If walls could talk

Last week I found myself at an International Students' event at Manchester Metropolitan University. To get to the venue I walked past this building.

I hadn't realised quite how significant it was for me. I think of On the 8th Day on Oxford Rd as my anchor in that corner of Manchester, even though that block has changed. 8th Day is in its new building. Cape,Grass Roots and Zouk are long gone. Johnny Roadhouse is still there, though the man is no longer with us. And whatever happened to Carroll Arden, Stylist to the Stars and the photography studio? Cross the road to the old Chorlton on Medlock Town Hall and take a left towards the Manchester Art College, a stylishly updated MMU facility. On your right is a building that I was told was built as a department store, top lit for better displaying the goods on sale. A mahogany staircase led to a mezzanine overlooking the shop floor. In the early 70s it was the Poly students' union, famous for its discos. We played there several times as Drive In Rock and the Rockettes, stage to one side of the dance floor, and dressing rooms upstairs.As Rockettes we struggled to convince the doorman that we really were 'with the band'. Always a great homecoming gig. I wish I could remember whether Mal rode her motorbike on stage for us or Alberto y Los Trios Paranoias. Whoever it was for, it was very effective.I saw The Albertos there more than once. Later I remember seeing The Thompson Twins and the Cimarons. I saw my first snooker game there featuring Hurricane Higgins and lost one of my favourite earrings. The Thursday night soul discos were part of my social life. Then in the early 80s I found myself back in the building. Newly refurbished with an exhibition space on the ground floor, the offices upstairs became home to Manchester Studies and the North West Film Archive. I was a researcher based there. Sometimes I'd look over the balcony and remember the old days , but I was too young to hang on to nostalgia. It's only now when I consider the ripples and circles of my past and present that it strikes me as remarkable.

We are stardust

Earlier this week I rummaged through bags in the bottom of the wardrobe. I had a hunch that some of my teenage diaries were there. Not a complete set, but enough years covered through my early teens and then early twenties to make for some interesting reading. Closely written with a sometimes illegible writing style, it's hard to connect with some of the thoughts and events I tried to decipher. Lots of names I can put faces to, others I have no recall of at all. I think I have a good memory, so it was strange to have to reassess some of my history. One name I couldn't put a face to though I had good memories of our friendship, is Marilyn Zuckerman. Back in those days of letter writing and pen pals we wrote to one another regularly whilst I was at boarding school and in Sarawak with my parents. She lived in New York. We never shared photos, but we did share a birthday. Coincidentally we discovered we were exactly the same age. My friend Gerry had signed up for pen pals and had passed Marilyn on to me. We got on really well.It seems so odd to think of that form of friendship nowadays. Now we would be sharing photos and news via social media and a visit to New York would certainly have been on the cards. I often wonder where she is now. I found her address in New York in one of my diaries and I am tempted to try and find her as we head towards a significant birthday. What I would love to find amongst my papers and correspondence is the letter she wrote me about her brother's experience of going to a music and arts festival called Woodstock. Woodstock took place in mid August 1969 and I remember reading the letter in our house in Kuching before I came back to the UK, so she must have written as soon as he returned from what is now an historical occasion. We were very envious of the bands he had seen and intrigued by the idea of a weekend long rock music festival. Peace and Love.

When Smokey sings....

ABC from Sheffield recorded the song running through my head all day yesterday. Once Smokey Robinson walked on stage at Hyde Park that ear worm chorus was replaced by a stream of favourite Smokey Robinson songs. I have loved his music for as many decades as he has been writing and performing. Like the Beatles and the Stones, I can remember when I first became aware of his music. It goes back even before I officially became a teenager. I got what I thought was a once in a lifetime chance to see him at the Bridgewater Hall in Manchester about six years ago. There's always the risk of disappointment when you finally get to see your heroes. I've mentioned this before as I catch up with tours of my particular living legends. That night the Bridgewater Hall audience became a community choir, entertained and encouraged by Smokey, recalling his past and sharing songs that live right in the heart of his fans. Soul music as we used to call it. I didn't expect to get the chance to see him again. I had neglected to tell my lovely friend Sheila about that concert six years ago. When I realised how much she would have loved to see him, we made a pact that if he was ever on again, we'd do our best to go. Radio 2 set up their Festival in a Day at Hyde Park, with Smokey headlining and we managed to get tickets. Once more I felt the fear of disappointment. He's getting older. It might rain. The audience might be disrespectful and spoil the mood. I needn't have worried. Perhaps the hair is a shade darker, the face carrying a little more botox , the eyes a more startling blue.His gyrating hips were more grind than bump. Was he wearing a corset, we wondered! None of that mattered once he started to sing those miraculous songs and tell his Tamla tales. Talk about Motown memories! The outdoor acoustics couldn't contain the sound of thousands of voices,singing along with him, floating up into the night sky. I realised that we were more than an audience, we were a congregation, reliving all our bittersweet memories. I second that emotion .