Damon Minchella – Blues Man

As told to Rob Sawyer

Damon Minchella, whose bass guitar playing was integral to the sound of Ocean Colour Scene, Paul Weller’s live band and, most recently, Richard Ashcroft, will be releasing his memoir, You'd Look Good On A Donkey: Britpop, Basslines & Bad(ish) Decisions, early this year.

Of Italian heritage on his paternal side, Damon followed in the family tradition of devotion to the Toffees. Alongside Leon Osman, he forms part of Billinge’s holy trinity – the third member being Richard Ashcroft, who was born in the very same hospital. A promising goalkeeper before injury struck, who would receive coaching from the likes of former Everton shot stopper Dai Davies, he would, instead, make his way in the music world after relocating to the Midlands. However, he would appear between the Goodison Park sticks at Dave Watson’s testimonial in 1997.

Splitting his time between Italy and Monmouthshire, Damon now possesses a PhD and used to lecture at a university in Cardiff. He continues to make music and tour, notably with the aforementioned former The Verve frontman. Here, in his own words, he reflects on his life which has been shaped by music and his enduring passion for the Mersey Blues.

The Billinge Holy Trinity

It's crazy, the fact that Richard Ashcroft was born in the same hospital as me. And the record of child complications, including deaths at Billinge Infirmary, was appalling, which makes it all the more remarkable that we both survived. Maybe Rich will get a blue plaque there, one day!

I was only in Billinge until I was three weeks old, staying at my grandma’s house as my mum and dad were between houses at the time, moving from West Derby to the poshness, in comparison, of Ainsdale. My dad worked in the car industry, he was there when Ford opened Halewood (incredibly, they forgot to build loos) and had moved up into management. So, I was born a Wool but then became a Posh!

My dad’s family was from Frosinone near Monte Cassino, which is well known by World War Two historians for its use of flamethrowers. My grandad had lived in Naples for a while so ended up supporting their football team but there was also a family affinity with Juventus as they were a top team at the time, and Napoli weren’t. Where I live in Italy, now, the local team is Pisa. If you think the rivalry between Liverpool and Everton is fierce, the rivalry between Pisa and Fiorentina goes back centuries – to the early 1300s. Basically, they were states at war. It has calmed down a bit, but the ill feeling has transferred to football – so the derbies this season in Serie A will be spicy.

Damon and Rich — the Boys from Billinge

There was a whole clan of the Minghellas, our name was misspelled as Minchella, with a C rather than a G – when my grandad and his family arrived in Liverpool. Anthony Minghella, the filmmaker, was my dad’s second cousin. In Newcastle you have Minchelli – but it should all have been Minghella. They left Italy because of poverty, and you could go to these ‘golden’ places like Liverpool, Newcastle and Isle of Wight for a better life, maybe.

My side of the family got off the boat at Liverpool, this would have been around just the build up to World War One. My granddad, Arnesto, grew up in a poor house in Liverpool as his dad, Angelo, had gone off to fight for Italy in World War One (on the side of the Allies) and his mum couldn’t afford to look after him. My dad was born just before the Second World War.

It was always going to be Everton FC for the family, back then they were the dominant team of the city of Liverpool. My grandfather transferred the allegiance to my dad, and he took me to my first match when I was six. We won 5-2 and Bob Latchford scored. I thought ‘Oh my God, this is amazing’ and my dad warned me that it wouldn’t always be like that. As a kid I imagined what it would be like walking up the steps at Goodison, but when I did it for the first time it was so much more. That team had people like Mike Lyons, Dave Thomas, Mike Pejic – and then we had Gordon Lee as manager who seemed to suck the life out of things. When he got rid of Duncan McKenzie it broke my mum’s heart. She’s an Evertonian and she had more than a soft spot for Duncan!

As a kid, I was pretty quick so I would play on the wing when outfield, but I normally played in goal. George Wood, with his massive hands and big blonde bowl-head haircut, was my goalkeeping hero growing up. He had those woolen gloves with the plastic bobbled bits on them. I was a young goalkeeper so I got hold of a pair – they were fine until it rained and the wool got soaked and the plastic bits would sag. I had played for Ainsdale initially when I was a kid (I think we morphed from Ainsdale FC to United, but memory is a bit cloudy on that) which then led on to training with Southport FC at Haig Avenue. I was getting onto their youth books but also having sessions over at Marine just before the leg break. I think my dad had me tarted out to whoever was interested!

Dai Davies was moonlighting from Tranmere doing the evening coaching sessions there, which was incredible for me as a blue and a ‘keeper. I have a vivid memory of him teaching me the 'thumbs together and head behind your hands' rule when a hard shot is coming at you face on – the idea being if it goes through your thumbs then your face will stop it. The next day I was watching him play for Tranmere and he let one in straight through his hands with his head nowhere to be seen! I said nothing about it in the next session, of course!

The end for me came in a training game. Some new kid was being tried out and wanted to impress; he tried to go round me, so I stuck my leg out to get him and/or the ball, which is what Dai Davies always taught me. He went in studs up and fractured my tibia and fibula. I was in plaster from my toes to my nuts for six months – so when it finally came off, my leg was withered, it was horrendous. I tried to build it back up but I had missed so many months. I was 5ft9" as a teenager and everyone expected me to get to 6ft4” – thank God I broke my leg and stopped playing, as I never got any taller! Jordan Pickford looks small, but he is still 6ft – it would never have worked for me at my height. By the time I had recovered from the broken leg, I had started playing guitar. Fortunately, there were no height requirements for being a musician, so it was serendipity.

Following the Blues from the Midlands

When I was in my teens, my dad went to work for Chrysler-Talbot and we moved to Birmingham. It was a culture shock living there – everyone there thought I was some sort of stereotypical Scouse hard nut. They thought I was from Toxteth, rather than Ainsdale, while I couldn't make out anything they were saying with their accent. At school, I’d have my Everton holdall, while everyone else had rucksacks with The Jam or whatever written on them. So that made me stand out even more. At lunchtime, everyone would try to steal everyone else’s bags and throw them on the school roof, but no one would go near my holdall. It wasn’t because I was hard, but it seemed to be some kind of sacred object that stood out.

All the Midlands teams were shit at the time, which was brilliant, while the Blues were the best team in the country, during their mid-80s glory. So, we were travelling up to Liverpool all the time, parking at my godmother’s house in Anfield and walking to the ground. As you crossed Stanley Park, you’d start to smell the horse shit and the burgers and then head straight into the Winslow, always. That was the ritual I carried on with my son when he was six. When I went to the Ipswich game, the second to last at Goodison last season, I knew I had to get into the Winny, even though I knew it would be full. My mates had been in there since 11 in the morning and they had kept me a space, so I was squeezing through the crowd to get to it.

Browsing The Evertonian magazine in 2003

My dad had gone in the Boy’s Pen when he was little – thank God I never had to go through that. His dad had a season ticket in Bullens, so that’s where we went – the Ipswich game last season was the very first time that I’d been in the Park End. For me, you can’t change allegiance – when I moved from Merseyside to the Midlands you had glory hunting kids there with Liverpool shirts on. I get it if someone's family used to be from there, but it’s just all the telly clappers. That’s why I really admire people who support shit teams — like people supporting Peterborough when there are other teams nearby.

Oddly, one of my most abiding Goodison memories was a bad one from the Gordon Lee era when we lost 1-0 to Bristol City. We were doing well and there was a question if we could win the league. So, me and my dad were really excited. It was pissing down with rain, we were inexplicably appalling, they were terrible but scored and everyone started throwing cushions down from the stand. It was the most bizarre thing I have ever seen. It shouldn't do, but it sits above all the amazing things we did!

Other vivid memories include Dave Thomas beating three people and slinging it over for Bob Latchford and you knew it would be a goal. And then there was the incredible stuff in the 1980s when we were just wonderful and annihilating everyone. Neville Southall would rush out, one on one with the forward, knowing he was going to save it.

Big Duncan’s first game back at home for us after returning from Newcastle in 2002 was against Charlton, when we beat them 3-1. When the subs were warming up, everyone was singing: ‘Duncan, Duncan Ferguson…’ and he wasn’t even stripped and ready to go. The manager then thought ‘Sod it’ and sent him on, and he scored twice. Someone had to piss Duncan off to really make him play. The only time I have been nervous meeting a former player was meeting him — it was after the Coventry game in 1998 when we drew 1-1 to stay up. Barry Horne took me into the Players’ Lounge and introduced me to Duncan. He just said, ‘Alright’ and walked out; I was relieved as I couldn't speak. Afterwards, in a Liverpool hotel, Dave Watson once gave me half of a cigar — but he had smoked half of it, and it was soaking wet. In 2005 when we limped over the line to qualify for the Champions League, I was there for the Newcastle game. The recent scrapes with relegation were sheer terror, followed by relief — but that relief quickly turns to anger.

But the one Everton memory that sticks out most to me was Wembley for the 1984 Milk Cup Final against the RS. The game was whatever it was, but we had not long moved from Merseyside to Birmingham, so for me to see 100,000 Scousers together, with no break between them, singing ‘Merseyside’ was my greatest football memory. It was one of the last great shows of unity between us and them. This was after I had broken my leg playing football. My godfather was a Red; he traveled to the Milk Cup Final with us. Bless him; as I couldn't take my crutches, he made me a walking metal stick and spray-painted it blue and white!

First Bass

As a kid I hadn’t really been arsed about music. I was more interested in my dog, what my mates were doing, watching war films on TV and football. Mum and Dad would play the Beatles records all of the time (Mum had actually been at school with George Harrison, but she never made a big thing about it.) and there were some things I liked that were played on the radio. Then, just after we moved to Birmingham, I heard the Bunnymen tune, The Cutter, on the radio. Everything changed. It was mystical and enticing and I started listening to more of their songs. Then I learned they were from Liverpool and on tour and would be playing soon near me. So, I watched them play — the first gig I ever went to. They looked so different, the way they set the stage up, everything was wrong — but right. So, this was a whole different world, and it was mine. Then I listened to the Velvet Underground and the Stooges and this whole world of crazy weird shit — and I decided that somehow, I was going to do that, whatever ‘that’ was, for a living.

Damon with his Dixie Dean shirt on while supporting Oasis with Richard Ashcroft

There was something about Les on the bass for the Bunnymen that attracted me, he was so cool — so it was always the bass for me (Les is a Red, but we can forgive him for that). I pestered my mum to get me a bass with an amp from Kays Catalogue for 20 quid and that was it. I didn’t know what to do — the first song I played along to was Red House by Jimi Hendrix — I didn’t realise that there was no bass on it, it was just Jimmy and the drummer. I thought I was getting good at it until a friend came round and pointed out that I hadn’t tuned it! I never had a lesson but slowly worked it out — so through perseverance and happenstance I eventually got it right.

I wouldn't have got to meet loads of my Everton heroes if I hadn’t played the guitar, which is weird. Barry Horne, a hero when we last won something, came backstage at a Paul Weller gig I was playing in in Manchester. He tapped me on the shoulder, I turned around and he saw that I was wearing an Everton polo shirt. He said, ‘**** me’ and I replied, ‘**** me, Barry Horne!’ He didn’t know I was an Evertonian, so we got chatting over a few drinks and have been friends ever since. When Barry had moved from Everton to Birmingham City and I was there making an Ocean Colour Scene album, he was living down the road from me. After his training finished, me and him went down to the pub for a couple of pints. These painters and decorators, who were thought were Brummies, kept looking over at where me and Barry were sitting. Then they came over and it turned out they were Scousers who had come down to the Midlands to do a job. They were both Evertonians and Ocean Colour scene fans and they were saying, ‘I can’t ****ing believe it, Damon and Barry, together!’ It was like some mystical ley lines had been crossed, and their minds were utterly blown.

I got introduced to Trevor Sreven by Chris Evans on TFI Friday and we are still friends now. The brother of the guy who did photography for Ocean Colour Scene was a graphic designer and he’d been commissioned to update the Sunderland FC badge. So, he went up there and on Peter Reid’s manager’s desk was a CD of Mosley Shoals — so Tony’s brother tells him all about me being an Evertonian and I ended up meeting him. When I met Adrian Heath, once, I told him that he was the only man that ever made me cry. When he scored the FA Cup Final semi winner against Southampton at Highbury, I spontaneously burst into tears as the ball hit the back of the net. Maybe one day I’ll meet Leighton Baines and I can give him some guitar pointers. I’m sure we’d get on as he’s a cool fella and is really into his music.

Travelling around the world, you bump into Evertonians in odd places. The weirdest thing ever was in Tokyo when we were on tour in Japan. I was in a lift when the doors opened and in got Ian Astbury of The Cult, wearing an Everton top — and I had an Everton shirt on as well!

The Big Move

Hyde Park Toffee

I haven’t been to Bramley-Moore, yet. I was going to the Newcastle game but then something came up. It will be weird when I do go, with it not being Goodison. That’s where we have all of these things melded to, like my oldest mate’s ashes being scattered at St Luke’s and it being a place that people who are no longer with us, like my dad, used to go to. We now have this beautiful new stadium, but it will take a hundred years for it to have that history — by which time we won’t be here. It’s lovely that The La’s There She Goes has been taken on to the new stadium. My manager also sort of looks after Lee Mavers, and every time he goes round to see him, Lee opens the door with an Everton shirt on.

I would love to play in a concert at Bramley Moore. It may be too big for Richard to fill — but you never know. Richard is a United supporter, but he’s always been sound about it, even when they were winning everything. When we beat them at Old Trafford this season, I was straight on the phone to him! Mani, from the Stone Roses and Primal Scream, was another huge Red. I was up in Manchester for his funeral. He was one of the nicest, kindest people you could ever meet. What I loved about him is that he could remember everyone's name. Even if he met someone randomly in a pub, the next time he’d see them he’d still remember their name — and unlike a lot of famous people, he would always have time for everyone and would want to know what people are up to. He was a diamond; people like him are few and far between.

Putting pen to paper

Me and my wife would be walking the dogs and chatting, and I’d remember a story that I hadn’t told before — and when we were out with friends for a drink I’d remember something else that I’d done that she had never heard. So, she said, ‘You've got to write a book before you forget it all.’ I was spending a lot of time alone in Italy, so I started writing it and a trickle of other memories started coming through. It took me six months to write and another three months to edit it and tidy it up, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It feels like the right time to do it — I have got nothing to prove, and I don’t mind if people get annoyed. If my old bandmates don’t get to the end of the book, my phone might get quite hot, but if they do get to the end, I hope they’ll go, “oh, ok.”

You'd Look Good On A Donkey: Britpop, Basslines & Bad(ish) Decisions is published on 20 January, 2026 by Backstage Books.