A few years ago Ian Brown was possibly one of luckiest men alive. He was in a band with arguably three of the greatest musicians on the planet and to make things even better they were his mates. They�d grabbed guitar pop from the gutter, cut its shaggy hair down to size, taken it out for a night�s clubbing in Manchester and got it well and truly pissed. Then, of course, there was the morning after.

Innovative guitarist John Squire and disturbingly gifted drummer Reni jumped ship, leaving Brown and Mani, the two remaining members, with one almighty hangover.

So, what did they do next? Go underground and left of field to continue the experimentation of the Roses under a new name? Disappear with their fortune to a hide-away in Columbia? Retire in order to keep their gleaming reputation intact? Well no, of course not. They go and draft in a few cheesy session musicians, an ex Simple Minds guitarist and a female skin-head �dancer� and stumble through their classics with a backing band who�d have been more at home playing �The Road To Hell� than �I Am The Resurrection�. What the world was waiting for? I think not.

So, just as it was being presumed that he�d had the towel thrown in for him and that round one might simply be handed over to The Seahorses without so much as a featherweight tickle fight , Ian Brown�s tripped over his boot-laces, landed on his feet and delivered a sucker-punch to John Squire and chums in the process. A surprise? Well, maybe not. The fighting talk�s certainly been there all along, there�s just been a lack of concrete evidenceto support it (see Reading �96).

In The Stone Roses he was, with a little help from his friends, the beat poet of a generation, but nothing more. There was no chance, not by any stretch of the imagination, that he could do it on his own. The Stone Roses were very much (before �The Second Coming� at least) an amalgamation of four explosive imaginations. If any of them had gone solo Ian Brown would have had seemed the least likely to succeed. He had the arrogance, he gave them an edge, but without them he would have been nothing.

Little did we know that this trademark arrogance would, in the end, see him through. Not wanting to forever pale in comparison to his former colleauges he taught himself how to play guitar, bass and a variety of other electronic gubbins, as well as taking the opportunity to bang the drums all by himself too. He was determined that if anyone else could do it, he could do it better, and on his own.

The result is surprisingly magnificent. The Monkey King has returned to take his crown. Some of it may sound like him fumbling around in the dark with a drum machine, a toy guitar and a copy of �The Stone Roses�, but on the whole he has crafted a highly listenable pop record with a distinct edge.

Experimentation and lo-fi can sometimes be mistaken for laziness or lack of talent. Ian Brown proves his worth by pulling off both of those things without sounding remotly cheap or talentless. From the marching intensity of the glorious �My Star� to the Roses tinted �Can�t See Me�, through to the accoustic �Nah Nah� and the tripping beats of �Deep Pile Dreams�, he�s easily excelleed any expectations that we might have had. There�s even room for cutting social observation with the inspired line: "There are no lions in England". Well done Ian, you certainly haven�t lost it.

John Squire certainly gets it in the neck here, with almost every lyric on the album offering an interpretation of their feud. But has Ian Brown won? Well it all depends what grounds they�re competing on. The Seahorses were never intended to be a continuation of the Roses forward looking innovation. The Seahorses are a vehicle for Squire�s remarkable guitar abilities to be pushed to their peak. The Seahorses just like to write classic rock songs. At this they succeed.

They were probably never really in competition, but Ian Brown seems to have created a battle. He wants to get the vote of the Stone Roses fan base and rub John Squire�s face in the mud. He may have claimed his own little moral victory in this case.

He still wants to be adored and I for one don�t have a problem with obliging.