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 .

Four seasons

Not long after I moved to Sheffield, back in 1990, I went to the City Hall to see Nigel Kennedy perform Vivaldi's Four Seasons. He was at one of his many peaks of fame, the young punk classical musician. Pretty girls ran to the front of the stage with flowers and gifts. The energy and musicianship he brought to the piece will always be a part of it, no matter how many times it's used for call centre on hold muzak. Next time I saw him was on This is Your Life. His girlfriend was a woman I had last seen on the arm of Mark E Smith of the Fall when I refused them entry to a gig. A'don't you know who I am' moment.Over the years I have been aware of his career, his exploration of other forms of music, his fearlessness as a musician. One of the down sides of my wonderful new job is that I can no longer stay awake to listen to Late Junction on Radio 3. I used to love falling asleep to its eclectic mix of music. My 6.15am start to the day means no matter how hard I try, I'm asleep within minutes. A few weeks ago I drifted in and out of sleep listening to what I recognised as the Four Seasons but not as I'd ever heard it. I wasn't sure if I was imagining the mix of jazz and Arabic music that threaded and wove through the high energy Vivaldi. I heard the announcer say it was Nigel Kennedy and all seemed to make sense. Tonight I have had the treat of watching that prom on BBC 4. Nigel Kennedy still looks like he wouldn't be out of place with the Bash St Kids. His energy, enthusiasm and encouragement of a wonderful ensemble of young Palestinian musicians is the most moving and inspiring thing I have seen on television for a long time. Catch it if you can on I player.

Old Man

I have written before about the risk you take when you go to see those musicians who mean a lot. I have also written before about artists who continue to grow and develop into old age. They become the concentrated essence of everything they ever have and ever will be. Others just continue to perform as parodies of their former selves.I'm not going to name them, but you will have your own thoughts about that I am sure. So Crosby and Nash, Ravi Shankar, Patti Smith count among my essentials, my immortals. There are other artists that I got to see years after their first influence on my life - James Taylor, Joan Baez, Bob Dylan. I'd still make an effort to see Jackson Brown again too. Recently I have had an urge to see Van Morrison once more for old times sake. Sometimes it's about nostalgia, or even the bucket list. Driving back from the Neil Young and Crazy Horse last night I was trying to process what I felt about the experience. As the man behind me said to his girlfriend 'You either like Neil Young's feedback or you don't'. I suspect she didn't. I do. And I liked the tender old stuff, Heart of Gold. The magnificent Walk Like a Giant - we did all the way back to the car.The homage to Woodstock 'keep away from the towers' and the rain chant. The homage to Dylan and 60s radicalism Blowing in the Wind.Buffalo Springfield memories with Mr Soul. Cinnamon Girl.There was a lot of history in the room and on the stage. The Psychedelic Pill slipped down a treat. Four old men showing how it can be done, when the music has become part of your being, your soul. Most of the time they were playing to one another, not to the audience, but the side screens helped us to witness what was going on. My concert companion and I had concerns about having to buy 'standing ' tickets. Neil Young and Crazy Horse played with passion and energy for almost two and a half hours. Lessons learnt from the Old Man.

A new Manchester review

I have missed fly posters. Like graffiti, there isn't much of it where I live.In the past I had friends who were fly by night poster boys, dodging the police presence, risking moving in on someone else's patch. Some iconic posters have disintegrated in cellars and garages, the stock in trade of the flyposter. Bill Posters will be prosecuted - hard on old Bill. I like the way they decorate boarded up sites and buildings. I like the information they share. I remember a time when I would plan a night out based on a poster seen from the top deck of the bus, on my way to work. Recently I have been able to go through back copies of a fortnightly magazine from the late 1970s, New Manchester Review. I was actually looking for articles I wrote about food and food politics whilst I was working at On the 8th Day. I had never kept a copy of them. I found them, which was exciting in itself, but I was amazed by the wealth of articles and adverts about Manchester's music scene in those heady days from around 1977 to 1979. Bands I had forgotten about, gigs I had gone to,clubs where I had worked on the door. No wonder it all seemed so intense - it really was! Hoping to share some of those days through this blog in weeks to come, but if you want to know where to find them, they're in the Manchester Collection at the City Library on Deansgate!

Remembrance and reverberation

In the last days of October 2012 we went to see Efterklang play their album Piramida at the Bridgewater Hall. I believe 'Efterklang' means remembrance and reverberation in Danish. It was a hauntingly beautiful performance with all sorts of resonances. Their drummer for that part of their tour was Budgie from the Banshees. The music for Piramida was created with sounds and inspiration from an abandoned Russian coal mining community near Spitzbergen. The town had to be abandoned in the late 90s, partly in response to the lack of funds and the opening up of the USSR and its economy. They made a film with Andreas Koefoed at Piramida, called The Ghost of Piramida. You can apply to show the film, for free, and Sheffield group Death by Shoes arranged to present it at the Showroom bar last week. The film shows just how inspirational the place was for the musicians, but it is beautifully intertwined with with a film made by someone who lived and worked there as a young man.He was a photographer and cine film recorder of the community. He was married and brought up his young family there. The poignancy of family footage and the echoes of the past are very powerful. It's a beautiful use of archive film. The use of archives is very much to the forefront of my mind at the moment, as I look forward to becoming an archive trainee with the National Archives. If you get a chance to see the film, look out for the polar bear, and the way the gulls have made their nests on window ledges. It's magical. Back in October last year Casper Clausen, the vocalist, referred to the winter months looming up - ' see you on the other side'. We are nearly there as I write this, with snow flurries at my window.