A decade and a half ago, when the Smiths were at the top of their game as England’s latest greatest hitmakers, it would have been unthinkable to find a picture of the band’s guitarist, Johnny Marr, plastered on the cover of a magazine like Guitar Player. Yes, Marr was a guitar hero of sorts. But he was a new kind of guitar hero for a new breed of rock fan. Weaned on the lessons and dynamics of punk rock, guitarists like Marr were slaves to the song, not the solo. Over the course of seven albums in a short five-year career, Marr committed only one full-fledged guitar solo to tape. Instead, very much like Peter Buck working with Michael Stipe in R.E.M. on this side of the Atlantic, he found ways to weave deceptively intricate melodic backdrops for his unconventionally arty singer, Morrissey. And in that he helped create a new prototype of the guitar hero as a deft, thoughtful, often innovative, and usually unassuming bandleader who worked his magic from the side of the stage and at the studio console, rather than stepping into the spotlight to let loose blistering flurries of blurred notes as fire pods exploded behind him.

Of course, this was also an era when a more traditional brand of guitar hero thrived. Inspired by the innovations of Eddie Van Halen, heavy metal was in the midst of a major commercial triumph, and everywhere you looked, there was a new young gunslinger who could shred faster and louder than the last young gunslinger. Those were the guys who populated the covers of guitar magazines. The likes of Marr and Buck were left to enjoy the kudos of critics and the adulation of a relatively smaller if no less fervent group of fans.

Much of that changed in the ’90s, as grunge ushered in a new rock æsthetic, one that didn’t so much eliminate the guitar hero as change his job description. Sure, Metallica were still around shredding with the best of them. And much of what passed for grunge was heavy metal without the spandex and hairspray but with plenty of fast and furious guitar soloing. Nevertheless, with classic rock on the outs, hair metal in ruins, and this new thing called alternative rock on the rise, the guitar magazines found themselves searching for new role models who would connect with the new breed of rock fans, guys with alternative credentials like Kurt Cobain and Dave Navarro — guys who might or might not be able to rip through blistering leads at a moment’s notice. But by that point, Johnny Marr had long abandoned the Smiths for more modest roles as a glorified session musician, offering his skills to bands like the The and artists like Bryan Ferry. His one major venture into forming a band, Electronic, paired him with New Order’s Bernard Sumner; it seemed to relegate his guitar skills to, uh, second fiddle.

Now, more than 15 years after leaving the Smiths, Marr has finally surfaced as a bona fide solo artist with Johnny Marr + the Healers, a trio with Zak "son of Ringo" Starkey on drums and former Kula Shaker bassist Alonza Bevan and a debut CD titled Boomslang (ARTISTdirect). The February issue of Guitar Player even sports a reticent-looking, mop-headed guy clutching a red Gibson SG on a cover adorned with the headline "Johnny Marr: The Mystic Soul Man Goes Psychedelic." It’s almost as if the ’80s never happened. But for Marr, it’s been a long, strange trip from cult guitar hero to comeback kid — a trip that’s kept him and his guitar busy working their magic just beneath the radar of the mainstream media.

"I simply didn’t want to do it until now," Marr explains when I ask why it’s taken so long for him to embark on a solo career. "It wasn’t something that I was itching to do. I was very happy doing all of the various things I did leading up to forming the Healers. When the Smiths split, I had the opportunity to be in my favorite band in the world at that time, the The. I was around when [the The leader] Matt [Johnson] was writing Soul Mining [his debut album], which was when the Smiths were just forming. It was only fate that stopped us from getting together at that time. When Infected [the second the The album] came out, I remember hearing it on a plane during a Smiths tour and thinking it would be much better if I were playing guitar on it. So when destiny called and we had the opportunity to play together, I was very happy to be in that band. It was very much a full-time involvement for me as a guitar player and a harmonica player. And then to be able to form a band and get in a writing partnership with Bernard Sumner, who I considered to be one of the most innovative musicians to come out of Manchester, well, that was fine for me too. So I’m totally happy with the way things turned out. It’s not like I had any frustrations as someone left on the side of the stage thinking that someday it will be my turn to sing."

Even after Marr, who still calls Manchester home, decided to form his own band two years ago, he found it hard to avoid the kind of distractions that come with being one of the more in-demand guitarists and songwriters in England. "The band’s been a band for an interrupted two years," is how he puts it. "I went off and had a lot of necessary diversion, all of which have made me a better player, and I think they all helped make the record better. Playing with the Charlatans, writing songs with Beth Orton, being on tour with Neil Finn — all of that contributed to various ideas I had for the album. We just kept going back and writing more songs and changing stuff. The result is that I plugged the guitar in and played what came very, very easily to me. And I realized that because it comes easy doesn’t make it bad."

Indeed, there is a very natural, easy feeling to Boomslang. And if it sounds as if it had been influenced by anything in particular, that would be the Charlatans and the late-’80s Manchester scene they came out of. Gone are the melancholy minor-key melodies and woe-is-me lyrics that were so crucial to the Smiths’ formula. Those are the elements that Morrissey took with him when he set out on his solo career shortly after the Smiths’ collapse. Instead, Marr, Starkey, and Bevan focus on generating forceful, slightly funky rock grooves as a foundation for lots and lots of guitars — acoustic guitars, chiming electric guitars, overdriven guitars, psychedelic wah-wah guitars. What’s more, Boomslang should silence anyone who’s ever doubted Marr’s ability to solo with agility. The Stone Rosey "You Are the Magic" is shot through with tasteful lead-guitar work — the soloing actually becomes part of the texture of the song, and you rarely have the sense that he’s stepping into the spotlight to show off his six-string prowess.

"I’ve always hated that approach to guitar playing where it’s almost like guitar playing as an athletic sport," he acknowledges. "It’s a concept I understood at a very early age when a lot of my friends who were playing guitar were more into the histrionics." Nevertheless, Boomslang marks the first time Marr’s playing is equal parts melody and muscle, and that places the vocals in something of a secondary role. But though he seems perfectly capable of carrying a tune, he doesn’t possess the kind of distinctive voice that many of his past partners in crime have, from Morrissey to Matt Johnson to Bernard Sumner. And as the song title "You Are the Magic" suggests, he’s also not the most imaginative lyricist — much of the album relies on generic rhymes. It’s a weakness, but then, Boomslang is a guitar album recorded by a guitar hero whose fans are eager to hear him play guitar.

"I am comfortable as a lead singer as long as I’ve got a decent vocal sound on stage," he explains. "See, I’ve already started complaining. But I really am fine with it if I can get a decent vocal sound. Luckily for me, the decision to have me as the lead vocalist was made after I’d already started singing — I’d sung on guide vocals for all the songs initially, and I’d planned to do what I always do, which is to find another singer to front the band. I did find a couple of unknown guys who had good classic-rock voices. But the band put it to me that these guys sounded too normal, and they liked that my voice sounded somehow weirder. So I became the lead vocalist."

Does that mean he misses working with a strong vocal presence like Morrissey? "I do miss Morrissey’s sense of humor," he admits diplomatically. "But I don’t miss working with him per se because we did so much and we crammed it into a very short period of time. Well, you know, everything I say gets thrown back to me on the Internet. But I don’t miss working with Morrissey because seven albums was plenty and it really was time to move on. It was an incredible time, though. Not just because I got to be successful, but because of the atmosphere around Morrissey and myself and the intensity of the relationship. We were literally walking three feet off the ground for five years. We really really loved what we were doing, and we were in love with the band and the music. I just don’t think I would still be here if I had kept running on that kind of intensity."

Marr also points out that there was more than one side to the Smiths, even if Morrissey’s was the dominant personality. "The Smiths rocked, and there was a side of the Smiths that was about celebration, connecting with people, having friends, and being okay. Morrissey was never speaking for me. I was really interested in what he was saying, and I was really into it, but he wasn’t speaking for me. And I feel like a part of everything I’ve done — whether it’s the Smiths, the The, or Electronic — is speaking to people who are like me. They’re very positive people and they’re very cool. And they’re fine with doing their thing."

Now, with the Healers, Marr has the opportunity to speak directly to his fans through a band he can call his own. "Actually," he interjects, "Zak thinks it’s his band. But it’s not, because Alonza thinks it’s his band."