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.
A coach was laid on for the media to the Spike Island site the following afternoon. We crossed the Silver Jubilee Bridge and made our way backstage. It was late May and a boiling hot day, and we all piled into the backstage bar area, but by the time it got to my turn, they announced that they’d run out of everything, and this was at 3pm. You hear about it all being badly organised – which was absolutely true.
We were finally shown where we were shooting from – the pit below the stage, but the stage was 20 foot high and the area directly below was full of security, so it was impossible to use. The photographers said: “We can’t see anything,” so the band’s management got the stage crew to rustle up some scaffolding with a few planks of wood to the right of the stage for us to climb on to and shoot level with the stage.
We were allowed to shoot the whole show, which would never happen these days as the norm is first three songs only. By 1990, most of the national newspapers and music press had switched to full colour, so the emphasis was to shoot that way, but there was so much red stage lighting that it affects the colour film and makes it look even redder. Photographers call it “the red nightmare.” Towards the end of the show I switched to black and white.
As I Am the Resurrection reached its finale, I still felt I hadn’t got anything that really caught the essence of the event. From my vantage point I could see that the band would have to walk along this huge empty space between the rear of the stage and the cordoned-off VIP area to get back to their dressing room, so I climbed down and quietly left the other photographers who were packing their stuff away, and made my way over there.
The band had just come off stage and were buzzing. There was no security and they headed straight towards me. I blocked their path and they just stopped in their tracks and started dancing on the spot. I shot away until John [Squire] lunged towards me, and I knew that I had the shot I wanted. I quickly thanked them and said they’d better move on as I’d noticed a couple of other photographers heading over our way.
Some of the black and white pictures of the show and some of the portraits I took at the press conference were syndicated globally, but this shot wasn’t used at the time. It wasn’t until the band announced their comeback in 2011 that NME started to use the image in their online news stories. Then just about every other media outlet started using it too, so much so that it has become one of my most published images . It featured in Shane Meadows’ documentary Made of Stone, and has become one of the landmark images from the whole of the Spike Island gig.
Looking back, I’m just happy I had my eyes open and my wits about me to get myself into the perfect position, which is why I’m the one who walked away with such an iconic shot while many of the other photographers didn’t have anything to compete with – he said, not so modestly.
Andy Phillips CV
Born: Greenwich, London, 1957.
Trained: Self-taught.
Influences: Joan Miró, Frank Zappa, Luis Buñuel.
High points: ‘Travelling the world and the lessons learned.’
Low point: ‘Family and friends lost to cancer.’
Top tip: ‘Politeness and good manners really count, but do not suffer fools gladly.’