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| They mean it M-a-a-a-nchester
Part Two |
| IF THESE are the three biggies there are others aiming to challenge. It's since March things have noticeably developed. The nice people at the Electric Circus wisely booked new wave acts for each Sunday, and the late lamented Oaks in Chorlton saturated May '77 with little known London groups like the Genet-nasty Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Vibrators, The Adverts, and the degraded beauty of The Slits.
The two literary catalysts for Manchester activity - Ghast Up and Shy Talk - stuttered our "their first editions; primitive popzines, potentially important, nervously requesting interviews, urging involvement, Manchester buzzed. As Buzzcocks "Spiral Scratch" sales reached the 8,000 mark, as Slaughter and the Dogs' single "Cranked up Really High" was released on their Rabid label, as The Drones prepared their 'Temptations" e.p. the next wave of Manchester bands finally surged into view, cementing the city as perhaps the healthiest, most uncluttered new music centre. The Fall, Warsaw, Ed Banger and the Nosebleeds, The Worst; something for everyone. The Fall have prompted quotes like "I thought The Clash were political until I saw you". Their approach is perhaps too serious - maybe they strip rock of its fun? Perhaps they're not even a rock'n'roll band? They are. The guitarist's slashing chording is the anger of frustration solidified into burning sound, the simplicity of the lady keyboardist's embellishment a self-mocking intrusion. The singer is an angry concerned narrator, the rhythm clever and neutral. Their words are voiced, clipped ideologies, entertainment for radicals maybe - but they have something to say and try to say it to as many people as possible. A Henry Cow approach, the contradictory collision of form and content always apparent in such earnest and undiluted political quests should prove an interesting barrier to overcome. With the sad demise of The Derelicts, The Fall could stand alone as a genuinely committed, politically agile rock'n'roll band, without, say, The Clash's superficial fluency. Warsaw are one of many recent new wave functional bands; easily digestible, doomed maybe to eternal support spots. Whether they will find a style of their own is questionable, but probably not important. Their instinctive energy often compensates. for the occasional lameness of their songs, but they seem unaware of the audience when performing. Ed Banger and the Nosebleeds are interesting but in a mild, smirky way. They used to be a terrible collection of directionless yobs carving out laughable mish-mash songs for largely uncaring audiences, until a guy called Vinny - who used· to run the Oaks - grabbed hold of them and shook them into the disciplined, artless new wave functionals they are today. With correct manipulation - and Vinny has the' consciousness and fingers to work the strings wonderfully - they could fill the gap left by Hello. There is no gap for The Worst to fill. Only The Slits' early gigs or the odd Prefects passages give some idea as to the Worst's expressionist style. They are a Punk Rock group; new wave is such an effeminate term. They stand for all the freedoms that can be imagined. They voice brutal `imaginations of blurred everyday themes - urban alienation, distortion, depersonalisation - and their style is, by liberal intellectual standards, destructive and anti-social. The band use the most primitive techniques and riffs imaginable, and their singer squalls words about oppression, depression, and most other 'essions with a Kevin Coyne-like intensity. Their act is split into five or six sections, each of which is different each time it's played. They improvise words on the spot, most often distilled shorts; Daily Mirror rape stories dole statistics, Forum explanatory artIcles, all crudely illuminated with terse verses;-and demands for action. Dole queue rock? "Fuck, I'm glad to get paid for doing nothing!" singer Allan explains. The song "Gimme The Money" greedily explores his attitude while "Police" is a furious account of paranoia as awareness. The Worst are agonising and totally, enjoyable. With Buzzcocks, The Fall, and the Worst, Manchester has two genuine new wave rock groups (new as in ... new), and possibly the only genuine punk rock group. They are certainly three of the most provoking, eccentric and entertaining of new (and thus all) British rock bands. THE CAUSE of Manchester buzzing so hard on the new wave front (the beach?), not only in terms of music but with an undeniable sense of communal comradeship and involvement, is difficult to explain completely, It's been a cumulative effect, painfully slow initially, that's sped almost too fast to see lately. It was initiated certainly by the first two Pistols gigs, continued by the second two on the 'Anarchy' tour, and maintained by Buzzcocks' steady willingness to remain in Manchester and be repeatedly, often derogatorily tagged a 'Manchester Band'. Then there was this merry month of May when the' Oaks venue bought two London bands up who proved that if you had something to say you could say It wIth narrow technique (Slits and The Banshees). It all helped. Definitely apart from the bands that I've numbered, there are more in preparation, and yet more tentatively/rashly/cockily performing debut gigs, a lot of fans inspired more by what they see immediately about them than anything happening elsewhere. The refusal of (inter)national record labels to venture away from London is unfortunate, but a blessing in disguise. It's forced the big three Manchester bands to release the discs they were long mature enough to record on their own labels; Buzzcocks typically leading the way with New Hormones, and The Dogs and The Drones trotting frustratingly behind with Rabid and the 'S' label. A side issue: both The Dogs and Buzzcocks were featured prominently on the "Live at the Roxy" compilation. In the same vein, the Bent label aims to release a Manchester compilation L.P. with a view to resultant singles, and both New Hormones and Rabid have solid plans for the future. The ideal would be for none of the Manchester bands to have to resort to signing for the big labels, but Richard Boon has hinted that New Hormones could possibly continue and be distributed by whatever label Buzzcocks sign for, which would open the gates for the company to indulge themselves in certain esoteric experiments. Rabid also looks to be more than merely a vehicle for releasing the first Slaughter record, with Bent Records, set up by Dave Bentley, a brave attempt at setting up a liberal local label, maybe a Stiff equivalent. AWAY FROM the, er, new. wave buzz, Manchester's Sad Cafe (now signed to RCA) are doomed for middling stardom with ' their lush bed-ridden rock. Gags, Bicycle Thieves, Harpoon, and a few period piece heavy three piece bands continue to juggle bravely out on a limb. The former three are quite competent and have been known to thrill, but in the light of what's happening elsewhere it all seems a little uninspired .. The legendary Spider Mike King was doing seven years ago what Graham Parker did last year to gain respect. He's still doing it now but that's not the point. The point is his lack of confidence, which I doubt he'll ever overcome now. And I know why; ignorance. No one cares/cared. Tom Yates has met similar obstinacy from the punters. Yates sticks to his gentle and beautifully crafted originality as contemporaries like Roy Harper, John Martyn, and Richard Thompson claim deserved success, having turned to rock and electricity. Yates can hardly remain a cult for much longer, and his perceptiveness, guts, and timeless music deserve a far larger audIence than the local folk club circuit. But . . . Manchester City will win the league. And then, as 60's Liverpool had its literary scene, its Henris, Pattens, and McGoughs, so Manchester has its John Cooper Clarke, fitting snugly into the scene with a disarming modesty. His words dovetail neatly into Shelley/ Devotos', much as the Liverpudlian poets' did to Lennon/McCartney. Clarke's a total non-conformist, a grinning rebel, a comic, ironic, and relevant observer of the thing called society. Both New Hormones and Rabid want to sign him. His delivery is just right. He's the next link in the chain after Rimbaud, Chuck Berry, Mike Harding and Pam Ayres. Significantly, when Clarke recited with Buzzcocks in Manchester, people were clapping, cheering, and even dancing to the biting rhythm of his poems. In London the reaction was (cough) lukewarm. How too would John the Postman fare in London? A fan unable to merely spectate, his famous dance is a test for any visiting group; if the band's winning, he'll start twitching until eventually he'll be in full flight, playing imaginary guitar on his beer bottle, sweat pouring pints. He's also, prone to climb on stage after a groups performance and deliver a solid accapella version of "Louie Louie". Local rumour has it he wrote it. NO Im not assuming that London's dead, although it seems to run on automatic drive, self congratulatory; a little like that glossy supplement Sniffin' Glue. And I'm not telling you that Manchester's manna. But it has got an identity like London's got a lump. The only thing we ain't got is an all-girl group (c'mon Denise!) and a central 'factory' to organise and help proceedings, Richard Boon is quietly working on that. To dlstort something Jon Landau said 'introducmg his infamous It's Too Late To Stop Now article, "There's a stack of excitment in the air." THE END (Reprinted from New Musical Express July 30th 1977 - DC Archives) |
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