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James returned to glory in 2007. After six years apart, they reunited and sold out a nationwide tour in minutes. Now they’ve just released their first studio album since 2001. Founder member Jim Glennie tells Judith Dornan why they would never have bothered coming back without it

When the estranged nucleus of 1990s indie kings James – singer Tim Booth, founder Jim Glennie and Larry Gott – met up tentatively in a rehearsal studio in 2006, it was just ‘to see how it went’.

But other people had other ideas. Jim recalls: “It was the first time I’d seen Tim in… well, I’d bumped into him once, I think, in six years. That was on the Friday that we started jamming together. And by the Saturday evening, Peter, our manager, had been in touch with (concert promoter] Simon Moran and had got a tour including 16,000 seats at the MEN Arena on hold for the following April!

“So much for me trying to keep the pressure off! He was like, ‘Just in case we need it!’ I was, like, ‘Arrgghg! No pressure!’.”

Formed in Jim Glennie’s bedroom in 1981 and named after him, James were among the most consistently successful bands of the 1990s, scoring hits like including Laid, Come Home, She’s a Star, Sometimes and the instantly recognisable Sit Down.

They dominated the charts for a decade with albums like Gold Mother, Laid and Seven and were indisputably the coolest of the wave of Madchester bands who then captured the zeitgeist.

But in 2001, after increasingly bitter infighting, particularly between enigmatic frontman Booth and Glennie himself, Booth departed and the seven-piece went on indefinite hiatus.

In the intervening years, as Booth consistently insisted he had moved on, it looked increasingly as though James was lost forever.

But Gott and Glennie had been quietly writing together for some time, bringing in other singers, and seeing where it went but none entirely gelled.

Glennie says: “We did a demo of about eight tunes and we both went away on separate holidays – and when we got back, we’d both heard Tim singing on it.

“It was just that kinda realisation that it just, it sounds like James, this does. And neither of us kinda wanted to bring that up, because of in a way what that meant.”

Booth initially refused. But in 2006 he had a change of heart. Glennie says: “He said he kept coming across things to do with James.

“People would talk to him about James or ask him about James or he’d read something about James. And it just seemed to open that option up in his head again really.”

That day, they slipped back into it, writing as they always did, with someone throwing out a riff and the others catching the flow, as Booth adlibbed nonsense vocal lines over the top.

Jim says: “It’ll just move and shift and change and go quiet and then build up again and there’ll be bits where it flies off at weird angles and comes back again. And that’s always been the way we’ve written and then you listen back to those jams and start to construct it at a later date.

“It just was so natural and the stuff was just unarguably good. It was like, right cool, we can still do it, what are we going to do with it?”

New album Hey Ma was the result. Released on April 7, it went straight to Number 10. Glennie insists it was the catalyst and if it hadn’t been for Hey Ma, we would never have seen James together on a stage again.

He says: “If we’d not have been able to write, we wouldn’t have done this. We wouldn’t have got back together to go out there and bang through the hits. When me, Tim and Larry first got together, it was in a rehearsal room. It wasn’t in a high-powered office somewhere to discuss the James reunion plan – it was just to get together and play.

“We did three days writing together and it was just wonderful, it was just so easy and such a joy. And we ended up with loads of new stuff and it was like, well, there you are! That’s the future, that’s the next stage of James.”

Now he’s watching the sun stream through the windows of an apartment he’s sharing with Booth near their Hoxton rehearsal room as they prepare for another nationwide tour.

Their 2007 outing, the one with the MEN Arena, turned ticket lines redhot and sold out in minutes. Jim admits he was stunned.

He says: “It seemed incredibly ambitious to tour anyway. It seemed like we would have been more sensible playing it a bit more low key and seeing how things went.

“We were a bit, ‘Well, we haven’t done anything for years, what happens if, you know, nobody wants to come?’ And it just was, yeah, just mad mad mad mad shock.

“I just think there’d been a lot of people out there who’d taken it for granted that we’d always be there. And then they all rushed out just to make sure that they were going to catch it this time.”

The MEN Arena show which so intimidated him became a memory he’ll treasure for life. He says: “Manchester was special, we knew it would be. I remember doing the tour in 2001 where we knew we were splitting up and we were all trying to make the best of it and put a brave face on it and it was all supposed to be a celebration of what we’d done.

“But it was all tinged with an undercurrent of sadness, no matter how uplifting you tried to make it for yourself and other people, it was just this undercurrent that you were denying. But this time, it was the opposite. We knew we were back.

“Coming onstage in Manchester was really moving. I just remember the build up. We’d got this marching band to start at the back of the arena and march in, drumming.

“Then halfway down the hall, the brass kicked into the riff from Come Home. And we were stood on the stage and, once the crowd realised what was going on, there was just this roar. And I just remember the hairs on the back of my neck… even now, I’m getting tingles. And then the curtain drops and this roar hits you like you scored at Wembley. It’s just overwhelming.

“The thing is to try and stay focused because you can’t just bask in it, you’ve got to bloody play!”

To record, they decamped to a French chateau owned by guitarist/violinist Saul Davies and, true to James’s independent spirit, built their own studio there and laid Hey Ma down in three weeks.

Jim insists they’re a world away from the bitterness of the split, saying decidedly: “We’re getting on better now than we have done for thousands of years.

“I think we needed a break, I think we just did, I think that’s done us the world of good. Musically, I think it’s brought us back really hungry but on the personal level, it’s just… you’re in each other’s pockets all the time.

“It’s not nine till five. Now I’m sharing an apartment with Tim for two weeks and we’re in the rehearsal rooms from midday through till, well, it was about 10pm last night. And then you come back and live together.

“Then you go on tour and you’re on a tour bus. You see a LOT of each other – too much! And it is better now, it’s a lot better.

“Will it last? I really don’t know. We’ll see how it gets on in a few years time. It’ll be all downhill from here, haha! Maybe we’re a little bit more mature. But it’s early days yet, let’s face it, early days!”

When James called it a day in 2001, nobody could begrudge them a hiatus from the rough ‘n’ tumble of the music industry. It was 20 years since they’d first started banging together tunes in their bedrooms, and, with hits like ‘Laid’, ‘Sit Down’ and ‘She’s a Star’, they’d given us a decent selection of pop treats. Yet, among the plethora of band reunions in the last 18 months, few have sparked as much interest as the Mancunian rockers, with a national tour selling out in minutes and fans demanding new material. We caught up with bassist Jim Glennie to find out how the old stagers are getting on.

The cover art of your new album Hey Ma [featuring a baby choosing between a revolver and some toy bricks] has caused a bit of a stir. Why did you choose that particular image?

“The main thing is that the song ‘Hey Ma’ is anti-war and about the idea of people irresponsibly playing with weapons. The track deals with America’s reaction to the twin towers. It’s about how obviously the twin towers coming down was a terrible thing, but that America’s reaction in Iraq is ten times worse than that. There’s a couple of anti-war songs on the record and the cover reflects that, but obviously it’s also a reflection of the gun culture in Britain and America.”

Were you surprised by the amount of press attention it received?

“It seems ridiculous that it’s kicked up such a fuss really. Yes, it is a very shocking image, but there’s stuff that people are shown every day that creates a glorification of guns. I’m not naming any names, but if you have a certain person who’s supposed to be cool holding a gun, well, that’s a bad sign you’re putting out. I suppose we figured some people would be bothered and that the Advertising Standards Authority might have a problem, but it just seemed like a good, strong, arresting image that represented a chunk of sentiment from the record.”

You were apparently the driving force behind the James reunion. Did you feel the band had unfinished business?

“As far as I was concerned, it was more a question of whether me, Tim and Larry could still write. Could we still write songs and did we have the same spark that occurred when we got together and started playing? If there wasn’t, we had no desire to do the same-old same-old again. It was about doing new material that we could be proud of and that could be the next stage of James.

And presumably that spark was there?

“It was there instantaneously. Me, Larry and Tim got together over a weekend, which was the first time I’d met Tim in six years, and there weren’t any high-powered meetings. We just got in the room and played. It was so easy and joyous and it was really good fun. We were like, ‘It’s still there! It’s still there!’ We needed a break though – I think it’s done us a world of good on a personal and musical level. It’s made us musically hungry and eager to prove something.”

You sold out some massive places on last year’s reunion tour. Were you shocked at the level of interest that there still was in the band?

“The tour was a real joy. It felt like we were giving fans back something that we’d taken away. In 2001 when we did the final tour we tried to make it a celebration of everything James had been, but there was an undercurrent of sadness there. People had smiles on their faces, but it was sad. This time it was the opposite. It wasn’t just a gig; we were giving them something back. When we played in Manchester especially, it was amazing and really emotional.”

It’s 27 years since the band formed in your bedroom in Manchester. Why do you think James have lasted the distance?

“I think it’s bloody minded self-belief. Our experience of the business has been that it’s a struggle. We’ve always had people telling us to stop and we’ve just battled away and made things happen ourselves. It’s always been like that. It feels the same now: we’re here on our own, but we’ve made a great record and we’re going to get it out. It’s survival of the fittest really and lesser bands have crumbled. We’re dogged and determined and we think we have something really special to give to people. If we bump into people in the industry that disagree, well sod them, because whenever we’ve got our music to people, they’ve loved it.”

How do you think James fit into the current musical climate?

“This is a great time for us to come back. I love the fact that there’s so many people now that are into alternative music. We struggled through the ’90s because everyone was into dance music. As much as I love dance music, nobody wanted a guitar. You couldn’t give one away! I think it’s healthy that there’s so many great bands out there and everyone wants to be in an indie band. Plus there’s a bunch of kids out there who don’t know who the bleeding hell we are, which is exciting.”

James have begun writing songs for another record, even though new album Hey, Ma isn’t out until next week.

Having reformed last year, six years after they split, Tim Booth told PS: “I can’t say for definite there will be another album after this one.”

Booth added: “We certainly intend to carry on after this album. You never know, but we have written some more songs in the past month.”

JAMES are the Manchester band who always made Liverpool their second home.

Now, after more than 25 years in the business, they’re back and singer Tim Burgess says he can’t wait to come back to the city that gave him one of the best nights of his life.

“I’ll always remember that Liverpool was the first place the crowd sang Sit Down back at us – it was the most powerful, humbling experience,” says Tim, sipping a cup of tea and settling down for a proper chat.

“James is, and always was, based around improvisation. That night, years and years ago, the crowd were really up for it, but Larry’s guitar string broke during Sit Down. The band started to take it down a bit while he got a replacement, but then we heard something. The crowd were singing the song back to us, getting louder and louder. They knew every word.

“That was before it’d even been released, so this was a huge thing for us. Larry had tears in his eyes. We were blown away.

“We hadn’t had any commercial success at that point – we were a live band with a good following but we couldn’t get a play on the radio. But suddenly, from that night, it was like it all changed for us.”

It certainly did. After an uphill struggle throughout the 1980s, they went on to become one of the most consistently successful acts of the 1990s, scoring a string of hit singles and enjoying success in America.

The band had its origins in early 80s Manchester, when Model Team, a band of rough Withington lads, spotted former public school boy Tim Booth at a student disco they had sneaked into.

Intrigued by Booth’s wild dancing style, they invited him to the band’s Scout hut to join the band as a dancer. He was quickly promoted to lead vocals as well as lyricist.

At The Haçienda they caught the attention of Tony Wilson of Factory Records, who signed them and got them a tour initially supporting The Smiths, and then on their own.

And after their memorable Liverpool gig, they had their big break (after years of brilliant obscurity) with the Manchester-centred indie-dance crossover of the early ’90s.

After more than two decades in the business, the band release Hey Ma, their first album in seven years, next week.

“We recorded it in a French châteaux,” explains Tim, 47. “ It was a really creative place, and we each had the facility to record in our bedrooms if we wanted to, which meant that we got loads done. So much, that we’ve had to leave a lot of it off this album, but there’s plenty to go at for next time.

“We picked the more up-tempo ones that would sound more jubilant live.”

What are the biggest differences from the James we’ve heard before?

“We’ve got more maturity as songwriters. And technology has allowed for more vibrant production I think. Every time we record I’m amazed at how much technology moves on. At home I use GarageBand, but when we started out, getting studio time was like gold dust. It’s a different world.”

The band has not forgotten the years of struggling, and the lessons learnt then still influence the new songs although there is nothing retro about them – they sound perfectly fresh.

But they are also the sort of cult band whose core audience stays loyal.

“We’ll be doing a lot of the new stuff, but also a bit of everything when we play live,” says Tim. “Hopefully we’ll get to see a lot of old friends in the crowd. Liverpool has always been so good to us that we’d like to treat it as a chance to meet up with some old friends again.”

AFTER picking the blandest band name they could think of, James toiled away in the pop wilderness for more than a decade honing their distinctive sound before success came.

When they finally pierced public consciousness in 1991 with their torch song Sit Down they were denied the top spot for four weeks by one hit wonder Chesney Hawkes.

Not that the chart position mattered. Along with Born Slippy a few years later it tapped into the zeitgeist and was picked up as one of those beery vaguely desperate 90s anthems.

The song was written to remind anyone who has been buffeted by life that they’re not alone, was created in 20 minutes. “Bang, it was there, fully formed,” says bassist and longest serving member Jim Glennie. “We knew we had something special and immediate. It was played, people loved it and it took on a life of it’s own.”

Perhaps it emerged so fully formed because, by the time they wrote it in the late 80s, they’d already been buffeted a fair amount themselves on their journey to it.

Glennie went from the regular arrests on the mean streets of Moss Side to a religious cult, and went from being the next best thing with Factory to being so skint they were paid to test flu drugs in medical experiments.

The band formed in 1981 in Whalley Range, Manchester when Paul Gilbertson convinced best friend Glennie to buy a bass guitar and form a band with him. They practiced in the latter’s bedroom with Gavan Whelan on drums, whose frenetic drum sound became a trademark. Drama student Tim Booth was recruited when they met at a student disco.

When the band was signed to iconic Manchester label Factory Records and filled gigs, they promisingly becoming known as the city’s “best kept secret”. But then they mistrusted Factory, believing them to rate style over substance, and disastrously signed to another label, Sire. “We thought they were the baddies, which of course they weren’t, they were sweethearts,” says Jim. Radio 1 wouldn’t play them, even when they filled the G-Mex twice, the momentum disappeared and they ground to a halt. “We couldn’t see a way forward,” remembers Jim.

During that dark period he turned to religion for solace.

“I went to the Buddhists to learn to meditate. I was blended into this sect called Life Aware.

He meditated for three hours a day and six at the weekend; his biggest stretch was three 18 hour days.

“It was just really about self sacrifice and lots of meditation based,” he says. “It was no meat, no alcohol, and lots of brown rice and local produce. They discouraged going to bars and clubs. It meant that for a while they were pigeon holed as organic carrot chomping Buddhists in the music press. “It was quite insular and the food was really, really boring but it got me clean and gave me a healthy lifestyle.”

Religion came “as the natural progression” from all the recreational drugs he took, which he says, calmed him down.

“Between 18 and 22 I was a very different person,” he recalls. “I was a messed up, unpleasant youth from Moss Side. I used to fight a lot and as I got older got more unpleasant. I was brought up in Moss Side for God’s sake. I was just angry.”

He’s embarrassed to go into particulars. “I’d get arrested!” he says, only half joking. “I used to be so ashamed of what I used to get up to. Friends were involved in knife crime and were quite violent. “We didn’t get involved in guns, they weren’t easily available. The idea of that person absolutely terrifies me now.

“So many of my friends are in prison and I would probably have been banged up too.”

For his teenage son Jake it’s been different. Aged 19 he’s one of a new student generation discovering James.

“Since we split up in 2001 a whole bunch of kids got into Indie music that I don’t think know James apart from bits and bobs on the radio,” says Jim.

“We’ve arrived for the first time in people’s lives and we thought ‘hang on a minute instead of playing big arenas let’s take it to small places.’ His son, he says, is into ‘grime’, a gritty type of rap. “It’s just him and a few mates who get a couple of tracks together and hand them out to friends. He’s so outside the business, which is wonderful. I’m like, ‘well you need to get a demo done and send it to the record companies’ and he’s says ‘we’re just doing it for the fun of it’. ‘Surely not’, Jim laughs to himself.

This time around though, his dad’s band is also more relaxed. They got back together because missed the creative process of making music together.

The “sort of” split in 2001 – it was never actually confirmed – followed the departure of Tim Booth.

“At the time we were touring and we were suppressing a lot to get through it,” recalls Jim. “It stirred up a lot of emotion and we’d fly off the handle with each other if we weren’t careful. It hit me more afterwards when I started missing writing songs.

“I don’t think any band writes songs the way we do,” says Jim. ” Nobody brings in anything prepared and something starts to appear when we’re playing. It moves and shifts, it’s so nebulous. Tim sings phonetics and bits of sentences which don’t make any sense and we listen to each other and have jams between eight and 25 minutes long and then listen back and fit pieces together. It’s just such a buzz.”

The generation they’re playing to can create singles on their home computers and fly up the charts on downloads. Jim’s by no means grudging. In fact there’s a sense of private glee that the record companies, who he thinks have missed a trick with the download revolution. He doesn’t view the slog they had through rose tinted spectacles.

“It’s good for kids to struggle and work hard for what they get.” he says. “But I wish it had fallen a little bit easier to us.”

James plays at Liverpool University on April 12.