Tag Archives: Manchester

A Dança

1985. Programa de Chico Buarque e Caetano Veloso na Globo. Uma das primeiras aparições nacionais dos Legião Urbana de Renato Russo, o novo rock de Brasilia, pela porta da geração mpb. Chico e Caetano ficaram maravilhados com a dança ao estilo Ian Curtis (Joy Division) Morrissey (Smiths) feita por Russo. Cedo, os dois perceberam que ali estava a ser gravado um momento histórico da viragem da música brasileira: a geração mpb que tanto tinha ajudado a mudar o paradigma social da sociedade brasileira durante o período da ditadura militar estava a presenciar uma nova maneira de fazer música no Brasil. Em 1985, muito influenciados pela onda de Madchester, bandas como os Legião, os Capital Inicial, os Plebe Rude (Brasília) em conjunto com os colegas de São Paulo (Paralamas do Sucesso) e do Rio (Titãs) acabaram por “derrotar” a mpb e instituir uma nova fase de culto na música brasileira.

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provavelmente um dos dias mais felizes da minha vida

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1963

New Order — “1963” — Álbum: Brotherhood (1986)

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How Madchester put the E into enterprise zone…

Miranda Sawyer, The Guardian

In 1988 I moved to London to work at Smash Hits magazine, and one of the first things I had to do was create a map of Manchester for the magazine’s news pages. Dutifully, I put an X for where the Haçienda was, another for Dry Bar, also Eastern Bloc, the record shop co-owned by 808 State’s Martin Price. Arrows pointing down towards Moss Side, for A Guy Called Gerald, up to Salford for the Happy Mondays… I even marked the Midland, in Didsbury, a pub where a hot and messy house night called MVITA (Manchester Vibes in the Area) took place in one pitch-black room, while the other featured fringed lampshades and elderly couples sipping light ale.

And as Smash Hits‘ resident Mancunian (though I’m actually from Cheshire), I was sent to interview the Stone Roses and Happy Mondays. Both bands were great to talk to: friendly, funny, cheeky, like most people in Manchester. People in London, though, seemed scared of the place, talked about it as though it was really rough, like an English New York ghetto. When I told them that they would love the Haçienda, that it was brilliant, a fantastic club with amazing music and enough space for anyone and everyone to express themselves, they looked at me as though I were mad.

Of course, no one in Manchester cared what London thought. They never have, really. And in the late 80s, when ecstasy and acid house combined to pull in a crowd that finally filled the Haçienda’s vast warehouse space, got the place rocking so hard the sweat dripped off the underside of the balcony and made the walls wet and your head steam when you tipped out into the cool night air, Mancunians were having too much of a good time to notice that everyone else was staring.

Was that scene Madchester? Or was it the bands, the Roses, the Mondays and the rest, alternative rock bands with a loose groove, bass and drums melding in a funk that bridged the gap between white boy indie and the squelchy sounds of acid? What about other local artists, such as 808 State and A Guy Called Gerald, who actually made dance music, off-the-hook tracks such as “Cubik” and “Voodoo Ray” that drove the dancefloor crazy? Were they Madchester artists? Or just artists?

This summer sees the fully reformed Happy Mondays and the Stone Roses play again, the Roses gigs in particular threatening to give chunky men of a certain age a Proustian rush so strong you could mistake it for a heart murmur. This, despite the fact that both bands, even in their prime, were hit-and-miss live. Their inconsistency was part of their brilliance: you never knew quite what you’d get. Still, their albums, listened to in sober retrospect, are fantastic. The Roses’ eponymous 1989 debut is especially amazing, almost perfect: combining groove and guitar, tune and attitude, west coast dreaminess with north-west wit. But the underestimated Happy Mondays, whose outlaw personalities and anecdotes were always given preference over their music, also made some revolutionary sounds, referencing the swaggering madness, the suck-it-and-see of Sly and the Family Stone.

It was a Mondays release, 1989’s Madchester Rave On EP, that gave the scene a label, a hook for the world’s media. As usual, Factory records’ mouth-on-wheels Tony Wilson did his fantastic propaganda thing, going over to a US music conference to inform America that it was behind the times, that Manchester was where it was at, that it had swiped America’s best music from right under its nose, sold it back to them and it hadn’t even noticed. New York noticed Wilson, however, as well as Manchester’s bustling band scene, and Time magazine gave Madchester a front cover.

But, as is often the way, once a scene has a label, it fundamentally changes. The label limits what’s happening, deems some people in and some out, alerts the money-minded to the idea that there’s cash to be made, tells the mainstream that something’s happening that it should know about. And, just like that, the scene is invaded, changes, moves on, eventually dies.

And a scene as downright loopy as the Manchester acid house scene really defied a label. House music caused a sensation elsewhere in the country, of course, but in Manchester it had a focus. Down south, kids were forced to dance in fields; Manchester had a perfect, cool-as, ready-made venue in the Haçienda, owned by a band, New Order, who made one of the era’s best albums, Technique.

It also had a music scene small and healthy enough to foster band ambition, disused industrial warehouse spaces for any after-hours raves (the clubs shut at 2am) and a generation of adventurous kids. Kids who’d travelled around Europe, following football teams, or just because; whose taste in music was already open enough to take in the 13th Floor Elevators; who had their own sense of style, with its own, very particular rules; who ran around setting up parties, labels, bands, merchandising as well as having a laugh. All that, plus natural PR machines such as Tony Wilson, Shaun Ryder and Ian Brown, whose every utterance had journalists cheering.

And journalists were interested, of course, because something was definitely happening. On Fridays and Saturdays, then Wednesdays, when Hot started, there were queues of kids in painters’ jeans and sweatshirts, snaking round the corner from Whitworth Street back towards G-Mex, waiting to be let into the biggest, maddest youth club in the world. Just a few years before, in the mid-to-late 80s, the Haçienda was a different place, so cold you could never take your coat off, so empty you had the whole dancefloor to yourself. It staged gigs by Felt, local fashion shows hosted by Frank Sidebottom. Though we didn’t know it then, the club was waiting, biding its time until the right youth revolution, the right sounds could fill it. Acid house was that music; Madchester was the scene.

‘It was just a load of mad people, heads, faces, in the corner under the balcony. We didn’t really talk, we just didn’t stop dancing all night. The music was amazing.”

I’m talking to actress Jo Hartley of This Is England (and, soon, Ill Manors, Plan B’s new film) fame. She was 17 in 1989 and says that going to the Haçienda genuinely changed her life. “I’d been to nightclubs before, like Scandals, but you had to put on posh clothes and loads of hair lacquer, get yourself up like Anita Dobson, just to sit in a velvet booth and listen to Kylie Minogue.”

Hartley, from Chadderton, near Oldham, was taken to the Haçienda by her then boyfriend, and she couldn’t believe what it was like. Clothes were important, but in a different way (“I remember everyone wearing Levi’s with the red stripe inside”), the music was like nothing she’d ever heard and the madness, the chaos, the bedlam on the dancefloor felt like freedom.

“You could really let go, you connected with a lot of people,” she says. “It was a community that didn’t exist in other clubs. You’d come out and you’d feel amazing. And there were a lot of talented people involved; they just didn’t realise who they were at the time. Some of them are heroin addicts now, some of them are in prison, some are successful. But they were all cool. It changed my life, opened my head to people and possibilities.”

Gary Aspden, now a successful brand consultant working with labels such as Adidas and JD Sports, also credits the Haçienda with changing the way he was headed. Originally from Blackburn, he and some friends hosted parties there on a Saturday night after the Haçienda shut. “Parties for the people by the people,” he says now. They started small and got bigger, ended up in warehouses, but they were never about profit.

He remembers that with one of the first, there was money left over from the door. “So we sent a cheque to pay for 20 kids from Blackamoor special school in Blackburn to get riding lessons. It was in response to criticism from the local newspaper about people profiteering from acid house parties,” he says. “The headmaster of the school tore the cheque up and went in the local press saying, ‘We don’t want their money.’ I guess it was predictable. But still disappointing.”

That community attitude behind the Manchester acid house scene isn’t often remembered. Instead, the cartoon strip goes something like this: a bunch of scallies dressed in their fat uncle’s cast-offs took lots of drugs and danced themselves silly. Then gangsters moved in, Madchester became “Gunchester” and the “one love” vibe died. But, at least initially, there was more to the scene than that. As both Hartley and Aspden remember, it felt like a revolution, like the right people were winning, that everyone was taking their nights out – and so their lives – into their own hands. Both know several people who were into fighting at football who just gave it up; Aspden thinks that the Tories took credit for stopping 1980s hooliganism when in fact it was ecstasy and acid house. “Madchester got them dancing,” he says. “It might even have got some of them hugging, too. But we don’t dwell on that.”

Dave Haslam, Mancunian DJ and writer, sees the influence of Madchester in Manchester today. “Madchester was a chaotic, accidental, spontaneous burst of madness,” he says. “An adventure, that’s what I remember it as. No one controlled it, which meant that gangsters and corporate cowboys saw an opportunity. And once it was labelled, it kind of became about white boy indie bands, which made it more boring than it actually was. But you could say that the labelling had a value, in that it sent out a message that Manchester was being remade and that was a very important thing to say. Because in London, let alone New York and Paris, the view before then was that Manchester was post-industrial, everyone was unemployed, warehouses were lying empty, it was grim…”

The reputation that Madchester gave Manchester – that of a joyful, creative, sociable place of opportunity – has never left the city. Manchester is now all about going out. When I was young, footballers and their wannabeyourgirlfriends wouldn’t dream of going into town: too scruffy and glum. Now, the city centre is packed at weekends, students move there because of the nightlife and just along from where the Haçienda used to be is a line of bars that, as Shaun Ryder once said to me, “have the look of the Haçienda but the attitude of Rotters”.

The city has always boasted a forward-thinking, arts-oriented Labour council. That council, after the Haçienda had to be shut due to gangs muscling in and, especially, after an IRA bomb destroyed much of Manchester city centre in 1996, used the idea of Manchester as a social destination to reinvent the city. Now it has a world-beating arts festival, Manchester international festival, it has the BBC in Salford, it even managed to attract investment into Manchester City Football Club.

Perhaps it’s stretching an argument to say that without Madchester, there would be no Balotelli. Still, the silly, moody, ridiculously talented Italian (loved to pieces by everyone who works at City) wouldn’t fit in another British city. He’d be swallowed by London, squashed by everywhere else. In Manchester, they believe in craziness; they know that great things can come of it. Manchester’s contemporary spirit and excitement emerged from many things. One of which was the gathering together, in the late 80s, of thousands of mad heads, in a parallel universe, a musical playground, a dream of Adidas-shod utopia.

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6, bom futebol, 9

A velha mecânica de Manchester anima-me a noite que se vestiu de verde.

Domingos e o Sporting ganham o meu entusiasmo.

Joy Division — “A means to an end” — Álbum: Closer (1980)

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Para ver e rever, e rever novamente com atenção

http://video.rutube.ru/1591c1203bf0ffa5974db4b0f7614085

Bolton 0-5 Manchester United

http://video.rutube.ru/87fecc1a75f897a1c702a554a1286e58

Manchester “Kun Aguero-Dzeko-Silva-Touré Brothers” City 3-0 Wigan

Para se treinarem autómatos deste calíbre, basta o curso do FM. Eles fazem os estragos sozinhos. No final da época, tenho em crença que Manchester será um cidade em festa.

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Eips eips eips… oh

Reuters

Mexe as pernas como um dançarino de swing do Estado do Ohio, flutua a cabeça para os dois lados, vira as costas e não festeja o golo mas sim a amargura de mais um falhanço do Chelsea. O gesto engraçado de Villas-Boas tornou-se negro na jornada inaugural da Premiership.

O banco do Porto era muito mais alegre e acolhedor. Era a cadeira de sonho. João Moutinho e Guarin eram paus para toda a obra. Hulk desiquilibrava e Falcão facturava. Tudo mudou. A cadeira de Londres é muito cinzenta, muito pesada, mete medo. Principalmente quando o patrão já não passa os mesmos cheques (ao nível de quantidade e qualidade) que passava ao mestre noutros tempos.

A juventude, a vontade de vencer e a vontade de voar alto para as melhores equipas do mundo esbateu-se por completo num azul de veterania, cansaço, comodismo, novo-riquismo decadente e claras dificuldades em renovar um plantel que há muito precisa de sangue novo.

Hoje foi o Stoke, amanhã poderá ser o Newcastle, o Tottenham, o Aston Villa, o Manchester e o Liverpool. A organização interna do Porto faz com que todos os treinadores que lá passem ganhem. Desde 2004, ou seja, desde a saída de Mourinho passaram inúmeros treinadores pelo clube. Qual foi o pecúlio conseguido após os títulos no Porto? Poucos. Falamos de Adriaanse, Del Neri, Fernandez, Couceiro e Jesualdo. Só Mourinho sucedeu fora do Dragão.

Dá que pensar

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Em Londres (2)

Autêntica anarquia, autêntica lei marcial.

A morte do Taxista do bairro de Tottenham Mark Duggan já não é propriamente o acontecimento que marca os dias agitados na capital do Reino Unido. É caso mesmo para dizer que a ocasião fez o ladrão.

Os actos de violência, vandalismo e pilhagem já se alastraram para vários pontos da cidade e até outras cidades como Bristol, Birmingham, Liverpool e Manchester. A confusão instalada já levou mesmo o Primeiro-Ministro David Cameron a ter que interromper as suas férias para accionar um plano de segurança interna de mais 16 mil policias para as ruas de Londres com ordens expressas para disparar balas de borracha por quem se atreva a continuar os estragos. De facto, este também era uma das queixas dos comerciantes assaltadose dos próprios moradores dos bairros onde aconteceram tumultos: a polícia londrina pura e simplesmente não acorreu aos locais de saque desmedido, continuando a executar as suas tarefas noutras áreas da cidade.

A registar, 1 vítima mortal, dezenas de feridos e mais de 500 detidos.

Outra das questões que para mim marca esta problemática é as várias declarações que tenho visto nos noticiários por parte da voxpopuli.

Alguns cidadãos queixam-se do facto dos actos de roubo e vandalismo serem praticados na sua maioria por emigrantes africanos. Chocou-me o facto de uma cidadã ter dito perante as câmaras da Sky News que “jamais estaria envolvido qualquer cidadão nacional porque a criminalidade no Reino Unido pertence aos emigrantes”. Um comentário puramente xenófobo.

No caso do Reino Unido não posso opinar sobre esta questão visto não ter conseguido arranjar dados que permitam tirar ilacções quanto ao nível de criminalidade praticado por emigrantes em relação ao nível ou percentagem de crimes que são praticados por cidadãos nacionais.

No caso Português, embora uma grande falange de cidadãos portugueses pense exactamente nesse sentido, a grossa parte da criminalidade em Portugal não é praticada por emigrantes. Quem o pensa, incorre num mito e não num facto. “Mitos e factos sobre a Imigração” foi 1º módulo um colóquio promovido pelo ACIDI (Alto-Comissariado para a Imigração E Diálogo Intercultural) e pela Secção de Defesa dos Direitos Humanos da AAC na qual participei no ano passado e na qual fiquei elucidado desse mito muitas vezes atribuído exclusivamente aos imigrantes que vivem no nosso país. A proporção de crimes praticados por imigrantes em Portugal tendo em conta a população imigrante que vive em Portugal e o número de crimes praticados por cidadãos nacionais mostra que os imigrantes de outras nacionalidades em Portugal não praticam mais crimes que os cidadãos nacionais.

No Jornal da Tarde da SIC, o prestigiado sociólogo da UC Boaventura Sousa Santos, enumerou e bem os problemas pelos quais passa a Grã-Bretanha e algumas das medidas que geraram insatisfação por parte dos cidadãos:

http://sicnoticias.sapo.pt/skins/sicnot/gfx/jwplayer/player.swf

Declínio económico (a libra desvalorizou muito nos últimos meses em relação ao euro e ao dolár) medidas de austeridade, o Desemprego, cortes no ensino superior que motivaram o aumento das propinas, as dificuldades de coesão sociais derivadas da experiência multiculturalista falhada no Reino Unido, os jovens estão sem horizonte, falta de poder de compra de pessoas com hábitos enormes de consumo…

Boaventura Sousa Santos disse tudo…

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Happy Mondays – Wrote for Luck

A espantosa Haçienda de Manchester que serve de cenário para este videoclip de “Wrote for Luck” do CD1 do álbum “Bummed” de 1988.

Aconselho-vos a pesquisar não só a história da Hacienda através da página criada na Wikipédia, como nos links externos que lá são colocados.

Para os mais curiosos, existe também o brilhante filme-documentário “24 hour party people”, produzido em 2o02 por Michael Winterbottom que retrata de forma mais ou menos fiel o percurso da Factory Records de Tony Wilson e o percurso da cena de Madchester desde os Buzzcocks até ao fim oficial da Haçienda em 1997 e a ligação das bandas de Manchester à editora e consequentemente à discoteca, que nem os lucros das vendas de álbuns de Joy Division, Stone Roses, New Order e Happy Mondays conseguiraram fazer com que gerasse lucros durante o seu funcionamento.

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Melhor álbum do ano 2010

Fiquei indeciso entre “Acolyte” dos Delphic, “Halcyon Digest” dos Deerhunter e “Falcon” dos The Courteeners.

Entre bons álbuns feitos no ano 2010 tivemos outras bandas como os Twin Shadows, o novo álbum dos LCD Soundsystem, “Swim” de Caribou ou “Surfing the Void” dos Klaxons. No entanto a minha escolha recai para a banda de Manchester. Pelas vezes intermináveis que ouvi o álbum, pelas emoções que me despertou. Pela boa junção da electrónica com um pouco de rock, a fazer lembrar os outros tempos de Manchester, a fazer lembrar os New Order.

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Manchester ainda funciona!

The Courteeners – “Fallowfield Hillbilly” – Álbum: St. Jude 2 CD deluxe edition (2007)


“Ive seen the way you look at all of the normal kids
You think that theyve just come out Strangeways
just because they dont bat both eyelids
when you walk past with your eyeliner on, one hand in glove
im gonna ask you, can you find your own way home are you stuck ?

please dont think that im being a bitch
i just happen to witness a lot of things which
get me annoyed cos you’re filling a void
have you got nothing better to do?”

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Um pouco de Madchester

Shaun Ryder é incontestavelmente um dos maiores poetas do nosso tempo. Dentro da cena Madchester, apenas perde para Morissey dos Smiths.

O mítico Tony Wilson da Factory Records chegou a um ponto em que não conseguiu travar a excentricidadade dos Happy Mondays. A Factory sempre funcionou em regime de clandestinidade. Nomes como Joy Division, posteriormente New Order, Happy Mondays ou Stone Roses nunca tiveram um contrato assinado com a editora. Gravavam na Factory devido à enorme dívida de gratidão que tinham para com Wilson que os tinha lançado. E Wilson precisava deles para pagar as despesas da Hacienda, o clube nocturno mais badalado da Grande Manchester dos anos 80.

Wilson não ficou nem mais rico nem mais pobre com o dinheiro dos discos da Factory. Todas as libras ganhas sanearam as contas da Hacienda nos 15 anos em que a discoteca esteve aberta. E tudo descambou quando não acreditou no talento dos Smiths, quando os New Order se zangaram e quando alimentava deliberadamente a toxicodependência de Shaun Ryder procurando por esta via que os Happy Mondays fizessem o álbum perfeito… o que de facto nunca viria a acontecer.

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The Courtneers

The Courtneers
“Not Nineteen Forever”
Álbum: St. Jude (2008)

De todas as bandas que vi em Paredes de Coura, este quarteto de Manchester foi para mim a banda que mais me surpreendeu. A provar que a cena de Manchester continua viva e que a cidade ainda consegue lançar grandes bandas.

A banda de Liam Fray, formada em 2006, chegou pela primeira vez ao nosso país via Paredes de Coura com o estatuto de banda quase desconhecida do público Português. Com 2 álbuns e 2 EP editados, este single era o mais conhecido do público Português. Com um rock and roll que fixa bem nos ouvidos, os Courtneers cativaram sempre na mesma toada: uma boa interacção com o público, bons riffs de guitarra a lembrar bandas como os Franz Ferdinand com um toque soave de electrónica vinda do teclista convidado Adam Payne. Numa ideia de apresentar o 2º álbum da banda, os Courtneers vieram a Paredes de Coura com a máquina muito bem oleada.

Liam Fray foi sempre exemplar com o público. Falou qb com o público, cantou sobretudo sobre relações amorosas que correram mal e até se meteu com os putos com as t-shirts dos Joy Division. Porque de seguida vinha Peter Hook para tocar temas da banda mítica de Manchester.

Voltarão a aparecer em breve no nosso país.

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