VARIOUS TIMES - INHABITING AN INDUSTRIAL RUIN: MANCHESTER 1979-1982

 

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o       Acknowledgements

o       Maps

o       Introduction - no city fun

o       Theoretical and methodological approaches

o       Part 1: Manchester, first modern city – the sleep of capitalism

o       Part 2: Shudehill/Smithfield – dream city

o       Part 3: Belle Vue – the consumer dream

o       Part 4: Hulme – the planner’s dream

o       Part 5: Knott Mill – the planned dream 

o       Part 6: Regeneration – the dream of capitalism

o       Part 7: Conclusion - inhabiting the city

o       Appendix: Documents

o       Bibliography

o       Discography

o       Sources

o       Interview profiles

 

Acknowledgements

I would like to acknowledge the help of Andrew Berry, Richard Boon, Michael Bracewell, Bob Dickinson, Dave Haslam, Ray Gosling, C.P. Lee, Jon Savage and Gordon Sharples – all of whom were kind enough to spare me time to be interviewed for this project and whose recollections and observations helped me to fill in a great deal of background detail.

I would also like to acknowledge the supervision of the project provided by Morag Shiach at Queen Mary, University of London. 

 

 

© Liz Naylor 2004

 

 

City Centre tourist map, 2004

 

 

 

Districts of Manchester

 

 

Introduction - no city fun

 

 

the city is terrifying; is frightening; is a prison. Just where do i go?…i think i hate the city. i think it hates me. i think i’m paranoid. i hate. i hate. i hate. i hate every product; everybody; everygroup everyshop everybus everyclothing: everyfad everyfashion.[1]

 

 

 

The city of Manchester had been a place of exploration and asylum for me from the age of 10. I was living in the market town of Ashton-under-Lyne (followed by a move to nearby Hyde) and most weekends I would take the 5p bus ride into the city centre and all day long I would simply wander around. My first forays were limited to the main shopping thoroughfares, my destinations mainly record shops. Over the next five years through frequent days of truancy[2] my knowledge of Manchester increased to the extent that I felt that I knew every nook and cranny of its decaying centre. I felt more at home in the city streets than anywhere else - I had created a city through my walking of it.

 

By the time I was fifteen years old, I was spending nights in the city, staying in Hulme and experiencing the primitive nightlife of Manchester during the tail end of the first wave of punk rock in late 1977 and early 1978. By the summer of 1978 the visceral, revolutionary jolt that punk had given to a nation ‘still caught in the colourless damp of the late fifties’,[3] had dissipated. The first wave of punk venues such as The Ranch on Dale Street and The Electric Circus on Collyhurst Street had shut down and the city seemed caught in a period of uncertainty and anxiety.

 

It was during this period that the city seemed to slip away from me and I wrote what was to be my first piece of published writing. This was published in a local fanzine, a crudely roneographed newsletter, called City Fun. ‘No City Fun’ was written as I was being expelled from school and was about to be sent to a locked unit for disruptive teenagers in the countryside of Macclesfield. While I was in the unit, the piece was published and subsequently made into a short film by Charles Salem, who was a student in Manchester at the time. With a soundtrack by the Manchester band Joy Division,[4] the film’s visuals were a montage of shots of central Manchester locations such as the Arndale Shopping Centre and Hulme with snatches of typewritten text from my piece - it was, without it knowing, a piece of psychogeographic filmmaking.

 

By April 1979 I was living in a shared council flat in Harpurhey, a mile to the north of the city centre, and was able to resume my wanderings.

 

 

 

Theoretical and methodological approaches

 

History begins at ground level, with footsteps.[5]

 

All cities are geological. You can’t take three steps without encountering ghosts bearing all the prestige of their legends. We move within a closed landscape whose landmarks constantly draw us toward the past. Certain shifting angles, certain receding perspectives, allow us to glimpse original conceptions of space, but this vision remains fragmentary.[6]

 

 

This research project considers the ways in which cities are inhabited and how cities are zoned and controlled. It examines the part that (counter) culture might play in resisting these controls and looks at the ways in which these cultural moves are incorporated into a discourse of urbanity and regeneration. Beneath these propositions lie three fairly basic assumptions. First, the most fundamental Marxist premise that it is the social being and the production of material values that determines social consciousness, second that architecture reflects certain class interests (something that is especially visible in the commercial Victorian architecture of Manchester which towers over the city streets) and, third that the city affords a certain psychic readability[7]. Accordingly these three propositions are implicit in much of the work that provides a broad theoretical framework for this research project – that of Walter Benjamin, the situationist international (SI) and of Michel de Certeau.

 

Psychogeography, which underpins much of this project, was of interest to the SI by way of Thomas De Quincey and Surrealism. In Guy Debord’s Introduction to a Critique of Urban Geography he describes psychogeography as having ‘precise laws’ concerning the ‘specific effects of the geographical environment, whether consciously organised or not, on the emotions and behaviour of individuals’.[8] For the purposes of this project I employed the fairly basic psychogeographic device of a mind map whereby, on a blank piece of paper, I plotted a series of marks that represented locations that I associated with Manchester during the late 1970s and early 1980s.[9] Both the clusters of sites interested me, and their parameters, and it became clear that these represented distinct areas of the city. These suggested a natural chapter structure for my work and consequently the areas of Shudehill, Belle Vue, Hulme and Knott Mill, are the focus of this project. And while psychogeographers might be explicit in their critique of the of gloss of regeneration,[10] I wanted to go beyond this approach to give a more in-depth account of the way in which the narrative flow of regeneration reflects a certain cultural hegemony and how this in turn prescribes how the history of a city is written. Developing from a (Marxist) psychogeographic approach, which recognises sites as intrinsically bound up with and yet resistant to, a class-invested cityscape, I ask whether conventional understandings of cultural resistance can ever be effective against the totalising discourse of urbanity. Perhaps instead we should consider what Michel de Certeau conceptualises as ‘processes that are foreign to the “geometric” or “geographic” space of visual, panoptic or theoretical constructions’;[11] those productions of everyday life that ‘are without creator or spectator, made up of fragments of trajectories and alternations of spaces’. Within the context of this project I understand this to be the everyday yet transitory occupancy of the city that must, to some extent, be conscious of the historical nature of the city, a consciousness that suggests a laying open of the possibilities contained in the unplanned and derelict spaces of the city.

 

The writing of Certeau and, perhaps more critically, Benjamin provides much of the theoretical approach to the question of history in this project. It is unwise to attempt to prise isolated aspects of Benjamin’s thinking from the complexity of his legacy. Benjamin’s writing reflects his own distinctive thinking but it is also an act of radical politics in the face of the rising terror of fascism and any attempt to adopt a Benjaminian approach to contemporary cultural history should be treated with extreme caution.[12]  However, there is much of Benjamin here. His notions of myth, ruin, allegory, transience, porosity, the bourgeois interior, a dialectical redeeming the past and the ambivalence of the dream state, are all ideas that I have attempted to explore through this research.[13] The locations that were identified through my mind map are primarily investigated through the Benjaminian notion of the (ambivalent) dream filled sleep of capitalism. And so the site specific occupations of the city can be seen as being both enchanted by the dream of capitalism and disruptive of that dream. One of the earliest places within Manchester’s city centre to be occupied by an identifiably working class body of people[14] were the streets around Shudehill. To those drawn to the area from the mid 1900s for the next 80 years, the night markets were an enchanting dream world of entertainers and orators, of lights and activity. And yet to a bourgeois author such as Linnaeus Banks, the area around Smithfield is portrayed with unalloyed horror, as a ‘scene of debauchery’ and a ‘picture of unimaginable grossness’.[15]

 

I explore a darker and more troubling interpretation a dream state at Belle Vue - itself representing a phantasmagorical reproduction of nature with its artificial lake, ornamental gardens and caged animals – as a site of the consumer desires of the 1960s. As I show, the dreams of superabundant capitalism that ensnared so many also had dreadful consequences.

 

Another manifestation of the post Second World War of Britain is illustrated by the rationalized vision of mass housing that is epitomized by Hulme. Hulme estate was quickly dubbed a living nightmare by the local press and its original tenants, whereupon those with lower expectations of capitalism colonised the estate and détourned[16] the planner’s dream. What had once been an idealist humanist vision for new forms of rationalist communities in the sky, became that in a way that could not have been anticipated by the city planners: ‘This is Hulme’, writes Sarah Champion, ‘the end of the earth. One mile wide and eight miles high’.[17] It is within this moment of détournement, of historical consciousness reflected in the nature of historical and modern ruin, that represents the revolutionary potential of the dream state. In some ways it was the unconventional community who occupied Hulme that gave impetus for the Haçienda nightclub - whose designed interior of exposed girders and factory aesthetic offered an architect’s interpretation of Manchester’s industrial dream past. In this self-conscious moment of what was intended as a future space, the potency of dreams was emptied out. In the regenerated city the dream of capitalism holds no ambivalence, just the knowing narcissism of those who believe they are awake.

 

The ushering in of a regenerated Manchester also suggests that history becomes in some way incontestable – a theme that is also identified in the time period chosen for this research. May 1979 marks the first term of a Tory government under Margaret Thatcher and signals a breach with post Second World War welfare state Britain that effectively set the past adrift. This period was the beginning of the end for a certain identity-based form of political protest - for Margaret Thatcher history is neutered into a series of exemplars in which any class or regional identity is obliterated. [18]  As the Tory government set about curbing any regional opposition the impact upon cities such as Manchester, Bristol and Liverpool was immediately witnessed through the rioting that took place in those cities during the early 1980s. The coming to power of the Tory party in May 1979 is mirrored in a perverse way by the opening of the Haçienda in May 1982. Paradoxically the Haçienda was an attempt to counter the regional devastation wrought by Thatcherism and yet through what Certeau calls the mythifying use of the city’s history, the Haçienda created a particular relationship between Manchester and its industrial past that marked a break with history and envisioned a city not of ruins, but of progress.

 

 

 

Manchester, first modern city – the sleep of capitalism

 

Capitalism was a natural phenomenon with which a new dream-filled sleep came over Europe, and, through it, a reactivation of mythic forces.[19]

 

A sort of black smoke covers the city. The sun seen through it is a disc without rays. Under this half daylight 300,000 human beings are ceaselessly at work. A thousand noises disturb this damp, dark labyrinth, but they are not at all the ordinary sounds one hears in great cities….[20]

 

The choice of Manchester as the city in which to explore the theoretical approaches outlined in the previous section seems natural given my own history with the city and its status for many as the world’s ‘first modern city’.[21] That Manchester was the world’s first experiment in industrial capitalism had to do with the accidents of geographical location and climate which had meant that by the latter half of the eighteenth century Manchester was already a major provincial centre for the manufacture of cotton. The first mill to use steam power was opened by Richard Arkwright in Manchester in 1782[22] and an expanding infrastructure of roads, packhorse routes and canals was by that time in place. With the accelerated industrialization of the 1830s onwards, Manchester quickly became a construction site as railways, factories, mills, warehouses, houses, workshops, public houses and markets were all hastily erected. Such was the rapidity of urban growth that by the mid 1840s Manchester was, in Asa Briggs’ words, ‘the shock city of its age’.[23]

 

View of the River Irwell, 1860

 

No other city had surrendered so much to the requirements of the factory system. The landscape was literally remodelled in accordance with the demands of technology as ‘hills were flattened, trees cut down, farms and fields replaced by town squares and factory buildings’.[24] Manchester was attracting visitors ‘seeking the sights and sounds of a new way of living’ who were drawn by ‘the sheer excitement of seeing the new power of science and technology’.[25] Yet these visitors were not merely drawn to the spectacle of industrial capitalism, the monuments of “cottonopolis”. Most of the accounts of Manchester from this period are concerned with a new phenomenon of the appalling living conditions endured by the newly urbanised poor that were arriving in Manchester daily.[26] The living conditions of the poor in central Manchester are accordingly well documented through accounts such as the celebrated portrait provided by Friedrich Engels.[27] These accounts typically described ‘dense masses of houses’ that were ‘ill ventilated’ and ‘unprovided with privies’[28] occupying the heart of the city where the ‘wretched dwellings of the poor’ were scattered haphazardly beneath the towering ‘palaces of industry’.[29] The horrendous living conditions were the result of a lack of urban planning in Manchester that was due in part to the speed of industrial growth, but was also the result of a peculiarity in Manchester’s municipal status. Up until 1838 Manchester was governed by a ‘curious and confusing array of antique and ad hoc agencies of local government’, [30] which combined with the historical absence of a city corporation or craft guilds, presented unchecked opportunity for new-comers and new ideas that contributed to the town’s rapid economic growth. However the down side of the town’s unregulated expansion was that it allowed for the kind of urban poverty and overcrowding that became synonymous with Manchester in the mid nineteenth century.  The growth of Manchester might have been chaotic and unplanned, but by the 1840s the social segregation of the city was beginning to establish itself along the lines of the Victorian paradigm of two nations of rich and poor. Numerous nineteenth century commentators who chose to write about the poor districts such as Little Ireland and Angel Meadow, although undoubtedly attempting to give an account of the material actuality of poverty, express a deep bourgeois anxiety about the working class masses in their endless descriptions of disease, stagnant pools and heaps of discarded offal.[31] This dread of chaos and anarchy is most explicitly stated in Leon Faucher’s 1844 account of Manchester:

 

And thus at the very moment when the engines are stopped, and the counting houses closed, everything which was the thought – the authority – the impulsive force – the moral order of this immense industrial combination, flies from the town, and disappears in an instant. The rich man spreads his coach amidst the beauties of the surrounding country, and abandons the town to the operatives, publicans, mendicants, thieves, and prostitutes, merely taking the precaution to leave behind him a police force, whose duty it is to preserve some little of material order in this pell-mell society.[32]

 

The formation of the borough of Manchester and of the Manchester Corporation in 1838[33] ushered in a period of Liberal politics that historically identified Manchester with reform movements such as the Anti-Corn Law League and the Chartists. While the self-serving concerns of the Anti-Corn Law League might not have greatly impressed Engels, the political campaigning of the Chartists emerged directly from a post French and American revolutionary call for a more abstract notion of the rights of man. Henry Hunt proposed such rights as he addressed a reform meeting at St. Peter’s Field on 16 August 1819. The estimates of the numbers of people who gathered in the centre of Manchester to hear Hunt speak range from 30,000 to 150,000. Whatever the number, it is clear that such a crowd made the magistrates edgy and the subsequent actions of the Yeomanry resulted in the death of eleven people and injury to over six hundred. The incident was not forgotten and ‘no event stirred memories or instilled support for radical action more than the Peterloo Massacre’.[34]

The Peterloo Massacre, 1819

By the second half of the nineteenth century Victorian Manchester offered little improvement on the grim reports of the 1830s and 40s. By the 1870s, poverty, ill health and high mortality were still associated with the working class districts of the inner city such as Ancoats, Hulme and Chorlton-on-Medlock. By the turn of the century the city centre was still heavily populated, with numbers rising dramatically between 1901 and 1931.[35] For those who worked in the many warehouses, mills, factories, the markets at Smithfield (the biggest single employer of Irish migrants) and the heavy engineering works to the east of the city, the streets of the city represented work, home, and ‘for those who had little or no wages to spend’[36], the main site of working-class sociability. Through the early part of the twentieth century the modern geography of wealth and poverty followed the historic patterns of the 1870s and a ‘significant number’ of the inner city poor ‘carried on their daily life’ in ‘depressing squalor’ that was ‘little improved since Victorian times’.[37]

 

 It was not until the Housing and Town Planning Act of 1919 that decisive legislative moves were made to provide public housing.[38] That Act made local authorities responsible for meeting the housing needs of their areas but despite this, very little was done to alleviate Manchester’s housing problems until the building programmes of the 1930s. In the wake of The Greenwood Act (1930) a slum clearance programme was formulated, resulting in a great number of those living in the centre of Manchester being moved to the “Garden city” of Wythenshawe in the 1930s.[39]  By 1945 over half of the city centre homes were condemned as unfit by the Medical Officer of Health[40] and consequently Manchester embarked on a further building programme of overspill estates in places like Langley and Hyde.

 

There remained however an inner core of slum housing (Harpurhey, Beswick, Ancoats, Hulme) that remained occupied until well after the Second World War. Then, a combination of damage sustained during the heavy air bombardment of 1940-41 (particularly in Hulme) and post war optimism kick-started a clearance and building programme in Manchester that resulted in the building of almost quarter of a million new dwellings by Manchester City Council between 1953 and 1973. As part of this extensive period of building a series of “planned” inner city housing estates were built on the same sites as existent communities such as Hulme, Ardwick and Harpurhey.

 

Most of the estates built during this period succumbed to the usual problems associated with the high-density housing built under the “cost yardstick” controls of central government during the 1960s and early 70s. Soon after they were built, many of the inner city estates began to fail. This failure of social housing, coupled with the final death throes of the manufacturing and shipping industries, led to a massive residential and commercial depopulation of the city centre. By the late 1970s the centre of Manchester was a deserted industrial ruin.

 

 

 

Shudehill/Smithfield – dream city

 

But they who would see Shudehill aright must not merely get up early in the morning, but even at that uncanny time known as the middle of the night.[41]

 

Shudehill marks the northern boundary of an area that expanded eastwards from a medieval town centre that had grown around the Parish Church of St. Mary (subsequently the Cathedral). Long Millgate, that runs north from the Cathedral, was an important medieval site from around the fourteenth century.[42] The surrounding area, known as the “old town”, remained the focus of Manchester until the late nineteenth century when the building of Waterhouse’s famous High Gothic town hall shifted the focal point to the south side of the city. In his depiction of the old town, Engels describes the area as being in ‘the midst of the working-men’s dwellings’, and a ‘labyrinth’ of lanes running ‘in this direction, now in that’ and - in common with much of Engels’ Manchester - covered in ‘filth, debris, and offal heaps’.[43] Some of the first warehouses, workshops and pubs of the industrial era were built in this area and, in the absence of planning regulations, the buildings tended to follow an existing medieval matrix. This formed a kind of industrial labyrinth that looked inwards onto a series of lanes and courtyards. Through the early twentieth century most of the buildings in this labyrinth were commercially occupied by offices or warehouses with pubs, restaurants and cafes serving those who worked there. As the manufacturing industry began its slow decline many of the buildings were vacated and simply left to rot, giving the area an aura of secrecy and unintelligibility. Those who remember the area speak of it being a semi underworld of cul-de-sacs, dead ends, illegal gambling clubs and pubs. One such was the Fatted Calf Hotel on Cromford Court, which some claim to be the very first gay pub in Manchester.[44]

 

Looking toward Withy Grove from Cannon Street area, late 1950s

 

This warren of cobbled streets and alleyways provided space for an array of venues that housed the coffee bar clubs of the early 1960s and a second wave of nightclubs and shops - such as the ‘Don’t Know unisex boutique’ on New Brown Street which was touted as Manchester’s answer to Carnaby Street - in the mid to late 1960s.[45] Prior to this, the main focus of (illegal) all night clubs had been the Shebeens, or West Indian drinking clubs in Moss Side.

 

However, with the beginnings of Manchester’s beat scene in the early 60s the trade moved back into the city centre. According to Manchester historian, C.P. Lee, the very first all-night jazz/beat club was held in 1961 at a small drinking den off Shudehill called The Shanty Clare.[46] These legal[47] all nighters gave birth to a proliferation of clubs in the converted cellars and warehouses of the area - such as The Manchester Cavern[48] on Cromford Court - that catered for the post war teenagers who wanted to spend their free time dancing, or listening to music. As a result, Manchester quickly became the epicentre of Northern clubland.[49]

 

Pharmaceutical amphetamines such as Drynamyl and Dexedrine still available on prescription as slimming pills dominated the scene that grew around the nightclubs. This ready availability of drugs was cited as the main reason for the police clampdown that followed Chief Superintendent Alan Dingwall’s ‘Coffee Beat Clubs’ report which was included in the Manchester Chief Constable’s Report of 1964.[50] Dingwall’s report focussed on several specific venues, such as the Beat Club, which occupied the ground floor of a dilapidated warehouse on New Cannon Street. Dingwall identified the owner of the club as Richard Ewen, who had recently been released from a five-year prison sentence for an unspecified crime, and suggested that the Beat Club was a place where young people ‘found freedom from adult supervision and a place where they could stay all night and sleep if they so desired’.[51] The resulting act of Parliament, The Manchester Corporation Act, when it came into force on January 1st 1966, effectively shut down the vibrant network of coffee bars, clubs and venues throughout Manchester. Writer Jon Savage sees this Act as a deliberate policy to “expunge clubland”[52] in Manchester by the then Chief Constable of Manchester, John McKay. Mc Kay’s tenure, which lasted from 1958 to 1966, was to be curiously echoed by the antics of Chief Constable James Anderton in the 1980s. (Anderton, who was brazen about his beliefs that he had been Oliver Cromwell in a previous existence and was in direct communication with God,[53] was Chief Constable of Manchester between 1976 and 1991. During this time he waged his personal war to rid the city of blemishes and was often to be seen personally attending the raiding or shutting down of shops such as Clone Zone on Bloom Street and England’s Glory on Peter Street).[54] The thirty acres of the old town where many of the clubs were located was designated a “Comprehensive Development Area” by the City Council in the late 1960s. During the early years of the 1970s it was razed to the ground to make way for the Arndale Centre which, when it opened in 1972, was Europe’s largest covered town shopping centre.[55]

 

New Brown Street - demolition to make way for Arndale Centre, early 1970s

 

The area adjacent to the Arndale Centre managed to escape the ravages of redevelopment and even now appears to have remained untouched by the twentieth century. This area, Shudehill, was well known for its many second-hand stalls and street markets such as the retail poultry market (The Hen Market), and Smithfield, the main wholesale and retail produce market in Manchester. The large wrought iron buildings of the Smithfield produce markets on High Street (fish), Oak Street and Goadsby Street (fruit and vegetables) dominated the area and provided a destination for a late night population of the city centre that foreshadowed the beat scene by a century. Until the late 1930s Smithfield Market traded until ten o’clock on a Saturday evening, after which the area became ‘a town within a town’ that was ‘alive with animation’.[56]  Walter Tomlinson’s contemporaneous account observes that the market ‘streams over and runs about the neighbourhood in all directions’,[57] drawing up to twenty thousand people into the streets around Shudehill to enjoy not only the markets but also the various entertainers and political orators that performed in the streets. For the working classes, a trip to Shudehill ‘was a trip to town’ and stallholders who worked at the markets were ‘renowned locally as entertainers’.[58]

 

Smithfield Fruit Market, 1903

Smithfield ceased trading in the mid 1970s It became a ghostly presence of the area’s Victorian heyday, alongside such other relics as the numerous unreconstituted spit and sawdust pubs, remaining second hand book stalls and Tib Street, ‘cluttered with the cages of its innumerable pet shops’.[59]

 

Tib Street, 1953

 

This area was an unlikely location for a new club venture dreamed up by a group of people who gathered around the offices of the New Hormones record label at Newton Street, which ran south from Great Ancoats Street. Amongst friends Richard Boon, Suzanne O’Hara, Lindsay Wilson, Sue Cooper and Eric Random[60] there was a feeling that a club that created an identity such as The Factory had done was needed.   After the closure of the Factory Club in Hulme (see Part 4) there were very few venues outside of the institutional Polytechnic/University owned sites that were putting on live bands, and the group were keen to find premises for their new venture – the Beach Club.[61] The Beach Club opened in May 1980 in a former commercial premises on Newgate Street (formerly New Street) just off Shudehill.[62]

 

Through my research for this project, I have discovered that it was not the first club to be sited in this unlikely location. A rather seedy nightclub called the Grand Pigalle[63] appears to have occupied the site during the 1960s. Certainly by 1971 it was a gay[64] club called The Picador, the first club owned by Frank ‘Foo Foo’ Lammar, a well-known Manchester drag artist. It remained The Picador until it changed its name to Oozits in 1979, by which time it was distinctly faded. Richard Boon remembers the management,  “two nice middle-aged queens,” as being “a bit bemused by it all but grateful for the Tuesday night cash flow”.[65] Notable underground bands such as New Order (their first live gig), The Fall, Section 25 and Biting Tongues played in the upstairs room at the Beach Club while cult films such as Tod Browning’s Freaks, Kenneth Anger’s Scorpio Rising and Fred Baker’s Lenny Bruce Without Tears were screened downstairs. The venue for the Beach Club might have been less than a quarter of a mile from the city centre and yet, located as it was amongst the crumbling buildings that housed the rag trade, it was a million miles away from the mainstream town centre entertainment venues such as Fagin’s (“Cabaret-Disco-Dining”), Rotters (“Your kind of disco with your kind of music!”), Zodiacs Disco (“Manchester’s brightest late night superscene!”), and Pips (“It’s behind the Cathedral!”) that had been established as discotheques in the 1970s.[66]

 

 

 

Belle Vue – the consumer dream

 

There is the supreme irony of a gleaming post-modern shopping complex in the heart of Manchester’s rebuilt city centre displaying a slogan lifted from a song by Morrissey about the Moors child murderers, ‘Manchester – so much to answer for’.[67]

 

Belle Vue lies to the north east of central Manchester, between Gorton and Longsight, which were essentially villages until the second wave of Victorian terraces were constructed in the latter half of the nineteenth century to accommodate the workers for the heavy engineering, transport and chemical industries that were established nearby.[68] Built on 36 acres of what had been lime pits, Belle Vue first opened in 1836. During its 145 year lifespan it was home to ornamental gardens, dancing halls, a funfair, a concert hall, speedway and stock car racing, boxing matches, greyhound racing and a zoo.[69] In many ways Belle Vue rivalled the Saturday night markets of Shudehill as a destination for the working classes. However as many of the attractions at Belle Vue charged admission it functioned more as a family destination, along the lines of Blackpool.[70]

 

 Through the first half of the twentieth century Belle Vue gradually began to reflect the move away from the street activity of Shudehill and the localised “monkey parades”[71] which had previously been a feature of the city, to accommodate the demands of the growing number of young working class wage earners. In 1910 Kings Hall (concert/dance) was built at Belle Vue. In 1929  the Speedway began and in 1963 the Great Lake was filled in to make the Granada Bowling Centre. During the post war years Belle Vue became a little piece of Americana (tenpin bowling, speedway racing, hot dogs, big dipper) on the Hyde Rd, absorbing the consumer dreams of a post war generation.

 

Belle Vue, early 1960s

 

 For the young working classes of the surrounding districts such as Gorton, Longsight, Ardwick, Longsight and Bradford, who had job security and regular wages, Belle Vue was an important destination on a Saturday night. By 1962 the self-styled first “DJ”, Jimmy Saville had opened his Top Ten Club at The Elizabethan Ballroom in Belle Vue and teenagers such as the 19-year-old Myra Hindley from nearby Bannock Street in Gorton regularly wrote of going dancing at Belle Vue in her diary.[72]

 

 

Bannock Street, 1963

 

The Hindleys had lived in West Gorton all their lives. Ian Brady, who lived in nearby Longsight had moved to Manchester from his native Scotland during his early teens and worked as a porter at Smithfield market until his dismissal for petty larceny a week before his eighteenth birthday. In Emlyn Williams’ seminal book on the Moors Murders, Beyond Belief, he perceptively identifies the thwarted aspirations of Brady and Hindley and their frustrated attempts to achieve the lifestyles promised by the burgeoning consumerism of the late 50s and early 60s. Ironically it was to be Hindley and Brady who were responsible for shattering a part of Manchester’s 60s dream when, in October 1965, two bodies were found on the moors at Saddleworth. Manchester ‘would never be the same again’.[73] (Writer and broadcaster Ray Gosling recounts the story of how Reg Kilduff the landlord of the Ogden Arms, a pub that was mainly frequented by gay men and included Ian Brady amongst its regulars, claimed that after Brady was arrested he felt the building to be so tainted by Brady’s presence that he and “some friends” burnt the pub to the ground).[74]  The shock waves that the Moors Murders created lasted well into the next decade. They were felt all over the Greater Manchester area, but it was Belle Vue that seemed to bear the legacy of its seismic core. By the 1970s Belle Vue was a ruin, a mini Pompeii of post war consumer capitalism encircled by enormous empty pubs (The Lake Hotel, Caesar’s Palace) and vast wastelands of slum clearance.[75] The zoo at Belle Vue closed in 1977 and although the fun fair and concert halls remained, the infrequency of their opening added an air of dereliction.

 

The Mayflower Club on Birch Street stood directly across the Hyde Road from Belle Vue. Originally known as The Corona, it had been built in Manchester’s cinema heyday of the 1920s and had, along with many of the city’s thousands of cinemas, been converted into a dance hall in the late 1950s.[76] Since its relative respectability as The Southern Sporting Club, which hosted cabaret and dancing through the 1960s, the building, renamed The Mayflower had been left to decay. There was a decidedly non-Puritan ambience to The Mayflower Club. Most of the live events that were promoted there during the 1970s were reggae concerts that other premises were too cautious to accommodate. The exterior of the building was whiskered with weeds and the upper floors shut off because they were unsafe.

 

The Southern Sporting Club (Mayflower Club), early 1970s

 

Deborah Curtis recounts visiting The Mayflower Club with Ian, who had begun ‘to infiltrate the places where white people didn’t usually go’.[77] Ian Curtis returned to The Mayflower Club with his band Joy Division for a one-day event called Stuff The Superstars Special, promoted by Andy Zero, Martin X and members of the City Fun collective in July 1979. The concert marked the beginning of a series of live events (The Fall, Scritti Politti, Crass) promoted under the name of ‘The Funhouse’ that ran for a few months to the end of 1979. By this point The Mayflower was little more than an empty shell with rudimentary toilets and no permanent bar. For most of those making the journey to West Gorton, it was an area of the city that would previously have been off limits, ‘a terrifying area, especially on Saturday nights’.[78]

 

Ticket for Stuff the Superstars at The Mayflower 1979

 

Hulme – the planner’s dream

 

The all night party just goes on and on and on and on.[79]

 

A great many of the post WWII slum clearances in Manchester moved the inhabitants of places like Gorton out of the city, east beyond Hyde, to the countryside. Myra Hindley and her granny were among the thousands who were relocated to Hattersley, which lay at the edges of Saddleworth moor. In the more central areas of the city much of the housing, which had been badly damaged during the air raids of 1940, was demolished to make way for new build schemes on the same sites. Such was the case for Hulme, less than a mile to the south of the city centre. Hulme had been largely fields until as late as 1831 but was rapidly developed by speculative builders between 1850 and 1870. This meant that the housing was of poor quality since it was not subject to building regulations. This housing stock was occupied until well into the 1950s, when, like the streets of Beswick and Harpurhey to the north of the city, it was earmarked for clearance. There had been some limited redevelopment in the 1950s but the main building of the estate (system built multi-storeys and deck access medium rise blocks) commenced in 1968 and was completed in 1972.[80] The construction of Hulme was very much in line with post war social planning that looked to the rationalist architectural dreams of Le Corbusier and CIAM[81] for its inspiration. And yet Hulme added a perverse twist of the archaic with the construction of four huge crescents, named after a landscape gardener, William Kent (1685-1748), and architects, Robert Adam (1728-1792), John Nash (1752-1835) and Charles Barry (1795-1860),[82] at its very heart. To the east of the crescents across the busy dual carriageway of Princess Road that bisected Hulme, were the medium rise blocks around Epping Walk and Boundary Lane and to the south lay Moss Side.[83]

 

 Hulme crescent, around 1974

 

From the very beginning the problems of the Hulme estate were notorious. The reports on Hulme that highlighted malfunctioning drainage systems, causing ‘the formation of stagnant pools on walkways, stairs, pathways and roads’ and ‘foul discharges within or adjacent to homes’,[84] and the under floor ducting for water pipes, wiring and heating that ‘allowed mice, cockroaches and other vermin to spread’[85] could quite easily have been written by Tocqueville or Engels. Hulme quickly gained a reputation for ‘lawlessness, drug dealing and prostitution, mugging and random violence’.[86] By the time that the Hulme People’s Rights Centre had published its report in October 1977, it was very clear that the dream world of rationalist urban planning was a nightmare. Just seven years after it was built, Hulme was a modern ruin. The 1977 report described a ‘violent and frightened community’ and urged that most of the crescents and housing blocks ‘should be flattened and ‘real homes’ built in their place’.[87]

 

Alan Roberts, Chairman of Manchester’s housing committee responded immediately to the report by promising that the crescents would ‘soon be transformed into luxury flats for single people and childless couples’ and that two million pounds of ‘design improvements’ would ‘banish the stigma of Hulme and make it a “desirable” community on the fringe of the city centre’.[88] The official council policy of offering flats in Hulme to single, childless tenants became a semi-official policy of offering tenancies to “no points” applicants – the young, single or unemployed who had previously been disqualified from or were extremely low priority on council housing lists. In the wake of Alan Roberts premature and somewhat unfounded statement, Hulme became occupied by a mixture of original tenants who had  been unable to move on or had elected to stay, and a young transient population comprised of those no longer able to live in the parental home and of students who had dropped out or stayed on after completing their studies. This diverse social and ethnic community contained many of the social problems customarily associated with the inner city tripartite of poverty, unemployment and crime - all of which impacted upon Hulme. It would be naïve to ignore the issues of mobility and privilege since many of those living in Hulme were able simply to move away during particularly unpleasant periods of increased crime and violence which coincided with the first major influx of heroin, and later on, crack cocaine. From the early 1980s onwards there was a commonly voiced accusation that those living in Hulme were merely middle class students slumming it. To some extent this was true and yet the community as a whole that formed in Hulme is much more interesting than this would suggest. The unique and shifting social mix of Hulme, when it worked, generated a remarkable amount of cultural activity. Countless bands,[89] writers, magazines, record labels and recording studios (such as Adam Lesser’s Out of The Blue studio which occupied a flat in Charles Barry Crescent) that were all run from the council-owned flats. The vastly improved City Fun magazine (now a printed monthly with a circulation of around 1,500) that had originally been co-ordinated from a council flat on Bonsall Street in Hulme[90] and ‘put together in people’s houses, buses [and] pubs’,[91] was, by 1981, being produced from a flat in Loxford Court, Hulme.

 

Since 1973 there had been, somewhat improbably, an art-house cinema called The Aaben marooned in the middle of Hulme.[92] And yet it was the opening of The Factory night at The Russell Club in May 1978 that gave the first real identity to the new community that was in the process of occupying Hulme. The Factory night was launched by Tony Wilson, Alan Erasmus and Martin Hannett (all of whom would go on to form the Factory record label) to put on live bands at a shabby venue that had originally been built as the social club for Public Service Vehicles (PSV) employees. This meant that clientele of the PSV club was predominantly made up of West Indian bus drivers and, as with The Mayflower, the club became mostly associated with reggae. Quite how local “businessman” Don (or Dom) Tonay, came to own the PSV/Russell Club by 1978 remains something of a mystery, along with much of his business dealings.

 

 In his voluntary memoir, 24 Hour Party People, Tony Wilson recalls The Russell Club:

The Russel [sic] was a big black room, low ceiling rising over a rudimentary dance floor in the centre, and a fair-enough stage diagonally cutting the far corner; peeling wooden stools and tables, the bisexual perfume of stale beer and dope smoke. There was an upstairs, but you wouldn’t know it. ‘No Tams allowed’ was the dominant motif throughout the club on half a dozen signs. What the fuck does that mean? If you have any friends who are Yardies, I suggest you ask them. [93]

 

The PSV Social Club (Russell Club), 1970.

 

The Factory night, that ran until September 1979, brought numbers of young people into Hulme at a highly significant transitional point when most of the families had moved away from the estate (1976-77) and there was a large number of visibly empty properties. After the closure of The Factory night, the Russell Club was used off and on as a live venue throughout the 1980s and complemented meeting places such as the White Horse Pub in the middle of Charles Barry Crescent, Blues clubs (illegal West Indian drinking dens) that took place on the edges of Hulme and the frequent all night parties that took place in people’s flats. By the early 1980s the Greater Manchester city council who were being starved of funds by central government, had all but given up on any attempts to carry out repairs or collect rent in Hulme. This further emphasised the transience and untraceable nature of those who occupied the flats:

 

Jake’s flat was 283 Robert Adam Crescent […] there was a bundle of eviction notices skewered to a nail on the inside of the door. All of them unread because no one was ever evicted from the Crescents. If it ever became council policy, they could always fill out a fresh application at the housing office and move to one of the empty flats further along the block.[94]

 

Hulme became almost an independent city, another town within a town with a shifting stream of young, single people with their own dress codes.[95] This was a different kind of community, like that envisioned by Richard Sennett in his earliest exploration of the body in the city, The Uses of Disorder.  Sennett imagines a new city ‘based on human beings who feel themselves limited, constantly changing, and unwilling to surrender their smallness to any grand vision, unwilling to make themselves whole’.[96] Mancunian cyberpunk writer Jeff Noon conjures up a similar vision of Hulme (recast as Bottletown) in his first novel Vurt:

 

Bottletown had only been around for ten years or so. Some kind of urban dream. Pretty soon the wholesome families moved out and the young and the listless moved in, and then the blacks and the robo-crusties and the shadowgoths and the students. Pretty soon the students moved out, sick to the back of mummy and daddy’s car with too much burglary, too much mugging. Then the blacks moved out, leaving the place to the non-pure – hybrids only need apply.[97]

 

From around 1978 to 1992 Hulme represented a unique occupancy not only within the self-contained limits of its site but also, thanks to its proximity to the city centre, of the city itself. Hulme felt as if ‘you were in the heart of the city’,[98] and an increasing number of cafes, pubs, office spaces and nightclubs in the centre of the city were colonised by those living (rent free) in Hulme. Bob Dickinson writes of these spaces being ‘small and cheap enough for participants to recognise each other, socialize and argue’[99] – an important point in light of the rental premium attached to space in the regenerated city centre.

 

Knott Mill – the planned dream

 

You’ll never see the hacienda. It doesn’t exist.[100]

 

‘The most horrible spot’, writes Engels, ‘lies […] immediately south-west of Oxford Road, and is known as Little Ireland’.[101] Little Ireland was, as the name suggested, occupied by the poorest and most recent Irish migrants who had arrived in Manchester following the Great Famine (1846-51). Most of the accommodation was cheaply constructed, horrendously damp back-to-back housing that lay close to the course of the notoriously polluted River Medlock. According to Engels the houses had been built in a natural ditch with the cellars filled up with earth to reduce the cost of digging. These cellars were subsequently emptied to accommodate the further waves of Irish migrant workers that arrived in the city to feed the greed of industrial capitalism. Engels writes that in one cellar ‘lying below the river level’, the handloom weaver who occupied it ‘had to bale out the water from his dwelling every morning’.[102] In 1849 Oxford Road Station was built on a long viaduct which directly overshadowed and obscured Little Ireland from view - keeping it hidden until the last decades of the nineteenth century when (fifty years after it was written), Engels’ book was finally published in England and Little Ireland was summarily demolished. At the beginning of the twentieth century grand warehouses glorifying the Empire were built along the length of nearby Whitworth Street and in 1910 a cinema (now The Cornerhouse arts centre) was built at the entrance to Oxford Road station. The area remained substantially unchanged through the 1930s to the 1990s. Photographs from this lengthy time span show unchanging railway arches, framed by the Gaythorn gas works, and industrial works such as Birley & Kirk’s factory on Cambridge Street, which produced Charles Mackintosh’s revolutionary waterproof fabric. At the western end of Whitworth Street opposite the gas works was a warehouse building which would, during the late 1980s and early 90s, become one of the most famous nightclubs in the world and which would create an identity for Manchester that was recognised world wide.

 

When the management of the Haçienda[103] first visited the site the surrounding area held little to recommend it,

 

When we found the site for the Haçienda, that part of town [….] was a ghost town, derelict. None of the railway arches were in use for anything apart from some garages. No one could understand why we wanted a place there.[104]

 

The Haçienda opened its doors in May 1982. However, it wasn’t until 1987/8 that the Haçienda’s fortunes took off. The availability of MDMA (ecstasy) brought about the full integration of black dance music into a poorly conceived live music venue that had confounded its clientele with its pretensions to be a New York discothèque. However the opening of the Haçienda marked a crucial moment of cultural visibility in the city centre. First, the Haçienda was a planned space. Second in Tony Wilson, the Haçienda’s media face, there was an intermediary between the alternative culture of the inner city and the city council.

axonometric of The Haçienda

 

From the start the Haçienda was a highly conceptualised project, its name being taken from a line in ‘Formulary for a New Urbanism’, Ivan Chtcheglov’s article that had been published in the first edition of the Situationist journal, Internationale Situationniste in 1958. Declaring that ‘The Hacienda must be built’, [105] Chtcheglov proposed to create an ‘architecture of tomorrow’ that aimed to utilize technology in a playful realisation of dream space. Chtcheglov’s text is nothing less than a revolutionary call for the creation of new spaces that might create a new consciousness. Manchester’s Haçienda however was the self-conscious refurbishment of an existing space. The fetishistic use by designer Peter Saville and architect Ben Kelly of ‘authentically raw’ industrial effects and materials in the night club where, ‘the steel entrails of the warehouse, tricked out in bright colours, link the old Manchester of hard graft with the new Manchester of superabundant spare time’,[106] might have been intended as ‘an urban space to dream, to lapse into reverie, to drift, to feel free’.[107] Yet, more than anything, it helped to invent the alienated leisure industry that was to define Manchester in the late 1990s onwards. The Haçienda was a fixed space, a focal point that constituted a moment of closure upon the city’s industrial past. Unwittingly, a monument had been created, a location from which all the subsequent histories of ‘how Manchester, England, transformed itself from a bleak industrial-age relic into a postindustrial entertainment zone’[108] would be written.

 

The first membership card issued (numbers started at #051) for The Haçienda.

 

Regeneration – the dream of capitalism

 

Manchester is looking up. Gone are the Dickensian days of grinding poverty. Gone too the gloom’n’doom of the 1980s indie punk scene and its Joy Division pessimism: over the last 15 years the city has developed a champagne-for-breakfast insouciance and an almost giddy attitude toward fun.[109]

 

Development on Hulme Street, adjacent to site of Little Ireland, 2004

 

The regeneration of Manchester’s city centre emerges from a series of developments within both local and national party politics that were taking place throughout the 1960s and 70s. In broad terms, this began with a gradual, and not entirely painless, move away from the statism and centralisation of the post war Labour governments. Cities like Manchester and Liverpool saw the emergence of a new urban left in the late 1970s. What were seen on a local level as moves toward a new kind of municipal socialism came to signify extreme or lunatic left wing positions by central government in the early 1980s.  One only has to think of Liverpool’s reputation as a Trotskyist viper’s nest in the mid 1980s to recall how shunned and vilified many of the provincial cities became under the Thatcher led Tory government.

 

It was during such an experiment in municipal socialism during the early 1980s that many of Manchester’s younger Labour councillors first emerged. From 1980-84 there was a bitter struggle within Manchester City Council over spending cuts that led to the “exile” of thirteen local councillors. Graham Stringer, who was one of the thirteen, was to become a major player in the story of the regeneration and remaking of Manchester as the 24 hour clubbing and shopping party capitol of the North. During Stringer’s exile he is said to have ‘forged contacts with a range of community activists, feminists and anti-racist groups which became the basis for the rainbow alliance strategy as it developed in Manchester’.[110] Stringer was certainly an important ally on the city council for The Haçienda when the police advised the venue that they were intending to revoke its licence and close it down in May 1990.[111] Politicians such as Stringer were seemingly able to see the value in Manchester’s “cultural revolution” in the late 1980s and Steve Quilley argues that Stringer, as Leader of Manchester City Council from 1984-96, was able to steer the imposed partnership between the ‘voluntarism of the municipal left’ and the ‘market based strategies’ demanded by central government (via the development agencies) into a new urbanism that took on ‘a broader trajectory’.[112] Following Labour’s 1987 election defeat the experiments in municipal socialism conducted by many regional city councils through the mid 1980s were further compromised and it was during this period that Manchester City Council, under the leadership of Stringer, was to make what Quilley calls an entrepreneurial turn. If there is more than a whiff of New Labour about the phrase it is not accidental. Stringer, who is now a Labour MP for Blakely in North Manchester, is clear that ‘in keeping some militant ideals whilst bed hopping with big business’, Manchester had attempted to tackle problems that the Labour Party approached nationally ‘about seven years later’.[113]

 

As the city council’s current cultural strategy document makes clear, the role of popular culture in the regeneration of Manchester is well established. The appropriation of alternative cultural movements in the founding of the urban culture industry that so clearly sustains Manchester’s regeneration[114] relies however upon a coherent and stable narrative that can be easily recited and endlessly recycled. Accordingly a kind of reductive (counter) cultural formula emerges that reads:

 Sex Pistols play Free Trade Hall +Joy Division + Factory Records + Haçienda + The Smiths + Stone Roses + Acid House ÷ IRA Bomb =New Selfridges & Harvey Nicks = Queer As Folk = warehouse living = Commonwealth Games = URBAN REGENERATION.

In common with so many of the prominent speculators in Manchester’s future, former Factory/Haçienda supreme, Tony Wilson, appears to be suffering from Nietzsche’s ‘consuming fever of history’.[115] Wilson’s yearly music business convention, In The City, is being held in the five star splendour of the Radisson Edwardian Hotel (the site of the Peterloo Massacre and the Free Trade Hall) in 2004. On the organisation’s Internet site Wilson writes that:

 

The place has history, and now it’s In The City’s future and we know our delegates will love it.

And who else has a hotel named after a radical 19th century political movement.[116]

 

Presumably he is referring to the debatable interests of the Anti-Corn Law League and their mercantile heirs. It is clear that the counter cultural orthodoxy that has emerged not only feeds directly into the present regeneration of Manchester but also is also influential upon how the city’s past is understood. The industrial history of the city as read through the prism of regeneration. The city centre tourist office offers visitors a ‘Manchester Music Map’ by which the tourist might ‘Follow the numbered discs’ as they locate the site of the Haçienda along with corporate venues such as G-Mex and the MEN Arena (‘every major artist in the world from Justin Timberlake and Kylie Minogue to REM play this venue’) alongside guides to more orthodox historic attractions such as Castlefield, the City Art Gallery and Urbis. It is fitting that Manchester, the world’s first modern city, is home to Urbis, the first museum of the city – ‘the world’s only cultural institution solely dedicated to the creative exploration of contemporary urban culture and the cities of today and tomorrow’.[117]

Urbis, 2004

 

Many of the permanent exhibitions[118] in Urbis are symptomatic of the regeneration of Manchester and the city is often represented through the banality of postmodern plurality. The first room of Urbis aims to convey the complexity of the modern city through ‘an audiovisual recreation of arriving in a bustling city for the first time’ where ‘sounds from cities across the globe form three montages’[119]. Utilizing flashing disco lights and the visual aesthetics of an advertising agency, the effect is to render banal the urban experience. This pattern is repeated throughout the permanent displays (arrive/change/order/explore). These purport to present complex issues through symbols, such as the park bench with its display of ‘editions of The Big Issue Magazine as they appear around the world’ that ‘addresses the situation of the homeless and displaced in cities’.[120] The Urbis online guide/resource site might make all the right Foucauldian gestures when it identifies ‘the way in which planners, architects and other agents of authority in cities have attempted to map the city in ways that make it more manageable and easy to control’.[121] The reality, however, is that the museum is physically situated at the very heart of Manchester’s Millennium Zone (the focus of the most intensive rebuilding and regeneration following the 1500kg IRA lorry bomb that exploded outside Marks & Spencer, on the westerly edge of the Arndale Centre on 15 June 1996). As the key to the regeneration portfolio of Manchester it is fundamentally bound up in the political and ideological discourse of the city.

 

The regenerated Manchester is now a city of zones. The area around Shudehill and the old Smithfield markets has become known as “The Northern Quarter”, in an attempt to capitalize upon a certain counter cultural occupation of the cheap retail properties in the area that had slowly been taking place since the opening of Afflecks Palace[122] in 1984 and Factory Records’ Dry Bar in 1989.

 

Walls of the wholesale fish market with development inside, 2004

 

The way in which the Northern Quarter is presented as a “funky” bohemian zone resembles the gentrification that took place in Manhattan’s Lower East Side in the early 1990s. The Northern Quarter is said to provide ‘a perfect meeting point between music and culture, offering an assortment of alternative retail outlets including sex shops, record outlets and trendy bars’.[123] The reality seems a little less cheerful. Developments such as the luxury apartments built within the walls of the old fish market and the crafts centre that occupies the old fruit market in Smithfield appear lost in a district that remains saturated with a melancholic shabbiness of the late 1970s. Mancunian author Gwendoline Riley, who uses the city of Manchester to evoke a kind of emotional desolation at the heart of her characters, describes the area in her 2002 novel, Cold Water:

 

All the old rag shops in Smithfield are still clothes wholesalers, with garish disco gear and sequined jumpers for the middle aged on mannequins in their windows […] shabby pigeons sit fatly on the shrubs which are growing out of the derelict upstairs windows.[124]

 

 

There is no new name for West Gorton, just acres of mean looking yellow-bricked public housing built during the 1980s and 90s. On the site of the Corona/Mayflower there is a new cheap hotel. Its name, Quality Hotel, is somewhat unconvincing.

Site of Mayflower Club, 2004

 

Belle Vue feels like an amalgam of Benjamin’s ‘dream houses of the collective’, which he listed as ‘arcades, winter gardens, panoramas, factories, wax museums, casinos, railroad stations.’[125] These days Belle Vue is a vast wasteland of railway sidings and goods yards with greyhound tracks and a giant multiplex cinema standing at the edge. In July 2004 plans were announced for a giant £270m Las Vegas style gaming complex to be built on the site of the current greyhound tracks.[126]

 

Hulme has changed beyond recognition since the much-trumpeted Hulme City Challenge £37.5 million government regeneration package that began in April 1992.[127] Manchester City Council managed to re-write its own history when the crescents and flats of the 1960s/70s were demolished and a carefully planned mixture of public, private residences and co-operative social housing (Homes For Change on Chichester Road) were constructed in its place. With its public architecture (Chris Wilkinson’s Hulme Arch Bridge) and green spaces, Hulme is now much more Milton Keynes than East Berlin.

 

Knott Mill has also been the site of intensive regeneration with the more expensive new build private apartment complexes, such as Will Alsop’s Urban Splash[128] projects, situated around Little Peter Street and Castlefield. The Haçienda that had once been occupied by Factory Records was eventually demolished. Yet in keeping with its monumental status the new development was named “The Hacienda Apartments” which boast one-bedroom standard flats costing £218,000 up to penthouse apartments costing £685,500.[129]Macintosh Village” is a luxury development that is currently being built on the site of Little Ireland. A good example of the selective history of redevelopment, the apartment development chooses to make reference to Birley and Kirk’s nearby factory rather than the most notorious slum in Victorian England. But perhaps this is not too surprising since who would choose to live at The Most Horrible Spot Apartments?

 

 

Conclusion - Inhabiting the City

 

Nightclubbing, we’re nightclubbing

We’re walking through town

Nightclubbing, we’re nightclubbing

We walk like a ghost.[130]

 

We know what cities are/the monuments, the tombs.[131]

 

The stated aim of this research project was to consider the ways in which cities are controlled and zoned and to examine the part that a counter culture might play in the resistance to this. Although it would initially seem that the most obvious form of opposition would be through a counter cultural production of difference - and Manchester has a well-documented history of cultural and political nonconformity, often overlapping at sites (St. Peter’s Field) or through personalities (Tony Wilson)-  as I have shown, in Manchester such cultural moves have been successfully incorporated into an established rhetoric of regeneration that positively feeds upon the unorthodox nature of its recent cultural past. The recent cultural past of the city often accommodates its own assimilation through its reliance upon Certeau calls ‘mythifying’[132] and its uncritical acceptance of those ‘cultural treasures’ that Walter Benjamin warns against.[133]

 

Rather than accepting the formula (myth) of counter culture (see page 51), this research project has instead looking at a series of cultural occupations of city locations from 1979 to 1982. Many of these are seen as being too brief to warrant much investigation, being ‘pockets of activity’ that required ‘searching out’,[134] or in the case of Hulme, representing a rather nebulous form of cultural activity. However the significance of these occupations is not their longevity or impact, but rather that they were willing to follow the traces of a past occupancy of the city. I have also shown that such historic occupations of the city were often contested.

 

Manchester is not unique in its unease about who populates its centre. From the “masses” of the nineteenth century poor, the first wave of West Indian migrants in the 1950s and the “youth” of the 1960s to the black “rioters” of the early 1980s and the “feral” children of 2004, there is a historical pattern of anxiety that is traceable through most UK cities. Yet Manchester is unique in its status as the first modern city, created by the productive force of the working classes who inhabited it. Manchester also provides a historical pattern of anxiety and suppression of working class bodies. The suppression might use the metaphor of disease; or be bound up with the religious fervour and moral guardianship of Chief Constables McKay and Anderton; these responses can be veiled by idealistic moves to improve the working class “condition” through the dispersal or containment of the population in rationalized housing schemes. And crucially, the rhetoric of regeneration, the ‘aseptic, generic and surveilled’[135] city of today, must be recognised as just another historic form of social control. What these historical responses rely upon is a notion of progress – be it sanitary, moral, utopian or ambient. The past cannot be tolerated outside of the museum space.

 

Yet for many who lived in the ruins of Manchester during the late 1970s and early 1980s it felt as if the industrial past of Manchester had invaded the present. For writer Jon Savage who first moved to Manchester in April 1979, the city spoke to him through the ‘dark spaces and empty places’ and ‘vacant industrial sites – the endless detritus of the nineteenth century’,[136] and he recalls ‘getting stoned and driving around finding the weirdest and most derelict bits’.[137] The occupation of the city centre during this period not only followed the traces of previous occupations but also recognised the ‘potential not-yet reality’[138] of the dream of capitalism. Between 1979 and 1982 history was not something that you had (as in ‘the place has history’), but rather thronged by its vociferous dead the past spoke of unknown pleasures and of possibilities rather than progress. And although this project has suggested a certain sealing off of history, as long as regeneration is recognised as a discursive process, the possibility of redeeming history is always present.

 

These occupations or resistances are theorised through Benjaminian notions of ruin (Manchester/Belle Vue/Hulme as industrial ruins), where the street runs counter to the bourgeois interior, and through Benjamin’s dialectical appreciation of the dream both as the Marxist phantasmagoria of capitalism and the revolutionary potential of the surrealist dream. History becomes something contestable.  And Certeau writes of ‘urban life’ allowing ‘what has been excluded’ from the socio-economic and political totalising discourse of the ‘urbanistic plan’ to ‘interact outside the purview of the panoptic power’.[139] According to Certeau:

 

Beneath the discourses ideologizing it [the city], there is a proliferation of tricks and fusions of power that are devoid of legible identity, that lack any perceptible access and that are without rational clarity – impossible to manage.[140]

 

This project has attempted to give an account of those oppositions that have on the whole been overlooked by the narrative of regeneration. There is of course the danger that in presenting tangible instances of such fleeting occupations they are merely formatted in a way that makes them more easily assimilated into the suffocating pot pourri of heritage that sweetens the air in the post-industrial, postmodern city of Manchester.

 

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Haslam, Dave, ‘Manchester - The Role of Culture in Urban Regeneration’ (2004), <http://www.davehaslam.com/control.php?_command=/DISPLAY/16/5//1500&_path/102/104> [accessed 20 May 2004]

 

 

Institute of Popular Music, Liverpool University & Manchester Institute for Popular Culture, Manchester Metropolitan University, Music Policy, the Music Industry and Local Economic Development: A Research Project for the Economic and Social Research Council, (1998), <http://www.mipc.mmu.ac.uk/pages-php?node=02/10/05/4854606> [accessed 30 June 2004]

 

Kay, James Phillips, The Moral and Physical Condition of The Working Classes employed in the cotton manufacture in Manchester, (London: James Ridgway, 1832)

 

Kidd, Alan, Manchester, (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2002)

 

Kidd, Alan J., and K.W. Roberts, eds., City, class and culture: Studies of social policy and cultural production in Victorian Manchester, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1985)

 

Kirby, Dean and Paul Taylor, ‘Farewell, Foo Foo’, (17 November 2003),  <www.manchesteronline.co.uk/news/s/73/73236_stars_salute_foo_foo.html>[accessed 23 July 2004]

 

Lee, C.P., Shake Rattle and Rain: Popular Music Making in Manchester 1955-1995, (Otterly St. Mary: Hardinge Simpole, 2002)

 

Leslie, Esther, Walter Benjamin: Overpowering Conformism, (London: Pluto Press, 2000)

 

Lonely Planet guides, Manchester, <http://www.lonelyplanet.com/destiations/europe/manchester/> [accessed 4 June 2004]

 

Makepeace, Chris, Looking Back at Hulme, Moss Side, Chorlton on Medlock and Ardwick, (Altringham: Willow Publishing, 1995)

 

Manchester Area Psychogeographic (MAP), ‘Multi Real v. Mighty Real: Manchester psychogeographers say – it’s good to walk’ (1995), <http://maptwentythree.us/real.html.> [accessed 12 July 2004]

 

Manchester City Council, Manchester, 50 Years of Change: Post War Planning in Manchester, (London: HMSO, 1995)

 

Manchester Comet, ‘Crush them with decency, 12 May 1965

 

Manchester Evening News, ’23 acres to be cleared at Gorton’, 1 September, 1972, 6

 

Manchester Evening News, ‘Success Story for Aaben’, 26 May 1975, 3

 

Manchester Evening News, ‘Final Reel for City Cinema’, 1 August 1985, 5

 

Manchester Guardian, ‘Police Chief attacks clubs’, 27 May 1965

 

Mellor, Rosemary, ‘The Inner City as Periphery – Manchester’ paper #14 for Manchester Sociology Occasional Papers, (Manchester: Department of Sociology, Manchester University, 1984)

 

Messinger, Gary S., Manchester in the Victorian Age, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1985)

 

Middles, Mick, Joy Division to New Order: The Factory Story, (London: Virgin Books, 1996)

 

Naylor, Liz, ‘No City Fun’, City Fun, November 1979

 

Necessary Group, ‘A Flag for the North West’ (February 2004) <http://www.itsnecessary.co.uk/page.asp?area=what> [accessed 15 July 2004]

 

Nicholas, R., Manchester Corporation: City of Manchester Plan, (Norwich & London: Jarold & Sons, 1945)

 

Nietzsche, Fredrich, ‘On the Uses and Disadvantages of History for Life’ in Untimely Meditations, ed. by David Breazeale, trans. by R.J. Hollingdale, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997)

 

Noon, Jeff, Vurt, (Poynton, Manchester: Ringpull, 1995)

 

O’Connor, Justin, ‘Zoning’, Urbis (11 February 2003) <http://www.urbis-resources.org.uk/index.php/article/item58html?q=zoning>  [accessed 23 July 2004]

 

Orlowski, Andrew, ‘There Goes the Neighbourhood’, November 1992, Badpress, 3 www.badpress.net

 

Panos, David and Benedict Seymour, ‘The Regeneration Siege in Central Hackney’, Mute #26 (Summer/Autumn 2003) < http://www.metamute.com> [accessed 4 June 2004]

 

Parkinson, Richard, On the present condition of the labouring poor in Manchester: with hints for improving it, (London & Manchester: Simpkin, Marshall & Co., 1841)

 

Parkinson-Bailey, John J., Manchester: an architectural history, (Manchester & New York: Manchester University Press, 2000)

 

Parkinson-Bailey, John, ed., Sites of the City, Manchester: Essays on recent buildings by their architects, (Manchester: Faculty of Art & Design, Manchester Metropolitan University: 1996)

 

Peck, Jamie and Kevin Ward, eds., City of Revolution: Restructuring Manchester, (Manchester & New York: Manchester University Press, 2002)

 

Pile, Steve and Nigel Thrift, eds., City A-Z, (London & New York: Routledge, 2000)

 

Plant, Sadie, The Most Radical Gesture: The Situationist International in a postmodern age, (London & New York: Routledge, 1992)

 

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Reid, Ken, truancy: short and long term solutions, (London: Rotledge/Falmer, 2002)

 

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Riley, Gwendoline, Cold Water, (London: Jonathan Cape, 2002)

 

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Rylett, Keith and Phil Scott, Central 1179: The story of Manchester’s Twisted Wheel Club, (London: Bee Cool, 2001)

 

Sadler, Simon, The Situationist City, (Cambridge, Massachusetts & London, England: The MIT Press, 2001)

 

Savage, Jon, ed., The Hacienda Must Be Built! (Woodford Green, Essex: International Music Publishers, 1992)

 

Savage, Jon, Time Travel: Pop, Media and Sexuality 1976-96, (London: Chatto & Windus, 1996)

 

Sebald, W.G., The Emigrants, trans. by Michael Hulse, (London: The Harvill Press, 1996)

 

Sennett, R., The Uses of Disorder: Personal Identity and City Life, (London: Allen Lane, 1971)

 

Schlosser, Eric, ‘Saturday Night at The Haçienda’, Atlantic Monthly, 282, 4 (1998), 22-34

 

Schofield, Jonathan, ‘Stringing a Line: Graham Stringer MP for Blakely’, City Life, #434, 27 June-12 July 2001, 22

 

Stallybrass, Peter and Allon White, The Politics & Poetics of Transgression, (London: Methuen, 1986)

 

Tocqueville, Alexis de, Journeys to England and Ireland, trans. by George Lawrence and K.P. Mayer, (London: Faber & Faber, 1958)

 

Tomlinson, Walter, Bye-Ways of Manchester Life with Illustrations Drawn and Etched by the Author, (Manchester: Butterworth & Nodal, 1887)

 

Ward. David, ‘The white elephant that learned to fly: Manchester’s Urbis museum recovers from a shaky start’, Guardian, 11 May 2004, 7

 

Wentworth, Phillip, ‘The Latter Day Orators of New Cross’, Middleton Guardian, 3 May 1890

 

Wentworth, Phillip, ‘Quack Doctors, Cheap Jacks, and other vendors at New Cross’, Middleton Guardian, 19 May 1890

 

Westwood, Sallie and John Williams, eds., Imagining Cities: Scripts, Signs, Memory, (London & New York: Routledge, 1997)

 

Whittle, Stephen, ‘Consuming difference: The collaboration of the gay body with the cultural state’ in The Margins of the City: Gay Men’s Urban Lives, ed. by Stephen Whittle, (Aldershot: Arena, 1994)

 

Wilkinson, Stephen, Manchester’s Warehouses: their history and architecture, (Manchester: Stephen Wilkinson, 1982)

 

Williams, Emlyn, Beyond Belief: The Moors Murderers, (London: Pan, 1968)

 

Wilson, Tony, 24 Hour Party People, (London: Channel 4 Books, 2002)

 

Wilson, Tony, ‘news update’, In The City (2004) <http://inthecity.co.uk/itc2004/itc04-radisson.shtml> [accessed 4 June 2004]

 

Witts, Richard, Nico: The Life and Lies of an Icon, (London: Virgin Books, 1993)

 

Young, James, Nico, Songs They Never Play on the Radio, (London: Bloomsbury, 1999)

 

 

 

Web Sites

 

www.alsoparchitects.com

For a vision of Barnsley, Yorkshire as a Tuscan hill village.

 

www.bopsecrets.org

For decent translations of situationist texts.

 

http://detroityes.com

Lowell Boleau’s The Fabulous Ruins of Detroit site that offers an extensive tour of the decaying centre of America’s first industrial city.

 

www.gaymonitor.co.uk

Ray Gosling and Allan Horsfall’s site that contains details on the proposed esquire club project partly backed by Reg Kilduff

 

www.lwtua.free-online.co.uk/shadowplay/joyd

Joy Division online resource, “Shadowplay” with more information than you could ever need such as venues (with dates) that the band played. This site along with a similar one for The Fall, www.visi.com/fall/gigography/77-82, helped me to date the opening and closing of some of the venues I was looking at.

 

www.manchester2002-uk.com

Tourist focused site that promises ‘a virtual Encyclopaedia of Greater Manchester’.

 

www.manchester.gov.uk

Used as a general resource.

 

www.mipc.mmu.ac.uk

The site of the Manchester Institute for Popular Culture.

 

 

Discography

 

 

A Certain Ratio – ‘All Night Party’, 7” single, Factory Records, 1979

 

The Fall – ‘Various Times’, b-side of ‘It’s The New Thing’, 7” single,  Step Forward Records, 1978

 

Iggy Pop – ‘Nightclubbing’, LP track from The Idiot, Virgin Records, 1977

 

The Passage, ‘Lon-don’, LP track from For All and None, Virgin Records 1981

 

 

 

Sources

Manchester Local History Unit has a large photographic database, which houses thousands of images from the mid nineteenth century onwards. The images on pages 19, 23, 26, 27, 28, 32, 33, 35, 38, 42, and the back cover are from this magnificent resource. I also spent a considerable time poring over photographs of cobbled streets and dark alleyways (often too dark to reproduce) as I was researching the area that now lies beneath the Arndale Centre. Since I had no memory of the physical appearance of this sizeable area of Manchester the images I looked at helped me to visualize the area as I was writing about it. I also used photographs to piece together history of on Oozits and the Mayflower and to jog my memory of Hulme, Harpurhey and Gorton during the late 1970s. Unfortunately many of the images were somewhat vaguely dated (“the 1960s”), wherever possible I have attempted to date the images a little more precisely.

On page 16 the photograph is taken from Manchester by Alan Kidd (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2002) and the illustration on page 47 is taken from The Architectural Review (CLXX11, 1982).

The maps of central Manchester in 1900 and 1971 are from the map collection at Senate House, University of London Library.

The map of Manchester districts is taken from www.manchester2002-uk.com and the tourist map of Manchester is taken from the ‘Lonely Planet’ online guide.

I took the photos on pages 49, 53, 55 and 56 during my research trip to Manchester in July 2004. The ticket for the Mayflower Club and the Haçienda membership card on pages 36 and 48 are surprising survivors from my past.

The recollections quoted from interviews are unpublished elsewhere.

 

 

Interview Profiles

 

 

Richard Boon – managed the Buzzcocks who released the first independently manufactured record, Spiral Scratch (1977) on the New Hormones label that Boon ran from an office shared with Nico’s management on Newton Street in Manchester. During mid 1980s moved to London and worked at Rough Trade records. Now lives with his family in Stoke Newington, London where he works as a librarian. [Interviewed 29 July 2004]

 

Michael Bracewell – writer, novelist and cultural commentator whose first book was the novel The Crypto-Amnesia Club (1988). This has been followed by several novels and non-fiction works such as England is Mine: Pop Life in Albion From Wilde to Goldie and most recently, the nineties: when surface was depth. He has presented two TV documentaries for the BBC – a profile of Oscar Wilde and a film about architectural historian Nikolaus Pevsner. [Email correspondence 11 August 2004]

 

Robert (Bob) Dickinson – moved to Manchester in the late 1970s in order to experience punk and worked as a journalist for many publications including alternative papers such as The New Manchester Review and City Fun. Wrote Imprinting the Sticks: The Alternative Press beyond London. Formed The Manchester Area Psychogeographic (1996-98). Now works for BBC Radio in Manchester where he produces many arts programmes including Front Row. [Interviewed 8 July 2004]

 

Dave Haslam – author of Manchester, England and Adventures on the Wheels of Steel: The Rise of the Superstar DJs. Arrived in Manchester as a student, and lived in Hulme from 1981-88 from where he produced his Debris fanzine which ran between November 1983 and June 1989. Wrote for various magazines including The Face and worked as a DJ at the Hacienda and The Broadwalk. Currently writing a book on the 1970s called Not Abba. [Interviewed July 2004]

 

Ray Gosling – journalist and radio/TV broadcaster who made over 100 television documentaries for Granada and the BBC and over 1000 radio documentaries, many looking at the minutiae of everyday life. In January 2004 Ray Gosling was the subject of a BBC4 documentary exploring the consequences of his bankruptcy. Gosling has also been a long-standing campaigner for gay rights. [Telephone interview 22 July 2004]

 

C.P. Lee – was the front man and founding member of 70s rock satirists Alberto Y Lost Trios Paranoias. Since the band broke up in the 1980s he has written two books on Bob Dylan - Like the Night: Bob Dylan and the road to the Manchester Free Trade Hall (Helter Skelter) and Like a Bullet of Light: The films of Bob Dylan (Helter Skelter) – and a history of Manchester’s music scene, Shake, Rattle and Rain: Popular Music Making in Manchester 1955-1995 (Hardinge Simpole). Started Manchester Area Psychogeographic with Bob Dickinson. He is currently writing a memoir, When We Were Thin. He is a lecturer in popular culture at Salford University. [Interviewed 8 July 2004]

 

Jon Savage – author of what many consider to be the definitive book on punk, England’s Dreaming: Sex Pistols and Punk Rock. Also author of The Kinks: The Official Biography, The Faber Book of Pop (with Hanif Kureishi), The Haçienda Must Be Built! and Time Travel which collected together his journalism from Sounds, Melody Maker, The Face, The Observer and many other publications. [Telephone interview 1 June 2004]

 

Gordon Sharples – works at the local history unit at Manchester Central Library. During the 1960s he worked as a printer on Withy Grove and knew the area between Shudehill and Market Street well. [Brief interview 7 July 2004]

 



[1] Liz Naylor, ‘No City Fun’ published in City Fun fanzine, circa November 1978.  The piece was made into a 20 minute, 8mm film called ‘No City Fun Music’ by Charles Salem. First screened at London’s Scala cinema in September 1979; it was given the Factory Records catalogue number FAC9.  See document #01 in appendix.

[2] To be a child truanting in the city is to experience the city in a fugitive way - one is literally forced into back streets. It is an inversion of the experience of the flâneur in that the city threatens exposure rather than being revealed. Most truancy is pathologized along a spectrum of antisocial behaviour and there seems little published on the relationship between truant and city.  See also Graeme Gilloch’s chapter on Benjamin’s writing of the child’s experience of city in Myth & Metropolis: Walter Benjamin and the City, (Cambridge: Polity, 1996), pp.55-92.

[3] Michael Bracewell, the nineties: when surface was depth, (London: Flamingo, 2003), p.210.

[4] According to writer Jon Savage in his foreword to Deborah Curtis, Touching from a Distance: Ian Curtis and Joy Division, (London: Faber & Faber, 2001), p.xii, Joy Division ‘defined not only a city but a moment of social change’. It is hard to convey the impact that Joy Division had upon Manchester in the late 1970s without recourse to the endlessly resurrected myth of Joy Division centred on lead singer Ian Curtis’ suicide in May 1980.  There are currently two major film biographies of Curtis in production that will no doubt reinforce this myth.

[5] Michel de Certeau, ‘Walking in the City’ in The Certeau Reader, ed. by Graham Ward, (Malden US & Oxford UK: Blackwell, 2000), pp. 101-118, p.105.

[6] Ivan Chtcheglov, ‘Formulary for a New Urbanism,’ in Leaving the 20th Century: The Incomplete Work of the Situationist International, trans. and ed. by Charles Gray, (London: Rebel Press, 1998), pp.15-18. A much better translation can be found at www.bopsecrets.org [accessed 2 May 2004].

[7] This is a  point that raises the issue of a collective unconscious, however  I felt that the word limit of this project did not permit exploration of this complex subject.

[8] Guy Debord, ‘Introduction to a Critique of Urban Geography’ @ www.bopsecrets.org [accessed 2 May 2004] For secondary literature see for example, Simon Sadler, The Situationist City, (Cambridge, Massachusetts & London, England: The MIT Press, 2001) pp.69-105 – the book as a whole is relevant, but chapter two discusses psychogeography in particular. Also Sadie Plant, The Most Radical Gesture: The Situationist International in a postmodern age, (London & New York: Routledge, 1992), pp58-60

[9] See document #02.

[10] For example the Manchester Area Psychogeographic talks of ‘a political motive’ to ‘remind people that Manchester isn’t just shopping and clubbing and museums and exhibitions’, www.twentythree.plus.com [accessed 12 July 2004].

[11] Certeau, p.103.

[12] However this is not to suggest that the writing of cultural history, that the regeneration of our cities is not a serious matter.

[13] The Benjamin works that have particular relevance to this project are, ‘Thesis on the Philosophy of History’ in Illuminations, ed. by Hannah Arendt, trans. by Harry Zorn, (London: Pimlico, 1999), pp. 245-255; (with Asja Lacis), ‘Naples’ in One Way Street and Other Writings, trans. by Edmund Jephcott and Kingsley Shorter, (London & New York: Verso, 1997) pp.167-176, ‘Surrealism: The Last Snapshot of the European Intelligentsia’ in OWS, pp.225-239 and The Arcades Project, ed. by Rolf Tiedemann, trans. by Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaughlin, (Cambridge, Massachusetts & London, England: The Belknap Press, Harvard University: 2003).

[14] I would suggest that this differs from the crowds described at Peterloo who represent a moment just prior to a recognizable industrialized working class.

[15] Linnaeus Banks, The Manchester Man, (London: Victor Gollancz, 1970), p. 271. Banks’ novel was first published in instalments in Cassell’s Magazine in 1874.

[16] The situationist technique of détournement literally translates as “diversion”, although a rerouting or converting of existing aesthetic elements is closer to its application. For discussion of the détourned city see, Sadler, pp.108-110.

[17] Sarah Champion, And God Created Manchester, (Manchester: Wordsmith, 1990), p.38.

[18] It is noticeable how in the mainstream media the early 1980s are being increasingly represented through melancholy. Aside from the “80s” nostalgia fodder (Duran Duran, puff ball skirts etcetera) there seems certain wistfulness for a time (lost) of straightforward political opposition – be it through programmes on the Miners Strike or the soundtrack use of popular music associated with opposition to Thatcher (2 Tone, Jam). It is hard to know whether the melancholy comes from the present recollection of that period or whether current reflection identifies a melancholy that was present during the time.

[19] Benjamin, The Arcades Project, p.391, [K1a, 8].

[20] Alexis de Tocqueville, Journeys to England and Ireland, trans. by George Lawrence and K.P. Mayer, (London: Faber & Faber, 1958), p.107.

[21] Alan Kidd, Manchester, (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2002), p.1.

[22] Kidd, p.16. Arkwright’s mill was located on Miller Street at the top of Shudehill and it is worth noting that it stood until 1940.

[23] Asa Briggs, Victorian Cities, (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1968), p.96. Manchester was technically a town in the 1840s.

[24] Gary S. Messinger, Manchester in the Victorian Age, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1985), p.10.

[25]Messinger p.12, Kidd, p.13. This situation would reoccur over a century later in the 1990s when in the wake of worldwide acclaim for the vibrancy of its music and cultural scene, applications to Manchester University and Polytechnic rose by over 30%. See Champion,  p.11

[26] From 1811 onwards the population of Manchester rose by around 30% every decade, with the population more than doubling between 1811 and 1831. See, Kidd, p.28.

[27] Such accounts are legion and aside from Frederick Engels’ The Condition of the working class in England 1844, (London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd., 1968) there are numerous philanthropic tracts such as Richard Parkinson’s On the present condition of the labouring poor in Manchester: with hints for improving it, (London & Manchester: Simpkin, Marshall & Co., 1841), and Joseph Adshead’s Distress in Manchester, (London: Henry Hooper, 1842) as well as fictional accounts such as Elizabeth Gaskell’s Mary Barton (1848) and Dickens’ Hard Times (1854) for which Manchester was the inspiration for Coketown.

[28] James Phillips Kay, The Moral and Physical Condition of The Working Classes Employed in the cotton Manufacture in Manchester, (London: James Ridgway, 1832), p.20-27. Kay’s pamphlet was originally published in Manchester in 1832 and, frequently cited by Engels, it is one of the earliest reports on the conditions of the poor.

[29] Tocqueville, p.106.

[30] Kidd, p.58.

[31] One of the classic theoretical texts on this is Peter Stallybrass and Allon White’s ‘The City: the Sewer, the Gaze and the Contaminating Touch’ in The Politics & Poetics of Transgression, (London: Methuen, 1986), pp.125-148. Phil Cohen’s essay ‘Out of the Melting Pot into the Fire Next Time: Imagining the East End as city, body, text’ in Imagining Cities: Scripts, Signs, Memory ed. by Sallie Westwood and John Williams, (London & New York: Routledge, 1997), 73-85, argues that to read the Victorian slumming literature along the lines of Stallybrass and White is to be ‘carried away by its own, rather calculating rhetorical excess’, p.81.

[32] Leon Faucher, Manchester in 1844, its present condition and future prospects, trans. by ‘a member of the Manchester Athenæum’, (London: Simpkin, Marshall, and Co., 1844) pp.26-27.

[33] Manchester was granted city status in 1853.

[34] Kidd, p.93. See also C.P. Lee, Shake, Rattle and Rain: Popular Music Making in Manchester 1955-1995, (Otterly St. Mary: Hardinge Simpole, 2002), pp.57-58 for an argument on the psychogeographic importance of the site of the Peterloo Massacre upon which, after 1843, the Free Trade Hall stood. Lee suggests that evidence of the psychogeographic importance lies in several seminal cultural moments such as Bob Dylan’s 1966 electric gig when he was accused of being a “Judas” to folk music  (and by implication to a certain form of political protest) and the Sex Pistols gig in 1976 that is said to have spurred more or less every member of the audience of around forty people into action. In June 2004 the Free Trade Hall was re-opened as the five star Radisson Edwardian hotel complete with “Bob Dylan penthouse suite” at £1200 per night. 

[35] Population figures rose from 544,000 in 1901 to 766,000 in 1931. Manchester City Council, Manchester, 50 Years of Change: Post War Planning in Manchester, (London: HMSO, 1995), p.6.

[36] Kidd, p.133.

[37] Kidd, p. 218.

[38] Before this date there had been a very limited amount of public housing built by Manchester Corporation. Two small mansion blocks on Oldham Road and Rochdale Road were built in 1904, followed by an estate in Burnage to the south of the city in 1907. Manchester City Council, Manchester…, p.7.

[39] Alan Kidd makes the point that most of those who moved to Wythenshawe – and by 1939 numbers were nearing 40,000 –came from the ‘better-off working class and not from the slums’; Kidd, pp.221-223.

[40] R. Nicholas, Manchester Corporation: City of Manchester Plan, (Norwich & London: Jarold & Sons, 1945), p.3 – this was the so-called “1945 Plan” and is very much of its time. Lots of post war optimism and talk of entering a new age. See documents #03 for Nicholas’ plan for an unrecognisable Hulme.

[41] Walter Tomlinson, ‘Shudehill and Its Markets’ in Bye-Ways of Manchester Life with Illustrations Drawn and Etched by the Author, (Manchester: Butterworth & Nodal, 1887), pp.50-62, p.50.

[42] See, Kidd, pp. 2-5.

[43] Engels, p.52.

[44] Conversation with Gordon Sharples at Manchester Library’s Local History Unit, 7 July 2004.

[45] I have pieced together much of the background detail on this area through extensive research at the photograph archive at Manchester Central Library (see sources), oral testimony and ephemera such as flyers and adverts that have been presented on internet sites such as www.manchesterbeat.com [accessed 12 July 2004] which is an archive of the early Manchester beat scene.

[46] Lee, p.183.

[47] Since the coffee bar clubs did not serve alcohol the owners did not need to apply for a drinks license and many escaped regulation.

[48] The Manchester Cavern became The Jigsaw  and later The Magic Village in the late 1960s. See www.manchesterbeat.com (see note 45).

[49] Manchester’s status as rivalling Hamburg for nighttime fun did attract the attention of the London underworld. There is a rich folklore about the Krays arriving in Manchester and being met at Piccadilly Station by a deputation of CID officers and/or being driven to the newly opened Piccadilly Hotel and being held at gunpoint by local gangsters, The Quality Street Gang.

[50]Credit must go to C.P. Lee who has conducted most of the original research on this - see Chapter four in Shake Rattle and Rain, pp.65-86. See also, Dave Haslam, Manchester, England, (London: Fourth Estate, 1999), pp.83-108 and Keith Rylatt and Phil Scott, Central 1179: The Story of Manchester’s Twisted Wheel Club, (London: Bee Cool, 2001) pp.97-107. See also my own research of press reports in, Manchester Comet, 12 May 1965 and Manchester Guardian 27 October 1965 (document #04).

[51] Superintendent Alan Dingwall’s ‘Coffee Beat Clubs’ report cited in Lee, p.74.

[52] Telephone conversation with Jon Savage on 1 June 2004. 

[53] See Michael Prince’s authorised biography, God’s Cop: The Biography of James Anderton, (London: Frederick Muller, 1988), pp.48-63 for even more hair-raising insight into the Old Testament world of a high-ranking public employee. Nicholas Blincoe’s crime novel, Manchester Slingback, (London: Pan, 1999), is a convincing portrayal of the lives of a group of rent boys who work in the streets around Chorlton Street bus station in the early 1980s against a backdrop of constant harassment by Anderton’s (named) force. 

[54] Bob Dickinson recalls seeing Anderton standing watching the closing down of England’s Glory, “looking like Moses”. [Interviewed 8 July 2004].

[55] Hugh Wilson and Lewis Womersley’s original Arndale shopping centre was build between 1972-79 costing over £100 million. Wilson and Womersley were awarded the contract for the Arndale Centre after recently completing the University Precinct and Hulme estate for the city council. See, www.manchester2002-uk.com/buildings [accessed 12 July 2004] and John Parkinson-Bailey, Manchester: an architectural history, (Manchester & New York: Manchester University Press, 2000), p.194.

[56] Kidd, p.133.

[57] Tomlinson, p.59.

[58] Andrew Davies, ‘Leisure in the “classic slum” 1900-1939’ in Andrew Davies and Steven Fielding, eds., Worker’s worlds: Cultures and communities in Manchester and Salford, 1880-1939, (Manchester & New York: Manchester University Press, 1992), pp. 102-132, p.125. There are many contemporaneous accounts of the various orators associated with the area. For example see, Philip Wentworth, ‘The Latter Day Orators of New Cross’ and ‘Quack Doctors, Cheap Jacks, and other vendors at New Cross’ in The Middleton Guardian, dated 3 May 1890 and 19 May 1890.

[59] Kidd, p.194.

[60] Boon was the manager of Manchester punk band The Buzzcocks and ran the New Hormones record label, O’Hara was the partner of record producer Martin Hannett, Wilson was the (then) wife of Tony Wilson, Cooper was a friend of Boon who worked as an accountant for radical organisations, and Eric Random was a musician, whose mother had been Myra Hindley’s hairdresser. Many others such as Jon Savage and ‘The Hulme lot’ were involved. Richard Boon [interviewed 29 July 2004] describes it very much as a community effort.

[61] The name was a reference to the revolutionary May ’68 slogan, “Underneath the paving stones – the beach”. It also fitted in nicely with a comic book owned by Boon called Horror at Beach Party, which in fine situationist style, was détourned to provide artwork for flyers.

[62] Newgate Street no longer exists, having recently been demolished to make way for a car park.

[63] I was unable to discover any published material on The Grand Pigalle/Picador/Oozits. Much of the research was conducted by piecing together details from photographs, oral accounts, personal recollection and the obituary of Foo Foo Lammar (See footnote #45).  Foo Foo Lammar was an institution in Manchester for most of the 1970s-90s. Foo Foo’s Palace on Dale Street was a drag venue beloved of hen and stag parties, and although Lammar was himself a gay man, the venue was a bawdy heterosexual destination at which gay men and lesbians were not welcomed. Lammar, whose real name was Francis Pearson, died in November 2003. See Dean Kirby and Paul Taylor, ‘Farewell, Foo Foo’ @www.manchesteronline.co.uk [accessed 23 July 2004].

[64] During this period the denotation of a venue as “gay” often meant that the ‘less well off’ gay men and lesbians were welcome in venues that were frequented by a certain underclass. At places like The Picador, Dickens on Oldham Street or the New Union pub on Canal Street (see mind map/document #02) there was a mix of gay men, lesbians, transsexuals, rent boys, transvestites, prostitutes, drug dealers and those who felt outside of mainstream culture (Deborah Curtis describes Ian Curtis taking her to both Dickens and The New Union), coexisting quite happily and more often that not being entertained by strip shows (Dickens), or drag shows (Union).  See Stephen Whittle, ‘Consuming differences: The collaboration of the gay body with the cultural state’ in The Margins of the City: Gay Men’s Urban Lives, ed. by Stephen Whittle, (Aldershot: Arena, 1994), 27-41.

[65] Richard Boon interview.

[66] Venue strap lines taken from display adverts in the Manchester Evening News, May 1980 [microfiche accessed 9 May 2004].

[67] Bracewell, p.119. Bracewell says the Morrissey quote was displayed in the window of the Doctor Martens shoe shop in the “Triangle Centre” shopping mall built in the site of the former Corn Exchange which was destroyed in the IRA bomb. According to Bracewell, ‘all you got was Morrissey’s line, unadorned and without any other words’. [Email correspondence with Michael Bracewell 11 August 2004].

[68] Gorton and Longsight were incorporated into the municipal boundaries of Manchester during the first decade of the twentieth century.

[69] http://manchesterhistory.net/bellevue covers an extensive history of Belle Vue.

[70] My mother (b.1918) can remember a (single) day trip to Belle Vue from Liverpool in the late 1920s as being a significant family occasion.

[71] See David Fowler, ‘Teenage Consumers: Young wage-earners and Leisure in Manchester 1919-1939’ in Davies and Fielding, pp.133-155. Prior to the late 1930s most of the working class entertainment had been found on the inner city streets where organ grinders were a common feature. The “monkey parade” was the name given to the highly ritualised courtship promenade through the local streets by the young men of that area. The phenomenon continued into the 1930s. See Andrew Davies, ‘Leisure in the “classic slum” 1900-1939’, in Davies and Fielding, p.123; Haslam, pp 48-54; Fowler, p.148; and Ailsa Cox and Patricia Duffin, eds., Day In, Day Out: Memories of North Manchester from women in Monsall Hospital, (Manchester: The Gatehouse Project, 1985), pp.34-35.

[72] Emlyn Williams, Beyond Belief: The Moors Murderers, (London: Pan, 1968), pp.134-137.

[73] Haslam, p.108.

[74] Telephone conversation with Ray Gosling, 22 July 2004 - I see no reason to doubt Gosling’s word on this, he knew Kilduff well and was a regular in The Ogden Arms (now The Rembrandt). Gosling had been bought drinks by Brady and knew him as a regular. Gosling worked on several projects with Kilduff who and was one of the backers for a proposed chain of non profit making, non commercial gay clubs called ‘Esquire Clubs’ along the lines of the Working Men’s Club and Institute Union in the early 1970s. Further information on this can be found at the Gay Monitor site (produced by Ray Gosling and Allan Horsfall) at www.gaymonitor.co.uk/esquire.htm.

[75] The clearance of 23 acres of Victorian slum housing in Gorton was announced in 1972. See Manchester Evening News, 1 September 1972, p.6.

[76] Again, much of the research on The Mayflower was conducted through photographs – see note 45.

[77]Curtis, p.31.

[78] Mick Middles, From Joy Division to New Order: The Factory Story, (London: Virgin Books, 1996), p.132. The menace of West Gorton on a Saturday night is one of the few matters Middles does get right in a book that is full of factual errors.

[79] A Certain Ratio, ‘All Night Party’ 7” on Factory Records  (FAC 05), May 1979.

[80] Kidd, pp.33-34.

[81] The 1933 Athens charter issued by the Congrès Internationaux d’Architecture Moderne (CIAM) is widely acknowledged as the most influential codification of rationalist planning. See Sadler, pp.22-33.

[82] The architect Lewis Womersley commenting upon the naming of the crescents - ‘We feel that the analogy we have made with Georgian London and Bath is entirely valid. By use of similar shapes and proportions, large scale building groups and open spaces […] it is our endeavour to achieve at Hulme a solution to the problems of twentieth-century living which would be the equivalent in quality of that reached for the requirements of eighteenth-century Bloomsbury and Bath’, in Rod Hackney, with Fay Sweet, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly: Cities in Crisis, (London: Frederick Muller, 1988), p.21, cited in Parkinson-Bailey, p.194.

[83] Moss Side is integral to the story of Manchester’s cultural history and is worthy of its own study. Space does not permit further exploration in this project. See Haslam. pp. 220-246.

[84] The Department of the Environment, Hulme Study, Stage one: Initial Action Plan, (London: HMSO, 1990), p.30.

[85] Parkinson-Bailey, p.195.

[86] Lee, p.210.

[87] Michael Duffy, ‘REBUILD! ONLY HOPE FOR HULME’, front page of Manchester Evening News, Thursday October 27 1977.

[88] Michael Duffy, ‘£2m TO DEFEAT HULME STAIN’, front page of Manchester Evening News, Friday October 28 1977.

[89] For an enthusiastic appraisal of  ‘Hulme pop’ see Sarah Champion, pp.33-39.

[90] This flat was typical for Hulme in that no one seemed to actually live there, and yet it was not abandoned or squatted, but rather a transient occupancy took place. The Bonsall Street flat was one of the places where I stayed at in the summer of 1978 – hence my piece for City Fun.

[91] Robert Dickinson, Imprinting the Sticks: The Alternative Press beyond London, (Aldershot: Arena, 1997), pp.147-149.

[92] The Aaben – Danish for ‘open’-had taken over the premises of the York Cinema in York Street in Hulme in 1970. It screened current leftfield Hollywood and European films by directors such as Bob Rafelson, Werner Herzog and Jean-Luc Goddard and finally closed its doors in 1985. See, Manchester Evening News, 26 April 1975, p.3 and Manchester Evening News, 1 August 1985, p.5.

[93] Tony Wilson, 24 Hour Party People, (London: Channel 4 Books, 2002), p.53.

[94] Blincoe, Manchester Slingback, pp.68-69.

[95] During the early 1980s there was a “Hulme look” when the whole male population of Hulme seemed to be wearing the clothes of dead men and everyone looked as if they had stepped out of the past (1930s) with baggy suits and tie-less shirts. Most of these second hand clothes were found at places like the nearby Salvation Army clothing depot on Hulme Street, next to the site of Little Ireland, (see mind map/document # 02).

[96] Richard Sennett, The Uses of Disorder: Personal Identity and City Life, (London: Allen Lane, 1971), p.135. The book is very much a product of its time.

[97] Jeff Noon, Vurt, (Poynton, Manchester: Ringpull, 1995), p.65. One time resident, Noon has used Hulme as a slightly nightmarish future ruin in many of his subsequent novels.

[98] Lee, p.210.

[99] Dickinson, p.155.

[100] Chtcheglov, @www.bopsecrets.org

[101] Engels, p.60.

[102] Engels, pp.60-61.

[103] The major shareholders of the Hacienda were essentially Factory Records plus members of the group New Order that had emerged from Joy Division after the death of Ian Curtis.

[104] Mike Pickering quoted in Haslam, p.149. Pickering was the first events booker at the Haçienda.

[105] Chtcheglov, @ www.bopsecrets.org

[106] Alastair Best, ‘The Haçienda’, The Architectural Review, CLXXII, (1982), 78-81 (p.80).

[107] Jon Savage’s introduction to The Hacienda Must Be Built! ed. by Jon Savage, (Woodford Green, Essex: International Music Publishers, 1992).

[108] Eric Schlosser, ‘Urban Life: Saturday Night at The Hacienda’, The Atlantic Monthly, 282, 4, (1998). 22-34, (p.22).

[109] From the Lonely Planet World Guide: Manchester @ http://www.lonelyplanet.com/destinations/europe/manchester [accessed 4 June 2004].

[110] Steve Quilley, ‘Entrepreneurial turns: municipal socialism and after’ in Peck & Ward, City of Revolution, pp. 76-94, p.80.

[111] This period is often referred to as Gunchester – a pun on the earlier success of the “Madchester” era in the late 1980s – when rival (armed) gangs from the surrounding areas moved into the city centre and attempted via control of door security, to control the lucrative drugs market that had emerged alongside club culture.

[112] Quilley, p.77.

[113] Jonathan Schofield, ‘Stringing a Line: Graham Stringer MP for Blakely’ in City Life, # 434, (27 June-12 July 2001), p.22.

[114] CP Lee claims that every mid-week night more than £6 million circulates legally through Manchester’s pubs, clubs, venues, restaurants, taxis and other nighttime trade – this figure triples at the weekend. (Interview with CP Lee 8 July 2004).

[115] Friedrich Nietzsche, ‘On the Uses and Disadvantages of History for Life’ in Untimely Meditations, ed. by Daniel Breazeale, trans. by R.J. Hollingdale, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 59-123, p.60.

[116] Tony Wilson, ‘news update’, In The City 2004 @ www.inthecity.co.uk [accessed 4 June 2004].

[117] Taken from the printed Urbis visitor guide, July 2004. Costing £30m, Urbis had a difficult start with visitor figures falling well below those needed. See, David Ward, ‘The white elephant that learned to fly: Manchester’s Urbis museum recovers from a shaky start’ in The Guardian, Tuesday 11 May 2004, 7.

[118] The permanent exhibits at Urbis suffered in comparison to the specially commissioned Dtroit  (not Detroit) exhibition that was showing at Urbis when I visited in July 2004. In many ways this elaborated on Lowell Boileau’s The Fabulous Ruins of Detroit site @ http://detroityes.com but also made links between Detroit as the first industrial city of the US and Manchester through Elliot Eastwick’s film The Sounds of Two Cities, which looked at the strong musical links between the two cities from Northern Soul to Punk and Techno.

[119] Urbis online guide @ www.urbis-resources.org.uk [accessed 23 July 2004].

[120] Urbis, online guide.

[121] Justin O’Connor, ‘Zoning’, @ Urbis online resources @ www.urbis-resouces.org.uk [accessed 23 July 2004].

[122] Afflecks Palace is an indoor market of stalls selling second hand clothes, accessories, posters and records. It opened in what had at one time been Manchester’s most famous department store, Affleck & Brown (later British Home Stores) on Oldham Street.

[123] ‘City Tours: Northern Quarter’ @ www.cube.org.uk [accessed 4 June 2004].

[124] Gwendoline Riley, Cold Water, (London: Jonathan Cape, 2002), p.57.

[125] Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project, p.405, [L1, 3].

[126] Don Frame, ‘Belle Vue, the new Las Vegas?’ @ www.manchesteronline.co.uk [accessed 12 July 2004].

[127] The redevelopment of Hulme tends to be blithely reported as a triumph of urban regeneration. However there is a whole culture of critique and resistance to the redevelopment of Hulme that deserves to be told. The alternative zine Badpress, borrowing an aesthetic immediacy of many punk fanzines, presented serious investigative journalism that undermined a great deal of the hype behind Manchester’s high-profile, media friendly schemes such as the Hulme City Challenge. Badpress ran from 1992-93. For Hulme coverage see, ‘There Goes The Neighbourhood’ in issue 3 (November 1992) available @ www.badpress.net 

[128] Alsop is behind much of the upmarket redevelopment in Manchester and will be unveiling his vision for the city as a whole at Urbis in September 2004. Presumably this will have to be even more fantastical than Alsop’s recent plans to turn Barnsley into a Tuscan hill village. See www.alsoparchitects.com [accessed 12 July 2004].

[129] See document #05.

[130] Iggy Pop, ‘Nightclubbing’ from The Idiot (Virgin, 1977).

[131] The Passage, ‘Lon-don’ from For All and None, (Night & Day/Virgin Records, 1981) The Passage were a Manchester band (1978-83) formed by Dick Witts.

[132] Certeau, p.104.

[133] Walter Benjamin, ‘Theses…’, p.248.

[134] Haslam, p.149.

[135] Benedict Seymour and David Panos, ‘The Regeneration Siege in Central Hackney’ in Mute #26 (Summer/Autumn 2003), @ www.metamute.com [accessed 4 June 2004].

 

[136] Jon Savage, ‘Joy Division: Unknown Pleasures’ review for Melody Maker, (21 July 1979), reprinted in Time Travel: Pop, Media and Sexuality 1976-96, (London: Chatto & Windus, 1996), pp.92-95, p.93.

[137] Jon Savage, telephone conversation, 1 June 2004.

[138] Esther Leslie, Walter Benjamin: Overpowering Conformism, (London: Pluto Press, 2000), p121.

[139] Certeau, p. 104.

[140] Certeau, p.104.