Forty years into The Wonder Stuff’s existence, Miles Hunt remains gloriously unchanged. He still swears with the precision of a craftsman, still laughs like someone who’s seen too much to take anything too seriously, and still talks about music with the kind of unguarded affection that makes you remember why bands matter in the first place.

When we meet, he’s nursing a cold, a souvenir from a rare trip to London. “I live rurally and I don’t see many people” he says, half‑laughing, half‑complaining. “But I went to London and spent a fucking hour on the tube in rush hour. Exactly 72 hours later, I’ve got a cold.” It’s classic Miles: observational, irritated and amused, all at the same time.

He’s just turned 60, a milestone he marked not with a party, but with a ten‑hour pub residency. “I told my mates, I’ll be in this pub all day if you want to come along” he says. After celebrating his 30th, 40th and 50th in the countryside, he decided it was his turn to go to them. “For the big one.”

It’s a fitting prelude to talking about another milestone: The Wonder Stuff’s 40th anniversary, and the huge UK tour with Inspiral Carpets this October.

Ask Miles whether the anniversary brings disbelief or reflection and he doesn’t reach for sentimentality. He reaches for gratitude.

“We’re very grateful” he says simply. “Blessed that an audience has chosen to stick with us all these years” Only he and Malc remain from the original lineup — “the only living other original member” Miles notes with a bluntness that lands heavily — and that survival gives the milestone a different weight.

It’s less nostalgia, more endurance.

Miles’ memory of the band’s first rehearsal in March 1986 is startlingly vivid. He was 20, a drummer by trade, the “engine room” at the back of the stage. He’d never stood in front of a band with a guitar, never sung into a microphone with amplification behind him.

He borrowed Clint Mansell’s guitar and practice amp, walked a mile to the rehearsal space, and discovered a new version of himself. “I was walking on air” he says. “It was a revelation.” He returned to the flat and confronted Clint: Why didn’t you tell me how fantastic it feels to sing and play guitar in a band?

If his younger self had been told he’d still be doing it 40 years later? “He’d be thrilled”

Miles doesn’t hesitate when asked what he’s most proud of.

“The records” he says. “I’m really proud of the records”

He’s written around a hundred songs, and only a “less than handful” are ones he’d prefer never to hear again. Revisiting Never Loved Elvis recently reminded him how much the band, and producer Mick Glossop, elevated his acoustic sketches into something bigger.

And then there’s Martin Gilkes. “Martin was a genius” Miles says. “He could bring anything to life”

It’s clear that, for all his self‑deprecation, Miles knows the band’s catalogue has weight. It’s the thing that’s lasted.

Most great gigs blur together for Miles — if they go well, he barely remembers them. But one night in Kawasaki, Tokyo, stands out like a scar.

“There had been a huge inter‑band argument. No one was speaking. Miles refused to play the planned set. Instead, he began calling out random song titles — some the bass player had never played”. - “Malc was running over to him shouting notes” Miles recalls, grinning at the memory. “We tore through 40 or 50 songs, way over time, fuelled entirely by spite and adrenaline”.

And when they came off stage?

“Everyone looked at each other and said, ‘Well, that was great, can we do that more often?’”

Spite, it turns out, can be healing.

I asked Miles what younger bands wouldn’t believe about touring in the late 80’s and 90’s, Miles said, “Border stops where officials emptied the band’s gear. Carnet documents that cost a fortune. Weeks away from home with no communication except postcards and expensive hotel phone calls” - “And thanks to BREXIT, It’s still happening in 2026” he adds, half amused, half exasperated.

“If you spent 35 minutes on a phone call from a hotel in Detroit in the early 90’s, that would cost you $150” he says. “Today, bands FaceTime from buses with their inbuilt Wi-FI whilst rolling through Wyoming without a care in the world!”

Miles admits the best stories will never be told publicly, they involve people who wouldn’t thank him for sharing. But he offers one gem involving Vic Reeves. “We once ended up in the office of the head of the Flying Squad at half six in the morning in New Scotland Yard, drinking whiskey out of plastic beakers on his desk”

He laughs. “That’s about as far as we’ll go with that one”

The Wonder Stuff and Inspiral Carpets have crossed paths at festivals for decades, but one meeting at Leeds Festival stands out.

Clint Boon sheepishly admitted he was writing music for children’s cartoons. Miles lit up — he was doing the same!

“It’s been said before that all we do is write childish ditties,” Miles says. “So I guess we’ve found the right place for it”

Asked about which tracks will always make the setlist, Miles agreed that some songs are immovable.

“I like opening with Red Berry Joy Town, partly for its statement of intent, partly because its spacious arrangement helps the sound engineer adjust to the room”.

Other essentials include:

Here Comes Everyone
On the Ropes
Ten Trenches Deep (technically a B-side)

“Piece of Sky appears about 80% of the time, but I also considers who’s on stage, especially violinist Erica” — when choosing the night’s mix.

“You’ve got to keep the audience happy first and foremost, they’re the reason you’re there performing in the first place!” he says.

When asked about whether Astley in the Noose would make the setlist, Miles doesn’t hold back. “Absolute rubbish. That’ll never get played again. Not in my lifetime.”

But other B-sides do appear. Goodbye Fatman has resurfaced in recent years, and Ten Trenches Deep remains a permanent fixture.

“We don’t go out year after year playing the same set” he says. “You always want to mix it up”

The band plays Brixton Academy in December for the anniversary run. Miles knows exactly what he’ll be thinking on stage:

“I’m trying to see if there’s anybody I know staring at us from behind the windows under the public balcony, drinking free booze… and I’ll thinking, I can’t wait to be up there in about 20 minutes with a fresh Guinness”

Some things never change.

Miles doesn’t sugarcoat his feelings about the world. “The future looks darker every day” he says. “Very dystopian”

But personally, he’s excited about the band’s plan to get into the studio next year and work toward a tenth Wonder Stuff album, saying that it’ll be “a nice way to spend some money”

Miles’ hopes for the next decade are simple: “That everyone in the current lineup is still alive” he says. “I couldn’t face the idea of auditioning and training up another drummer or bass player”

He hopes for health, happiness, creativity — and no new technology designed to make human-made music obsolete!

“I’m just clinging on to the last part of the music industry”

Ahead of the 16 date UK anniversary tour, The Wonder Stuff play Beautiful Days Festival on Sunday 23rd August. Miles promises a quick in-and-out, but one thing’s for certain, he’ll happily take that Guinness!