In My Life

There are places I remember. As time goes by I discover that this blog is as much about geography as music. The setting can stir my memory just as effectively. My walk through Manchester to the Michael Chabon talk back in October seems to have started something. Last Sunday there was a reunion to celebrate the Russell Club. I was sorry I couldn’t go, but I did find myself in Manchester on both the Saturday and the Monday for different events. Saturday’s plan was to meet up with an old friend for lunch and a poetry and jazz event at the Whitworth Art Gallery. Simon Armitage was one of the performing poets. He’s a favourite of mine, and I have seen him interviewed and reading his poetry before. He also filmed part of his fantastic version of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight in the historic house where I work. There’s a bus that runs direct from Bakewell to the centre of Manchester and a couple of times a year I am tempted to catch it, because it seems to make sense at the time. I still find public transport a bit of an adventure, and the journey into Manchester included a fantastic cast of characters that may get written about one day, truth being stranger than fiction. The bus came to a sudden halt in the middle of the road in the centre of Longsight. It was completely immobilised and the driver struggled to find the magic button to make it work again. After ten minutes I made a decision. I knew I could walk down Dickenson Rd and would then be close to the Whitworth Gallery. I asked myself when, if ever, would I get the chance to retrace the journey I made on a daily basis back in the late 70s. So turning the corner I walked past Longsight market, as vibrant and multicultural as ever. On past Wise Chemists, the family business of Manchester promoter Alan Wise, still there on the corner of Hamilton Rd. I used to live on Reynell Rd, on the right at the far end. I clearly remembered walking this route in good weather and bad, slipping on ice in my pearlised pink leather ankle boots, admiring my new haircut in a shop window reflection. There were more unpleasant memories too. I worked at the Asian Women’s refuge as a language teacher and if I walked children from the refuge to school I would run the gauntlet of abuse, shouted from passing cars, and even to my face. Last Monday I took the train from Buxton to Manchester with my son Charlie and my friend Keith. We had tickets for Shearwater. They were playing at a venue that was new to us, St Philip’s Church in Salford. Except it wasn’t really new to me. From the age of ten until I was thirteen I went to school just round the corner. Adelphi House Grammar School for Girls. I believe the building is now part of Salford University. And when I left boarding school I spent a year working at Salford Central Library, just a short walk away on The Crescent. Like Dickenson Rd, this area seems to held in a suspended state of partial renewal. It hasn’t been transformed in a way that makes it unrecognisable like many areas of Manchester. The Catholic cathedral was still there. Roads and junctions had been widened. Pavements had strange blue neon strip lights set into them. The bus stops were in the same place – we used to walk one bus stop closer to Manchester to avoid the chaos of getting on the bus outside school. A man with no nose used to ride past on his bike every afternoon. The Education Offices, where I went to plead my case after I had left Exeter University after only a term (I missed the north ) are now unoccupied. Salford Education Committee gave me a full three years worth of grants when I started afresh at Leeds the following year. There was the Dickensian corner shop where I once had to buy two ounces of cheese, wrapped in a scrap of greaseproof paper. It was for domestic science – cheese scones, and my mother who worked full time didn’t have any cheese in the house. No late night mini supermarkets in those days. I had to catch an early bus and go searching. The building was still there, but it was no longer a shop. Pubs with familiar names were boarded up, including the Peel Park on Chapel St. Peel Park was the view from the art room window, a real life Lowry landscape. In fact Lowry drew St Philip’s church, and the architect of the British Museum designed it. We discovered a great pub, The New Oxford, that was still going strong, with a friendly clientele and a huge range of Belgian fruit beers. The band were amazing, and hopefully they will put a video made during the sound check up on their website. Their sound engineer is from Manchester, and his father had filmed them with a camera attached to a remote control model helicopter. It was a strange and multi-layered evening. I loved the music. I loved the neo-classical Church. I loved being back in Salford. Even the tension of wondering would we make it to Piccadilly in time to catch the last train back to Buxton added something – a reminder of those days of dashing for the last bus home. And I haven’t even touched on the concerts at Salford University, when I was one of Allan Prior’s dance troupe. Another day.

When I'm 64

Whilst I am thrilled that the Stones are still strutting their stuff,I do wonder what all the fuss is about with regards to their ages.They have proved themselves survivors in spite of the early tragic loss of Brian Jones. Many others of their generation have fallen by the wayside. However in the last couple of years I have been lucky enough to have seen some amazing performances given by artists who have been around for a long time. None of them have been diminished by age - if anything they have improved with experience. They include Ravi Shankar in his 90s,Crosby and Nash (late 60s,early 70s),Candi Staton (late 60s),Patti Smith (mid 60s)Jackson Browne (early 60s)and Leonard Cohen (late 70s). A few weeks ago I went to a local folk club with my cousin to see Julie Felix, who I remembered from the Frost Report back in the sixties. She is 74 and had just got back from performing at a Goddess Convention in Mexico! Enough said.

Cut the cake and pick up the pieces

Yesterday BBC's Flog It! came to film where I work, Haddon Hall in Derbyshire. One of my colleagues had been doing a bit of research on Paul Martin the presenter. She told me that he had played drums with the Average White Band when he was younger. Earlier this year I went to see the Titanic Odyssey celebrations in Liverpool - the amazing Little Girl Giant and her Uncle.On the way home on the train a kind young man offered me his seat. We got talking and our conversation ranged from his family connections to the Titanic, his love of Icelandic music, his imminent move to Germany, and the fact that his parents were friendly with one of the Average White Band. A memorable random train conversation. Back in the spring I went to a local folk night in a tiny rugby club venue to see Chris Wood, one of my favourite singers. He also mentioned Average White Band, as he had recently played at a festival with one of the members. Back in my Drive In Rock days we played on the same bill as the Average White Band in their early 70s glory days. I got the chance to ask Paul Martin about his connection with them, and our paths hadn't crossed on stage back then - he is much too young - but I find this a particularly interesting example of 6 degrees of separation!

Tar barrels and mermaids

This weekend I saw a piece in the Guardian what's on section about the tar barrels of Ottery St Mary near Exeter.It's a calendar custom defying health and safety regulations.Back in 1972 I was at Exeter University for a term.In those few short months I saw David Bowie,Shakin Stephens and Pentangle at the students' union. I also went to see the tar barrel event.There was an old fashioned fair in the town,featuring a two headed stuffed calf and a real mermaid,a woman in a fishtail,sitting in a glass tank.Strange days as the Doors once sang.

Something Good

I'm being haunted by Herman's Hermits. Back in the summer of 1964 they played at the Adelphi House FCJ Grammar School summer fair. I was about to move up to this Salford secondary school, and as new pupils we had been invited to the fair. Herman's Hermits were playing in the gym,a newly built facility right by the River Irwell. On windy days chemical foam whipped up from the weir would blow across the playground, melting our nylon tights!They played 'I'm into Something Good', their first major hit and we all fell in love with Peter Noone's goofy cheeky chappy image. Of course it wasn't a hit until later that year, and it was exciting to hear it played on Radio Luxembourg through that summer, knowing that we had discovered them before they were famous. Earlier this summer I met someone on one of C P Lee's great music history walks in Manchester. He too had been at that particular Adelphi summer fair. The Adelphi site is now part of the University of Salford. The River Irwell might have salmon in it nowadays for all I know. We are singing a three part harmony version of 'I'm into Something Good' at the singing class I go to. When our tutor got the phrasing wrong a chorus of women of a certain age quickly put him right! On Saturday night it was played at the wedding disco of some young Italian friends. My youngest son's father did a great version of it with his band back in the mid 90s. I switched on the radio on Sunday morning and there it was. This is a song that is coming up to 48 years old! I know Goffin and King wrote songs that last, but where will it end? It's still full of optimism and the joys of youth. Maybe we should all hum along to it more often.

How long - has this been going on...

This has been a busy week. The wonder boy Michael Chabon on Sunday,writers' group on Tuesday, Robert Lee (of Black Gold of the Sun)organised an enjoyable evening at the Washington in Sheffield on Wednesday, the great Show of Hands at Buxton Opera House on Thursday. Friday night was scheduled for a catch up at home with Charlie,teenage son and lodger. It didn't quite work out like that. I'd lit the fire and settled in for the evening, so I read a bit, tidied a bit, made a couple of phone calls and then sat down to surf the TV channels. I got caught up in BBC4's evening about Squeeze and Paul Carrack. Now I have some memories of going to see them both, but I haven't felt any urgency to write about them until now. Like last Sunday's stroll through Manchester, it was a trip down Memory Lane. I saw Squeeze at an outdoor festival in Holland, possibly just outside Rotterdam. I was with my new Dutch boyfriend and I had to go back to Manchester to face the music of the break up of my first marriage. I couldn't stop crying, eyes and nose streaming on a lovely sunny summer afternoon. Their lyrics probably didn't help. I saw Ace during the 'How Long' days but I'm a bit hazy where. Kokomo were one of my favourite bands whilst I was at University, and I saw them live at Leeds. I still have their album. I suppose it's all blue eyed soul, but of a very English variety. Paul Carrack talked about his happy family days in Sheffield, before his father died as the result of an accident at work. Things seemed to be getting better all the time.I can recognise that feeling. He and his brother talked about being able to leave school on the Friday and walk into a job on the Monday. His brother took over the family decorating business at 15,and still runs it in Crookes. Sheffield is my second city. I moved there for a brief time in the early 90s and am very fond of it. Neil Hubbard described Paul Carrack as the Michael Palin of rock 'n' roll, because everyone loves him. Strange that Michael Palin is also a Sheffield lad.I went on a healing course with Matthew Manning when I was studying to be a homeopath. At the end of the weekend he played Mike and the Mechanics 'The Living Years'. It was incredibly moving, and I hadn't yet made the link with Paul Carrack that runs through all this.My friend Joyce, who died too young of a brain tumour, loved Paul Carrack and James Taylor and we managed to see them both together several times, so there are other associations linking all this for me.Then I went to see Mike and the Mechanics and rediscovered Paul Young, part of the scene in Manchester - Sad Cafe days. And Mike Rutherford was at school with Dim from Drive In Rock, the band I used to be in.Six degrees of separation, maybe less. Chris Difford said Paul Carrack's music translates the family love from his upbringing. There are many kinds of family.

There are places I'll remember

On an early autumn sunny Sunday afternoon I took a train to Piccadilly Station, Manchester. This time of year holds a sense of melancholy for me - nostalgia creeps up and ambushes me - the end of the holidays, return to boarding school. The Manchester railway stations hold a lot of memories for me, though they never appear in my dreamscapes, though Leeds station and the area around Manchester Cathedral are regular dream locations. There was a dreamy quality to the afternoon,and I was on my way to see one of my favourite authors, Michael Chabon, in conversation with Dave Haslam at the Whitworth Art Gallery as part of the Manchester Literature Festival. I knew there was a street food market and some music on in Albert Square, so I had arrived early to take a wander. Feeling something of the spirit of a flaneuse, even though there was a purpose to my visit, I decided to stroll. I passed the wall my unsuitable drug dealing boyfriend used to call the People Wall because it created an austere and revealing back drop for anyone walking past it. That was when I was 17. Today a homeless man with his dog rested against it. As I walked past a bar I heard Stevie Wonder singing 'I was made to love her'. Coffee bar jukebox, Gimlet Rock caravan Site, Pwllheli, North Wales circa 1967. Market St - the ghosts of Cromford Court and the Magic Village, New Brown St and the original On the 8th Day. A detour down Cross St, with a side street that led to what was once the Hollies boutique, where I had my first kiss from my first boyfriend. Round to St Annes Square, and The Royal Exchange, where my grandfather did his trading. Up to Albert Square, where I'd seen Candi Staton last year. Food and drink, a conversation with John Robb to thank him for his amazing review about Patti Smith back in September. Bumped into Elliott Rashman last seen at Bill Sykes' book launch for Sit Down! Listen to This!, but also part of the polytechnic 80s music scene, Simply Red's beginnings and the rest is history.Cutting through the threatened corridor between the old and 'new' Town Hall buildings to St Peter's Square. 'Rosencrantz and Guidernstern are Dead'at the Library Theatre when I was studying Hamlet for A level. The Odeon, boarded up and marooned at the top of Oxford St. We had stood in the road, screaming for a glimpse of Scott Walker from the dressing room windows. Package tours and teenage crushes. I met the already mentioned first boyfriend after a Small Faces concert there.On I went, leaving the city centre behind, past the nearly demolished BBC building where I had discussed ideas for programmes that never happened and the new On the 8th Day - such a significant piece of my history.Alberto Y Los Trios Paranoias developing their ideas between customers. XTC and half of Spirit coming in to explore Manchester's famous hippy shop.Bill Shumow, Beefheart's road manager, coming to collect me from work to head off on the tour bus. All Saints and the Cavendish Building, Thursday night discos and Drive in Rock home coming gigs. Royal Northern College of Music, still one of my favourite venues. Music Force - the ghost of the Georgian terrace and the musicians' collective - Bruce Mitchell, Tosh Ryan, Martin Hannett. On past the Students' Union, with a huge crowd outside, one or two I recognised, waiting to see Fun at the Academy. Recent strong memories of Patti Smith, and ancient memories of a film made of the dance troupe I was in when I was 16. By the time I reached the Whitworth I was in a perfect frame of mind to listen to a writer I admire, and I wasn't disappointed.