Following a hectic and often hair-raising year, including four months spent aboard a bus touring the States, THE MISSION are propelling themselves into 1988 with a new set of music which threaten to reshape rock 'n' roll to their own masterplan. Report NEIL PERRY. Rapport PETER ANDERSON
JEZ, MISSION roadie and budding Bono lookalike, takes a deep breath before plunging loudly into a heated swimming pool.
"Bloody 'ell!' he splutters, his eager exuberance nearly resulting in a bellyful of warm chlorine.
"This new LP.., the lads have cracked it. I'm really bloody excited, an' everything !"
Late one November night at The Manor-- a huge and splendid residential studio set in a quiet Oxford backwater --- the end of The Mission's eleven week stay is drawing near.
With the last weekend approaching and the final notes of the band's new LP 'Children' recorded, high spirits aren't confined to just the swimming pool.
In the spacious kitchen, the man they call Mental Mick Mish rushes back to his seat in readiness; seconds later a new Mission song called 'Hymn For America' careers from two speakers.
As furious, galloping drums kick into a vicious metallic riff Mick explodes into action, wildly attacking an imaginary drum kit, eyes bulging as a huge crowd roars in the mega-stadiurn of his mind. Mick would like to own a wristwatch with just the word 'Now' on it.
Nearby sits a tired but jubilant Wayne Hussey; in his arms a softly cooing bundle of joy called Hannah, his four week old daughter. Wayne eyes his drummer friend for a second, head shaking with mirth, before returning his attention to his very own baby girl,
"You are beautiful, aren't you? Yes, you are. Goo goo goo. Coochie coochie coo. Aren't you gorgeous? Yes, you are. Coochie coochie coochie...'
As the Mission have changed, so this is not quite the same Wayne Hussey, not the one so beloved of the nation s gossip columns 12 months ago.
1987 saw The Mission working hard and playinq harder. They performed in huge stadiums, dingy little toilets and all points in between, all but running themselves into the ground in the process.
Wayne Hussey became good copy as one vomit-stained nightclub saga flowed into the next, The Mission gaining a certain reputation in the fast and loose rock 'n' roll lifestyle stakes.
Loved or loathed, revered or reviled, few were ignoring them.
Mention children, and Wayne will tell you he's undergone certain changes as far as rock 'n' roll is concerned; with 'Children', The Mission have made a rock album that will propel them into a different league altogether.
Be it the driving melodic force of 'Beyond The Pale', the sultry tones of 'Heat' or the razor-sharp nightmare charge of 'Hymn For America'; 'Children' is the sound of a band reshaping rock to their own masterplan.
'Tower Of Strength', the first single from the LP, is a song of epic proportions, a hypnotic, symphonic anthem released just as The Mission reach their second birthday. Like the other eight tracks on 'Children', it was produced by former Led Zeppelin bassist John Paul Jones, who also provided some keyboards.
The Mission are the first band he's worked with since Zeppelin's demise 12 years ago.
"He thought we were awful when he saw us at Elland Road with U2," Wayne laughs, as he lounges on a cosy Manor sofa.
"But even then he recognized that we were a band, He said, Well, it was a bit slack lads, I was going to get on the next bus home. He's easy to work with, very proud and aware of what zeppelin achieved, but totally unaffected by it all,
"We say, We're doing this on our next tour and he says, Oh Yeah, we did seven nights at Earl's Court and Madison Square Gardens, Oh, God..,"
The U2 supports at Leeds and Edinburgh formed a ragged end to The Mission's first world tour, which began way back in November '86 with the release of 'Gods Own Medicine', By the time the band got to America six months later, the dehumanising process had begun, and the idea that The Mission would celebrate their second birthday in one piece seemed increasingly unlikely.
"'Hymn For America' sums up that episode in LA," says Wayne, referring to when bassist Craig Adams finally snapped, wreaking a trail of destruction which ended when he was knocked flat by a police van in front of the band's hotel. The song is probably Wayne's finest vocal performance to date.
"Up until that American tour I never really saw this band existing for very long. Like, it happened and it was brilliant, and as soon as it wasn't brilliant I thought, finish it. Then America, and a lot of good and bad things happened. You could feel it building up and someone had to crack. , Craig is a little more volatile than the rest of us,
"We Were on our bus, and Craig said, I m going, I don't want to be in the f**king band; He punched the window. broke his hand, and stormed out. Everyone sat down and cried! But I thought; f*** it, we're going to finish this f***kng tour, regardless. If we'd all come home, we would have split up.
And it wasn't until they entered The Manor that The Mission could really pull themselves together; one thing that they did know for sure was that their American excess was an experience never to be repeated.
"A lot has happened to us in such a short time," continues Wayne. "My attitude has changed. A year ago I wanted to be a pop star, I still do, but I won't play the game in the same way. Around the time of 'Wasteland' or 'Severina' my head was going, it was all happening so fast and it freaked me out.
"I thought I knew what I was doing a year ago, but there are certain things I couldn't go through again. I'm not doing as many interviews anymore, I've had my say, people know I'm a big mouth. We live in f***ing cloud cuckoo land anyway, I don't know what's happening in the clubs or on the streets. ,man, I don't know. I haven't got a clue what goes on out there anymore."
Like the rest of the band, Wayne has been living with the album for a long time. Not that his enthusiasm is tainted one bit.
"There's more substance to it, it's more powerful. I also think it's less instant, although the lyrics are more pointed. My belief is such that I can see it being massive.
"The predominant themes are children, heat and America, it's a concise ' history of the last year. We were at Ian Copeland's house and in his basement he had a drumkit and guitars and mikes and stuff. Mick and Simon started playing, then Ian joined in, and then Ian's little girl started to sing with 'em! Children at play..."
Wayne Hussey has mellowed considerably. Last year's amorous pop charlatan has come this year's righteous rocker, although the Hussey heart is still brandished on his sleeve; if anything, his vulnerability has grown with the band's profile.
"What J was saying earlier, about not knowing what's going on... quite often I think your own self importance grows, you perpetuate things in your own mind. Someone said to me the other day, When you listen to your words you're a right miserable bastard, but knowing you you're not! That's the conflict.,, will the real Wayne Hussay stand up?!"
With the birth of his daughter and the rebirth of The Mission after America -- the sense of family is very strong.
"Having the baby, having her here, it makes me realize that making records is a pretty meaningless thing. It means a lot to me, and the records mean a Jot to a lot of people, but put it against a four week old baby...
"It's the best and biggest thing that's happened to me." continues Father Hussey, "I love this band dearly but it is no longer the biggest thing in my life. Being a father isn't a responsibility, it's a pleasure! It just changes your whole perspective, changes your whole life."
It was also at The Manor that the band's respective parents all met for the first time.
"I think a lot of minds were put to rest' that Weekend. Mick's Dad said that watching us four together was like in the war, soldiers' camaraderie or whatever. But then Jez, his opinion I probably value more than the hand's. Because he's slightly more objective, like he's the first member of The Mission.
"As a whole unit we're very strong, we're the kind of people who always look on the positive side. There's a lot of intelligence in this band, I'm dwarfed by the other three. But our expectations are so high, of ourselves, we forget we're such a young band."
Mick Brown, an ex-trucker still hopelessly in love with trucks, takes a break from invisible drums to show off his design for the LP sleeve.
"I got way too drunk that night," be says, talking of the first Mission gig proper at London's Electric Ballroom.
"The drum kit made it worse, everything that could break did. I remember coming off, I ran straight outside and started banging my head against a wall. Billy Duffy's stood behind me going, 'You should be more professional!' And I'm braining myself, thinking, Tell me about it..."
Two years on and he's still breathing, eating, drinking and throwing up The Mission. On his Harley Davidson T-shirt are the words, "If I tried to explain, you wouldn't understand".
"There's always been a good attitude generally. Whenever the shit hits the tan, so far anyway, there's been an ability to cope with it. It's difficult to reason, it's more emotional than rational. I'm believing more and more in following your heart as much as you can. I like dreaming, it's stuff like that that makes it all worth going for."
The last Weekend at The Manor, and The Mission headline a Charity gig at Oxford Poly; some of the Manor staff ready looking tearful at the band's imminent departure.
Back at the Manor, in a relatively quiet corner stands Wayne, oblivious to the post-gig party as he copes well with his daughter's essential late-night nappy change.
The New Year and The Mission are in another recording studio, this time in London, putting the finishing touches to various B-sides. Together with guitarist Simon Hinkler, Craig has written a grandiose orchestral theme, and they play it back for the first time.
"Can we put cannons on at?" inquires Craig. "Goon, let's bung loads of cannons on it... "
At the mention of America and his temporary loss of reason, Craig smiles. "I was completely knackered!
"'I've stopped going onstage out of it. When you do it's complete panic and absolute paranoia for the first three songs. Now, because I've stopped doing those things, it's sort of... more of a laugh. Before, we were mixing it with other things that became more important, which was our own fault. It all got a bit stupid..."
Not that the experience has dulled Craig's -- or The Mission's desire to go on the road. It was simply time to be sensible.
"We had to! It was a no option thing, otherwise someone would have been seriously injured. We couldn't have carried on like that. It was dreadful, you made your own rules, perhaps that's why I went to go on tour again, something rotten! Let's get out and break something! But not us this time, other things. Not people, I've mellowed out me, I have....don't smoke by half as many cigarettes."
Fanatical Leeds United supporter and ex-member of infamous outfit The Elyis Preslays From Hell, Craig prefers to remain in the background as far as The Mission are concerned; preferably in his own room.
"When our parents came down to The Manor, we all gave our bedrooms up and had to share, it was like the first tour again. Four of you in a room and someone would fart....like, shit, I hate sharing a room with these people. "
A little later Simon Hinkler, the big guitar-toting cowboy from Sheffield, sits and nods slowlv as he talks of his true vocation. "I genuinely think 'Tower Of Strength' is incredible.., whoever did it, it would be one of my all time favourite songs. It's excellent. I just want to get out and play the songs now, that's when they take on new meanings."
It is the patent Hinkler guitar attack that is most immediately striking as far as The Mission '88 are concerned; on 'Children', the guitarist has emerged as the band's secret weapon...
"I'm in this band, more than anything else, for rockin' out. Touring, playing live, having a lot of volume coming from me amps behind me. I get off on it; it's one of the few things I do get off on.
"The rest of the time I walk around in a daze, really. You know, photo sessions, interviews, meeting foreign record company people. I don't really want to do all that. Those people talk a different language to me, a stupid language, a language of things that aren't essentially important. I really can't bring myself to speak like that." He shrugs and smiles.
"I've got f*** all to say, really, Mostly because I think anything I say doesn't make that much difference. I got fed up with trying to be clever and smart and having my wits about me. I've long since decided to be tough and stupid..."
When John Paul Jones asked his management to spread the news that he was looking for production work, The Mission wasn't a name on the tip of his tongue.
"I was interested in more work, but it's hard to make it known yourself... after a situation like Zeppelin no one will believe that you ever want to do anything again, or in some cases are even capable of doing anything again."
Having worked with Ben E King and on some classical projects as well as his own solo efforts, why choose to work with The Mission?
"Yes, I ask myself that. Phonogram approached my management, and they sent me some tapes and every press cutting since, oh, 1949. I listened to the tapes and thought, They sound great. Then I read the press cuttings and thought, no way. It was only after I met them that I realized you shouldn't believe all you read in the press."
JPJ hit it off with The Mission immediately, and soon acquired a taste for Metallica T-shirts and staying up very late. He also played keyboards and made The Mission sound like they always should have done. What of the results?
"Utterly fantastic. I'm extremely pleased with it, they're a good bunch of lads to work with. They seem to like it... They don't throw things at me. You see, I knew how they felt, it's one of the things I can bring to that situation. I can see things from their point of view."
And how did The Mission first treat this ex-member of Led Zeppelin?
"Well... they were a little bit in awe of the name, I suppose. But that soon broke down with personal contact, a drink and then the abuse followed.
"The thing is, once you start with this lot it never bloody ends, it's a lifetime contract I daren't produce another band. I think nobody can say goodbye. We've never actually said, This is the end of it, it's been great, The last thing we always say is, See you next week."
In another studio in another corner of London, Mick and Wayne listen to the final mix of 'Tower Of Strength' at deafening volume, their fixed grins and exchanged looks of joy saying it all.
"We're a bunch of lads just f***ing doing what we want." says Mick, well aware that by the end of the year they may not be just any old bunch of lads.
"it's so important to us it's not true, but by the same token we can still trash it. It's music, if we didn't exist it would be somebody else."
"And there is no hierarchy in this band," stresses Wayne, "that was developed by the media. And it got to the point where I was alienated."
"That's my biggest fear that," admits Mick, "being shut away. And if I'm aware of that, think how much worse it could be for Wayne? I mean, no one knows who the f*** I am! I've sat in a dressing room -- right?--- full of fans -right? -- and there's been somebody next to me going, It's only Mick's autograph we need now!"
What all this boils down to is. The Mission have stopped dicking about. And coming from this particular load of two year olds, that means big trouble for everybody else.
With the look of one who has obtained Nirvana and then swapped it for something better, Mental Mick Mish completes a final drum roll on the Manor's kitchen table. He leaps up, flips the tape, presses play and waits expectantly.
"You know," he ponders, "it's being so cheerful that keeps me going..."