsense. He grooved, he locked in, and he made the whole thing swing like a psychedelic Motown revival.
Listen to Fools Gold without the bass.
Actually, don’t — it’s a hate crime.
And I Wanna Be Adored?
Mani practically carries that song on his shoulders.
He wasn’t just keeping time — he was dragging the rest of the band up the mountain, cigarette dangling from mouth, pint never too far away.
🎤 A Man Who Could Out-Quote Anyone (Often Accidentally)
Unlike many rock stars, Mani didn’t do mystique.
He did honesty.
And swearing.
A lot of swearing.
He was the kind of bloke you could imagine bumping into in a pub toilet, both of you trying to dry your hands under a useless hand dryer, exchanging stories about the best kebabs in Salford.
One of his greatest gifts: the ability to drop casual one-liners that should have been printed on t-shirts.
Mani had pure, unfiltered Mancunian charm.
🌈 From Spike Island to Primal Scream
After the Roses imploded (for the first time… and then the second… and possibly a third if you count the 2016 gigs), Mani jumped ship to Primal Scream, proving he wasn’t just part of a magical lineup — he was a magical musician, full stop.
On Screamadelica-era shows, Mani looked like a man who’d wandered onstage by accident, found a bass guitar, and thought, “Oh alright, I’ll sort this out then.”
I was lucky enough to witness the great man playing with The Scream at Glastonbury 2011.
💛 The Heart of the Band
Even in the wildest Roses storms — and there were many — Mani felt like the stabilising force.
Brown was the attitude.
Squire was the genius.
Reni was the alien sent to Earth to reinvent drumming.
But Mani?
He was the soul.
The warmth.
The glue.
When he rejoined the band in 2011 for the big reunion, it felt right. The chemistry returned. The swagger returned. Even the lemons returned.
😂 A Listening Log–Approved Legacy
Here’s the thing:
Mani never pretended to be a saint.
He was a working-class lad who liked music, pints, people, and causing absolutely harmless chaos.
In true Listening Log spirit, here are three uninteresting, interesting things Mani taught us:
1️⃣ A great bassline can change your life.
Or at least make your walk to the shops feel like a cinematic moment.
2️⃣ Never trust a band reunion that doesn’t eventually collapse into a row.
The Roses wouldn’t have been the Roses otherwise.
3️⃣ Being yourself — truly yourself — is more rock ’n’ roll than any leather jacket.
🕊️ Goodnight, Groovemaster
Losing Mani feels like losing a chunk of the 80s and 90s all at once — a chapter of British music that shaped entire generations.
But what a legacy he leaves behind:
Basslines that still throb with life.
Stories that still make people grin.
And a spirit that still echoes across every dingy indie nightclub playing She Bangs the Drums on a Friday night.
Rest easy, Mani.
Thanks for the grooves.
Thanks for the madness.
And thanks for reminding us that being a legend doesn’t mean acting like one.
You were the real deal — and the music world is a poorer place today.
The Listening Log 
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