The Empty Page + Bivouac @ Night People 24.9.18

The Empty Page is such a perfect name for a band if you’re writing a review about their music. There before me is an empty page to fill with words about The Empty Page. They are a Manchester trio. The bassist is a woman with dyed mostly blondish/white hair called Kel who also sings and shouts a little bit. The other two both have beards and are men as far as I can tell. Big Jim looms over his drum kit at the back and thwacks the snare louder than any other band in town. Long haired Giz plays a pink guitar and roams the stage looking cool, although he didn’t move about as much as I’ve seen him do at previous gigs. If you have a clue you’ll have probably guessed from their name that they like Sonic Youth very much and you don’t have to ask them to confirm this: their black on white or white on black T-shirt is a homage to the Raymond Pettibon cartoon on the cover of “Goo” with the three of them in the car. They were on early at 7.30pm and had just started their set as I walked down the stairs into Night People. Less than half the set was from their 2016 album: “Big Wheel,” “Turbulence” and the last song, title track “Unfolding.” Kel half apologised for introducing “He’s Very Good at Swimming” as a song about victim blaming but, she said, this room full of mostly men would have to put up with it as she’s had to listen to too many songs about cocks. “Whose cock?” shouts one guy, so I shouted “Buzzcocks!” and with that they kicked into the best song they’d played so far that night. “Thanks for listening to us whinging on a Monday night,” said Kel, then they played the song that really got me moving, “When the Cloud Explodes.” This is soon going to be a single. I felt like I was just getting warmed up when they played the last song “Unfolding.” The Empty Page could have played a set twice as long and deserve to be headlining larger venues. I hope this happens as Kel has something to say, and Jim’s snare drum thwack is too loud for small spaces! After they played another woman arrived making a grand total of five women in the room amongst about 30-50 men. Three of those women seemed quite likely to be Gardenback’s girlfriends, as they jiggled around a bit whilst the next trio played then disappeared when Nottingham’s answer to Dinosaur Jr, Bivouac, played. Gardenback are another band with a singing bassist, but he lacked Kel’s charisma and attitude. I spent their whole set wishing the guitar was louder as it had a spiky spangly Gothic tinge, but unfortunately the guitarist looked like he could have been the son of Mike Rutherford from Genesis, and this was a bit distracting. I’d only heard about Bivouac’s reformation when I saw a poster for this gig in Night People. The low turn out could have been down to it being a Monday night, which is also the worst night for gig attendance. Also there are too many good gigs happening in Manchester these days and most people just can’t afford to go to everything even if they want to. Bivouac were just as good as they were in the 1990s. They looked a little older and Paul and Antony the drummer have grown beards. I’m not sure if they played all of “Tuber” as my CD is buried in a box somewhere, but the best songs of the set were actually the two new ones they played from their recent single. I’d have liked to have bought a copy but didn’t have enough money left.

New Order in Poole, March 1986

The first gig I went to, New Order @ Poole Arts Centre 29.3.86 cost only £5, although one could buy a lot more with £5 back then. A flyer for the tour fell out of my old “Low Life” LP. I think we paid on the door so I never got a ticket stub. I remember there was an army of Joy Division bootleg tape sellers outside the venue. My friend Dan’s parents drove us to Poole from the Salisbury area and went for a meal whilst the three or maybe four of us went to watch New Order. They played most of their best album Low Life (maybe all of it), Ceremony, Temptation, Blue Monday, Shellshock and the at that point unreleased State of the Nation. When Bernard Sumner (“the twat!”) got his melodica out for Your Silent face it got the biggest cheer of the night. Peter Hook made me want to play bass guitar, so I did, on a black damaged three string bass. I taught myself almost every Joy Division bass line. I had an almost Ian Curtis fit moment. After the support band Tea House Camp (you never heard of them) we all pushed as far forward as we could into the densely packed crowd and got fairly close to the stage. It was so hot that I passed out, and so packed that everyone had no option but to push me back on my feet immediately. This meant I started the gig in the state of sensory derangement that blacking out brings on. I expect the gig was bootlegged, but unlike the second gig I went to (The Fall @ Southampton University) I’ve never tracked down a bootleg recording. I’ve never been back to Poole since that night. Years later I met Stephen Morris in Macclesfield and told him New Order were the first band I’d ever been to see at a gig. He asked what year and when I told him he said, “Oh sorry we must have been terrible then!” They were a hell of a lot better than at the Reading Festival 1993, which was the third and last time I saw them play.

Drink and Drive

“AND this band… they said… they were from OLD HAM! But what you did not know is… “There’s a new fiend on the loose!” AND they call it… Drink and Drive!” This is how I introduced Drink and Drive’s headline at the Old Pint Pot on the Irwell in south Salford last night. You might well have guessed I was doing my notorious Mark E Smith impression. As soon as this hideous replica finished his spiel, the bass player was on it with the first song intro. Drink and Drive then played the best gig I’ve seen them play. I think it was my fourth time… first time I thought they were OK, second I thought they were really quite good, third I liked them more and this time I’m elevating them to the level of Gnod, ILL, Easter, NASDAQ, Wode, Plank!, Denim & Leather, Locean, Bones Shake, Bobbie Peru, Thee Windom Earles, Witch Fever, Aggressive Perfektor, Primitive Knot, Kiran Leonard, Yossarians, The Birth Marks, Politburo, Jungfraus, Dead Objectives, Throwing Stuff, Rose and the Diamond Hand, Douga, Salford Media City, Ten Mouth Electron, Blue Orchids, Silver Dick, Triangle Cuts, Tekla, Songs for Walter, Sweet Deals on Surgery, Careering, Errant Monks, DUDS, Elle Mary and the Bad Men, The Creature Comfort, The Empty Page, The Sandells, The Dee Vees, Mama Racho, Diagonal Science, Breaking Colts, Lake of Snakes, Tombed Visions, Ghold, Historically Fucked, Paddy Steer, Former Bullies, Secret Admirer, Tom Settle, Jo Rose, Flea, Tout Suite, Gorehead, Grotbags, Astral Bodies, Liines, Cynthia’s Periscope, Sippy Cup, Poppycock, Mold, David Birchall’s various permutations, etc (great gigging Manchester bands of 2018; this is not a complete list so don’t get pissed off if I forgot your band). Two nice surprises: only three quid in on the door and there were actually four bands playing rather than just the two I expected. Sonic AM had a superb hyper rhythm section but I wanted a bit more distortion on the guitar. I asked the singer/guitarist what the AM stood for. He said anything you like so I decided on Sonic AND Monophonic. Both they and Dead Elephants had a hell of a lot of energy. Dead Elephants introduced a great cover of the Stooges’ “Search and Destroy” as “the best song ever written.” I’m more of a Ron Asheton brutal riff fan myself, and I don’t think it’s even the best Stooges song! That’d be “Not Right.” Whatever, their version had me singing along and wanting to get on stage to sing with them! The guitarist told me afterwards I should have done just that… after all that’s’ how Henry Rollins joined Black Flag! Maybe that’s why I asked Drink and Drive if I could introduce them. They are seriously indebted to The Fall to the extent that one song even sounds like a rewrite of “Fiery Jack!” There’s also a little early Wire in some of their riffage, as Steve Shy mentioned when he first told me about them. Anyone know of a currently gigging Manchester band they like that I didn’t mention here? Please mention them below. Some I might have forgotten and some I might not have heard yet.

October Gigs in Manchester

These are some of the good gigs I know about that are happening in Manchester in October 2018. An updated version of this list can be found further up the blog.

Monday 1^st: Anna Calvi @ the Ritz (£20 plus unnecessary middle man rip off fee)

Tuesday 2^nd: Elder + Ancestors + Cattle @ Rebellion (£15.40 including rip off fee, Beauty Witch)

Friday 5^th: The Sonics + The Creature Comfort @ Academy 3 (£23 plus rip off fee, although unlike most promoters these days you can still actually buy a ticket at the students union with no rip off fee and cut out the leaching online ticket sellers)

Sunday 7^th: watch TV to see how crap the new Dr Who is

Monday 8^th: Mark Lanegan & Duke Garwood @ RNCM (£22 plus rip off fee, unless you buy a ticket from the RNCM box office)

Monday 8^th: Johnny Hunter @ Matt and Phreds (FREE, 9pm)

Tuesday 9^th: Chris Corsano + David Birchall, Andrew Cheetham, Hannah Marsahall & Kiaer @ the Peer Hat

Wednesday 10th: Daniel Johnston film @ Dulcimer, Chorlton FREE

Friday 12^th: Spaceheads + Rucksack Cinema + Cynthia’s Periscope @ Peer Hat (£4)

Friday 12^th: Nibiru + Even Vast + The Medea Project @ the Star and Garter (£5)

Friday 12^th: Terry Riley @ RNCM (£25)

Saturday 13^th: Bo Ningen + Witch Fever + Milk Disco @ Night and Day (promoter has been saying this is “almost sold out” for months now)

Saturday 13^th: Yossarians + godspeed you peter andre + Ukaea + Mother,etc  @ Partisan (3pm start, Fat Out)

Tuesday 16^th: Low @ Manchester Cathedral (£27.50 plus rip off fee; greedy Mormons!)

Wednesday 17^th: Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks @ Albert Hall

Thursday 18^th: Gang of Four @ Ruby Lounge (£18 plus communist rip off fee to unnecessary middlemen who make their profit down on the disco floor; yes someone capitalist shit is really taking the piss as tickets advertised at £18 are actually costing £21.45 on Ruby Lounge website)

Thursday 18^th: Liines @ Night and Day Cafe

Saturday 20^th: She Makes War @ The Castle

Sunday 21^st: John Carpenter @ Albert Hall

Monday 22^nd: The Mauskovic Dance Band + Mama Racho @ the Peer Hat

Tuesday 23^rd: Adrena Adrena + Triangle Cuts @ the Peer Hat

Thursday 25^th: Easter @ Gullivers

Thursday 25th: Stallion + Aggressive Perfektor + Heavy Sentence @ Dulcimer

Friday 26^th: The KVB @ Yes

Friday 26^th: Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs + ILL @ the Star and Garter (SOLD OUT, Beauty Witch)

Tuesday 29^th: Marissa Nadler @ Gullivers

Tuesday 29^th: Jon Spencer Blues Explosion + Melvins @ Academy (£32.25!!! Even before rip off fees!)

Punk Avant Garde has No Class

Now it can be revealed! After some deliberation and argumentation these are the 9 most “avant garde” bands associated with “punk rock” in my opinion.

1.       CRASS Total subversion, total anarchy, vegan chaos, swearing, blasphemy, pay no more than 49p to hide from Reality Asylum with Shaved Women and screaming babies. Best before 1984 but sadly even more relevant today.

2.       THE POP GROUP We are time, deconstructed chaos, reconstructed dub without the boring Jah Jah cannabis sunshine daydream

3.       THIS HEAT Never forget you have a choice, intense prog rock in HEAVY disguise

4.       WIRE Accidentally invented hardcore punk, intentionally invented dugga and too clever for their own good

5.       DOME Weird offshoot of WIRE with silly tube hats mostly hated by “punks”

6.       THE FALL How old are the stars really? How can you quantify destruction?

7.       MELT BANANA Teeny shiny hyper video chipmunk core from Tokyo, Japan

8.       SIOUXSIE AND THE BANSHEES Middle class girl transforms herself into a walking singing work of art, and I’m hearing voices, drop dead, she’s your little voodoo dolly, accidentally invented eighties Goth scene

9.       PUBLIC IMAGE LIMITED First three albums only and Lydon’s a buttery shithead these days, totally lost the plot after ripping off Flipper

With the exception of The Fall. PIL and The Pop Group most of these bands are mostly from middle class backgrounds as far as I know, rather disproving a friend’s assertion that “the avant garde is working class.” The “avant garde” has no class. Who should be number 10?

Later I wrote this in reaction to many suggestions, including that Throbbing Gristle and Pere Ubu should be on this list:

Well Mission of Burma wouldn’t be in a “top ten” but if we expand this list to fifty or more then they have to feature. Roger Miller has made much more experimental music outside of Mission of Burma. The same would be true of Gang of Four, who no one has mentioned yet! I think it would be an interesting exercise to try to expand this list to a hundred bands, but maybe limit it to bands that came into existence between 1975 and 1980. It probably makes sense to ditch the hierarchical aspect as this is mostly too subjective. Throbbing Gristle should certainly feature and would be a candidate for the no 1 slot in a hierarchy, I was really just arguing for the sake of it. So should Pere Ubu, despite David Thomas’ jaundiced view of “punk rock.” Even though I love a lot of the music, I hate the term “punk” but it has a cultural and musical meaning that has eclipsed its prison slang origin, in much the same way that “gay” is rarely used to mean happy anymore. Another standard term I hate is “krautrock” which is especially silly when applied to bands that aren’t German. In making Crass the most “avant garde” band I wasn’t just thinking of their sound, but of their politics and cultural impact. They and Throbbing Gristle both got bourgeois tory scum agitated about their art and that makes them more “avant garde” than any of the other bands. I also think that Siouxsie has had such a huge cultural impact and that no matter how many poppier singles the Banshees made, they are still more important to any historical narrative than relatively unknown noisier or weirder sounding artists. If we looked at the so called “avant garde” of “punk rock” then I can’t think of any bands who had more cultural impact than Siouxsie, TG, Wire and Crass. All four created new musical genres, whether they meant to or not. As far as I’m aware only Crass had the intention of instigating and nurturing a scene (Anarcho-Punk) and this in itself makes them more interesting to me. Actually their aims were probably far more ambitious than that, and as far as I’m concerned they haven’t failed yet. They’d almost found anarchy and peace when the system dropped its bomb. And in the ruins the survivors start all over again. And that’s where Killing Joke stride in…

Trinkhallen, Primitive Iodine, Rose and Raz

“Do you go to gigs every day?” asked Lowri Evans in Chorlton Oddbins last night. Well, I had Tuesday night off. Why was I in Oddbins? Why, a gig of course! It was the third time this week I’d come to hear my friends guitarist David Birchall and singer Greta Buitkute on their Trinkhallen tour with German bass clarinet trio Die Verwechslung. On Monday I’d tried and failed to walk all the way to posh Altrincham along Bridgewater Canal. Had I not taken a scenic detour via Sale Water Park and Priory Gardens where there is a fantastic high path view over green treetops, I might have made it on time. As it was I hopped on a tram at Timperley and rode two stops to the end of the line. It would have been well worth the walk even if they hadn’t been playing as the Angkor Soul people had laid on delicious free food; jack fruit, rice and peas with salad. Iko Kelly, Stuart Calton and Kate Armitage made it to two of their performances but I was the only non-performer who wasn’t travelling in the German entourage to film and photograph the tour who made it to all three. I was late to the 5pm performance in Arndale Centre market Microbar as David had mistakenly written that Microbar was in the Food Court at the other end of the mall. Later last night I took the tram from Chorlton to Piccadilly to hear another magical performance from Rose Niland and her five recorder tooting ladies and Canny drumming and keyboarding men. OK two ladies played bass and guitar rather than recorders but that sentence would have been way too clunky if I’d included that information. One of Rose and Diamond Hand’s songs sounds like what might have happened if Can had been asked to write a James Bond theme. Drummer Jay Vid Duchovny was feeling very ill, but it didn’t affect his Leibezeitisms. Jewish singer songwriter Avital Raz played afterwards and started with a song rather reminiscent of “The Scarlet and the Gold” by the Thirteenth Floor Elevators. She played her notorious “Edinburgh Song” about getting fucked up the ass for peace, and her new songs sounded like her best yet. The night before I’d walked along the canal to the Peer Hat for some Satanic starpowered tripped out tribal invocations from Primitive Knot, a bit of abstract ambience from Kepier Widow and a full on wild onslaught of Harry Pussy / Sonic Youth proportions from French trio Sister Iodine. Tonight Triangle Cuts are playing at Fuel but I’ll be heading to Islington Mill for their party (BYOB) that starts at 6pm, then off to Night People for a late night gig headlined by great garage blues punk band the Dee Vees. The weekend is a double all day music feast courtesy of Astral Elevator called the Psych weekender featuring the mighty Mugstar, a band I’ve seen almost as many times as Killing Joke, Wire and Melt Banana. Other highlights are Lumerians, The Oscillation, Bones Shake, The Janitors and Weird Sex, but most bands playing I’ve never heard before. If the timings work out I might pop over to The Peer Hat on Saturday to see Paddy Steer and on Sunday to see Ian Svenonius, but the giro is running low so paying in to two extra gigs might become slightly problematic by Sunday. Monday is quieter with Cult Party, Secret Admirer, Tekla and Tom Settle playing the Peer Hat, then I have two days off as Dylan Carlson has had to cancel his gig due to illness. The Peer Hat seems to have very much taken over the gig scene this September. Those facebook frenz who also appeared: Dusty Burtons, Martin Warm Widow, Alexa Kruger, Nick Alexander, Michelle Woods, Mathew Boycott Garnet, Penfold Kowalski, Joanne Maylott, Simon Morris, Mick Kenyon, Liam Farr, Dom Jam and a special guest appearance from James Travis who was getting on the tram to Rochdale going home from work as I got off after travelling from Chorlton.

Brix Smith: The Rise The Fall and the Rise

NEW FACTS EMERGE: I wonder if the final Fall album was titled as a reflection on the books written by Brix Start, Stephen Hanley and Simon Woolstencroft? Brixton’s fascinating book “The Rise The Fall and the Rise” is certainly full of revelations about the character of various Fall members especially Mark E Smith. Primarily I learnt these things:

1      When she was a teenager Brix was brutally anally raped by a guy she thought was gay who lured her to a jam session. She never revealed this to anyone until she wrote the book.

2    Mark E Smith seemed to have been in a worse state of mental collapse than I’d imagined when Brix quit for the second time and tried to hit him with her guitar after he threw her handbag at her on stage. Mark insulted some rappers playing the same festival as The Fall by calling them “boy” and got a good beating for it. He was so deranged he became convinced he’d caught a disease from being touched by a person in a wheelchair that he started cutting his hands to “let out the disease.” I feel very lucky I completely failed to replace Brix as guitarist at this time, as I think I’d have probably lasted half a rehearsal. Stephen Hanley seems to be the most patient, dependable, humble nice gentleman you could hope to meet, but Mark even drove him out in the end. Brix’s replacement “Scotch man” Tommy Crooks didn’t last long.

3.       Marcia Schofield was obsessed with hardcore porn that disgusted Brix.

4.       All “the lads” except the happily married Mr Hanley and Simon Rogers would pay for prostitutes whilst on tour.

5.       Mark started cheating on Brix earlier in their marriage than I thought, and also cheated on Lucy Rimmer.

6.       “Hotel Bloedel” was a real hotel in Germany near Auschwitz where Mark and Brix stayed. It had its own abattoir, where cows were slaughtered to feed the guests, which disgusted Brix. Bloedel is German for stupid person and it was run by a strange family of that name. Mostly stupid people work in abattoirs don’t they?

7.       My first impression of Brix when I met her whilst the Fall were recording a video for “The Chisellers” was correct: she is a really nice person. My first impression of Karl Burns was also pretty much spot on: he’s a right cunt. Brix bought him a birthday cake which he just threw at a wall! I never met either of them again but had several strange encounters with Mark E Smith in the years that followed. It’s possible that I was at least partly the inspiration for the lyrics and Mark E Smith impressions on the song “Everybody But Myself” and the character of the Crying Marshall.

8.       Leigh Bowery “simulated” rape on Brix (without her consent) but she put it down to being part of his “art” as there was no penetration. Considering Agenda Item One, this must have been very disturbing and terrifying for her.

9.       Brix has a very low opinion of “The Frenz Experiment” especially “The Steak Place” and “Oswald Defence Lawyer.”

10.   Brix came up with the title “The Wonderful and Frightening World of the Fall” as a homage to “The Wonderful World of Disney.”

11.   We are in total agreement that “This Nation’s Saving Grace” is the best Fall album. Her critical analysis of Fall music is mostly spot on.

12.   Brix drew the CREEP character that I have on a very old poster, originally for a book of Mark’s lyrics. CREEP has a lobster claw hand “because creeps always pinch you on the ass.”

13.   There should be another 14 or 15 points so that there are 27 points, just like the double live album that was the final Fall recording to be released featuring Brix, until the deluge of demo/live compilations like “Oxymoron” and “Sinister Waltz.” I will just have to read the book again to find the points.

September Gigs in Manchester

Saturday 1^st: Psych Fest with ILL, St Agnes, Mold, The Cosmics, Asteroid #4, Saba Lou, The Abjects, AK/DK, etc

Monday 3^rd: Insurrectionary Neo-Futurism Monday @ Peer Hat with Cynthia’s Periscope + Triangle Cuts + Jan Doyle Band FREE

Thursday 6^th: Powersolo + Bones Shake + Thee Windom Earles @ Peer Hat

Friday 7^th: 100 Year Old Man @ Rebellion

Friday 7^th: Matt Hollywood and the Bad Feelings @ Peer Hat

Friday 7^th: Little Mother + Baby Green + Amphorae @ Fuel

Saturday 8^th: Kiran Leonard + Cult Party + The Birth Marks @ Partisan

Saturday 8^th: Bong + Bismuth @ Star & Garter

Saturday 8^th: Zimpel / Ziolek + Tombed Visions @ Soup Kitchen

Monday 10^th: Die Verwechslung with David Birchall and Greta Buitkute @ Angkor Soul, 20 Ashley Road Altrincham 7pm

Wednesday 12^th: Sister Iodine + Kepier Widow + Primitive Knot @ Peer Hat

Thursday 13^th: Die Verwechslung with David Birchall and Greta Buitkute @ Food Hall, Arndale Centre 5pm

Thursday 13^th: Avital Raz + Rose and the Diamond Hand + Laura Taylor @ Peer Hat

Thursday 13^th: Die Verwechslung with David Birchall and Greta Buitkute @ Chorlton Oddbins 7pm

Thursday 13^th: The Noise Upstairs @ Fuel

Friday 14th: Psych weekender warm up @ Night People with the Dee Vees + Silver Vials + Circus Cannon 10pm start

Friday 14th: Triangle Cuts @ Fuel

Saturday 15^th: Paddy Steer + Experimental Sonic Machines + Flavolous + Video + Acid Marko @ Peer Hat (starts 5pm)

Saturday 15^th: Psych weekender @ Night People with The Oscillation, Lumerians, Bones Shake, etc

Saturday 15^th: Wooden Shjips + The Lucid Dream @ Gorilla (sold out)

Saturday 15^th: Kapil Seshasayee + Parlour + Wait Loss + Jo Rose @ Fuel

Sunday 16^th: Ian Svenonius Escape-ism @ Peer Hat

Sunday 16th: Psych Weekender @ Night People w/ Mugstar, etc

Monday 17th: Cult Party + Secret Admirer + Tekla + Tom Settle @ Peer Hat

Wednesday 19^th: Dylan Carlson (Earth) cancelled due to illness

Thursday 20^th: Sneers @ Peer Hat

Friday 21st: Drink and Drive + Sonic AM + Dead Elephants @ The Old Pint Pot

Saturday 22^nd: Guts + Threads + SPQR + Blanketman + Farfisa @ Peer Hat

Monday 24^th: Bivouac + The Empty Page @ Night People

Tuesday 25^th: The Nightingales + Near Jazz Experience @ Soup Kitchen

27-30 Sonder Festival in various venues with mostly bands I've never heard

Thursday 27th: Hands Off Gretel @ Bread Shed (Sonder Festival)

Thursday 27th: Consumer Electronics + Skullflower @ Ruby Lounge

Friday 28^th: Songs for Walter @ Yes basement

Friday 28^th: Wolfgang Flur @ Gorilla

Friday 28^th: The Cosmics @ Night People (Sonder Festival)

Saturday 29^th: Witch Fever + Chew Magna + Black Pudding + lots of other bands “Stay Fresh fest”@ Deaf Institute


Sunday 30^th: Blue Orchids + Bell Lungs + Sans Oeuf @ Peer Hat

Sunday 30^th:  Cynthia's Periscope @ Fac251 (Sonder Festival)


Early October highlights:

2 Cattle @ Rebellion (opening for Elder  + Ancestors neither of whom I've heard yet)

5 The Sonics @ Academy 3

9 Chris Corsano @Peer Hat
12 Spaceheads @ Peer Hat
13 Bo Ningen + Witch Fever @ Night and Day

13 Yossarians @ Partisan

Fake News and Karaoke (fifteenth letter to Lowri)

Rewind to 5pm Friday 13^th July: The Anti-Trump demo was fun, but I must confess I didn’t enjoy it as much as that anti-Trump march when we walked together. I took the mini-Trump-a-ninny heads with movable mouths and blacked out demonic soulless eyes which Akin had cut out in the Peer Hat from flyers and posters for a play at the Kings Arms. As I walked around looking for familiar faces, I articulated the Trump mouths as I did a passable impression of his whiny creepy voice saying mostly, “Fake News! Fake News!” Nearly everyone laughed and those who laughed the most got a “Little Rocket Man” and “I’m a very stable genius!” I fake newsed a woman being interviewed and filmed by hiding behind her banner so that only the hideous Trump head could be seen on camera. She cracked up and turned round to see the Trump head and laughed even more. The people who liked the fake news most got a free mini-Trump to take home and torture until I’d exhausted my Trump supply. The only man who didn’t laugh was a dour communist selling his anti-capitalist wares at a table. I suspect he was in disapproval of the anarchy A I’d scrawled on Trump’s orange bonce. I met my friend Jessica Flavell and we hung out for a while whilst Dave Haslam played “We Don’t Need That Fascist Groove Thang” and “Get Up Stand Up Don’t Give Up the Fight” and some other music that neither of us would choose to listen to at home. I was in the mood for a bit of punk rock really. “I’m So Bored of The USA” Clash karaoke would have done just fine: “Trump is a moron, he’s always on TV, ‘cos fascists in America work seven days a week!” Another Haslam, Chris from Gnod, sashayed gaily by sporting a stylish red “Just Say No to the Psycho Right-Wing Capitalist Fascist Industrial Death Machine” T-shirt. They probably should have asked him to DJ instead of Dave Haslam! Then we might have got some Nirvana, Joy Division, Can and Motorhead. Anti-frackers Julian and Amy S Olive said hi. I got nearer the stage to watch some Mexican dancers then my MP Kate Green did a hellfire speech against the evil of Trump, but it was like teaching a grandmother to suck lovely eggs. Why do grandmothers suck eggs? The best speaker was a former US serviceman who called Trump an asshole to huge cheers. By then I’d met the Vanishing Gareth Smith, Breaking Colt Joanna Maylott and Polythene Snake Kate Themen. The angry American asked us to all link arms in solidarity with the person next to us so I linked arms with Kate who linked arms with Jojo who linked arms with Gareth. The clouds cried again and drenched the last couple of speakers. The Universe itself had enough Credit to try to wash the evil of Trump right out of the Square. I rushed off to the Ritz to see The Breeders, where Kelley Deal had been kind enough to put me on the guestlist. IT’S TRUE!!

At the Ritz I met Ben Ryles at the bar whilst support band Pip Blom bounced around… here the tape has been partially erased and just the muffled voice of Kim Deal singing, “I am the sun, I am the New Year, IT’S TRUE!” can be heard. A slow motion process of digital recovery has been instigated. The print out’s blocked…

I really didn't expect to find my Hotpants Romance bag and Melt Banana T-shirt at a Zombie Shack gig by a New Order tribute band late on Friday night, getting friendly with some nice European ladies of Unknown Pleasures. I arrived in the middle of “Blue Monday,” and stuck around to dance to the “Ceremony.” There was a pleasant “Atmosphere” and a bit of “Temptation.” Serial bootlegger Alex Staszko even recorded it and cheekily laughed at my Ian Curtis dance! True Order had the tunes down but their vocal impressions needed a bit of extra karaoke practice. I told them that the first band I ever saw play a gig was New Order. IT’S TRUE!

The choices of songs at Scary-oke karaoke were not as cool as their flyer suggested they might be, but that’s the choice of the karaokists. I chose “All Stood Still” by Ultravox, certainly the most apocalyptic song of the night and it seems to me to be a topical dystopian warning for the state of the nation as our increasingly incompetent, corrupt and evil government ruins everything with the swill of the people. All the Midge Ure lyrics were there on the screen but half the Chris Cross words were missing in action so I had to ad lib a bit. Next up was The Cure “Love Cats” but the karaokist who chose it had fled into the night. Someone shouted for everyone to sing it so we all got on stage to get wonderfully wonderfully pretty and know that we’d do anything for you. Halfway through I snatched the mic off someone who wasn’t singing loud enough and finished the grooviest thing. The worst singing was on “Atmosphere” by Joy Division. The last thing I remember was two girls duetting “Rip Her to Shreds” by Blondie. The screens shut down. The clocks all stopped. The lights went out. I’ll remember to mention you in tapes I leave behind.

Break Shit is Break Shit (fourteenth letter to Lowri)

Here is another of the gigantic Lowris. I saw the graffiti nearby and thought it would be funny if the man in glasses was saying, “Breakshit is Breakshit.” The giant Lowri’s reply is the graffiti: “Breakshit is the devil’s work!” See how I avoided typing the dreadful “B” word. I took a devout monastic vow to never type or say that word. I always refer to “Leaving the EU.” I have to pay more letter tax, but it’s worth every penny. At the last moment I asked Whitney Bluzma to get me in the photo, pointing at the graffiti and shouting the message about the devil into my phone to the gigantic Lowri and her bespectacled friend. Nearby skateboarders seemed slightly bemused. This short street performance was titled, “Leaving the EU is the devil’s work, and the devil is Boris Johnson.” My hope is that it will contribute in some tiny way to helping exorcise that lying buffoon from all our lives forever. Whilst Boris is in Aquarius and The Sun is up his arse, there is no hope for anyone. Later on Piccadilly I spotted a “Naughty Bus.” Instead of a number and destination the display read, “Naughty Bus.” Suddenly people were shouting and raising French flags on Piccadilly Plaza! The EU had betrayed us again and France had invaded! I hurried home to fetch my sword, but dozed off before I could join the fray, so like a minister I am now resigned to my fate. Perhaps you would be safer staying in Brazil until the innocent and saintly hero of the patriots, the pinball wizard Tommy Robinson, can lead us all bravely into battle against Jeanni Foreigner and we can make Britain grate again.

The Wonderful Wooden Poodle (thirteenth letter to Lowri)

The Fifteenth: Space is the Place, time is the crime. Planet Earth is doomed and there’s nothing the Overseers can do. The only hope for humanity in the insanity is the cosmic vibration of the Sun Ra Arkestra and their double breasted spacecraft. They will bring about a new consciousness through isotopic transmogrification . Or something like that. 

Near Home the gigantic Lowri had replicated twice. There were now three gigantic Lowris. Or could it be that the other two gigantic Lowris had always been there, but were obscured from my consciousness by rogue particles gravitating towards the Deleted Beach at the heart of Home. This is a true story. Close to the first gigantic Lowri I found an abandoned street poodle on wheels. The poor pooch had broken his neck. I lifted the unfortunate beast delicately and carried it across the road. It was clearly dead, but perhaps it had never really been alive. I tried to tend his mortal wounds as best I could, and propped his head at a more natural angle. He was pleased to be placed next to his new mistress, staring up at her in admiration. I titled this spontaneous street installation “Now I wanna be your green poodle dog.” The people were pleased: two young Japanese girls were so tak 

en with the wonderful wooden poodle that they snapped pictures to take home so that they could marvel at his greenness and share it with their friends. Kawaii!! Luckily a couple of my friends were nearby, Whitney Bluzma the feminist bassist of the dada sticky ILL band, and her boyfriend Jason. I asked Whitney to take a picture of the wonderful wooden poodle in his new location so that I could show you as I thought you’d enjoy this scene. The intense gravitational pull of the three gigantic Lowris was hard to escape, but I managed to run away again.

Full Mantis (twelfth letter to Lowri)

You keep surprising me. I didn’t expect to turn a corner and be confronted by a giant Lowri hangin’ on to a telephone! It wasn’t a hologram, just a two dimensional image, so there was no chance of any fishy interaction. Is this how they entice people to sit in a future office these days? If you put a picture of Lowri Evans on the barrier that keeps the people out of a construction site on Thirst Street will they all stay out? Or will kiddies climb over the Lowri to play in the scaffolding? Today at least your image was keeping trespassers out, even though it doesn’t seem at all threatening. How do you do it? By the time the sky blocking tower block is built I predict office workers will all turn on their computers and switch them off again in the nude and waft the stench of decaying fish through the air conditioning.

I was heading to Home to see a film about jazz drummer Milford Graves and the met office had put out a huge name drop warning. I met modular synthesist Sam Weaver just after I bought my ticket. The till lady asked me if I’d ever seen a film at Home before and I had to confess I was a Home film virgin, but proudly showed her my Hotpants Romance shoulder bag and told her I’d seen this band play at Home. As you might recall I lost my Home exhibitionism virginity to Hotpants Romance last Valentine’s Day. I climbed the stairs with Sam, having completely forgotten all the directions the till lady had given me, but we found our way to the cinema without any fishy mishaps. Inside there were eleven people I know, and there was a seat left next to our friend Stuart Calton who is half a Sippy Cup. Next to him was the other half of Sippy Cup and third of Silver Dick the facebook free Kate Armitage and next to her was Martyn Walker. Next to him were Helen Brealey and David Birchall. David is such a Milford Graves enthusiast that he’d already seen the film in a Sheffield cinema. Afterwards he confessed to some confusion about Milford’s philosophising and I warned him that the Sun Ra “Space is the Place” film showing at Home on Sunday might push his philosophical boat much further out. Or should that be farther out? Who cares, as long as you know what I mean. Those who also watched: Paddy Steer, Graham Massy, Sam’s brother Christian Weaver, Fred who may or may not be on facebook and a fellow whose name I don’t know or forgot who I met when Damo Suzuki played a gig with the band who used to be The Fall. All of them were wearing clothes and no one had brought a fish, but they’ll learn. The film was called “Full Mantis” after Milford’s revelation that he had to learn his moves from the preying mantis. It was funny and moving, especially the concert with autistic Chinese children and Milford’s account of how he avoided prison by being nice when buying cheese after he went on a rampage with a pistol against some people who were trying to kill his son. Stuart was so into it he kept wiggling about in his seat in rhythmic excitement.

Outside the skies had broken, crying that Trump was making England worse again with his odious presence. That sexist racist fascist dictator wannabe with lots of shiny missiles to point at “little rocket man” had ruined the heatwave, just like he spoils everything else he can. My luck was in, as I found a big broken discarded umbrella to shelter me and my trusty Hotpants bag from the crying clouds as I hurried to The Peer Hat where I was just in time to see the second funniest band in Manchester ever, Jeuce. More on them later, as I have to make some silly signs for the anti-Trump demo party on Albert Square. Wish you were here like that demo when we marched against Trump together. Please send your hologram!!

Crow Asia Magic Hour (eleventh letter to Lowri)

I got much more black against white football action than I expected last night in Gullivers. The Starlight Magic Hour played quite late. They were not a team in the world cup as I’m sure you know, anyway there weren’t enough of them to take on the bolshy vics of Crow Asia! They are a six man band who play rowdy knees up drinking songs. Sometimes they have a violin, sometimes three guitars. Seb White MP, who has recently been appointed Minister of Rocking after Morrissey resigned in disgust at Bengalis wearing platform boots, also plays in one of Manchester’s best bands The Yossarians and another guitarist also fronts horror glambangers Mold. Their set started at the time the Inglund Crow Asia match should have finished, but our proud team were so upset at the resignation of national Latin prattle hero Boris Johnson they didn’t get enough goals in so had to do some overtime. I expect each one of them got paid enough money to cover the wages of twenty nurses for a year. I was glad Inglund got knocked out during The Starlight Magic Hour because if they’d won the cup the slimy corrupt Tory backstabbers would have just used it as propaganda to obscure their proto-fascist evil. I think the best team won as Crow Asia did a dribble past stint that kept the ball away from the whites’ feet for so long that even I actually began to enjoy watching football instead of just making sarcastic commentator lampoon remarks like “And a man has just kicked a ball!” and “The ball bounces, as usual!” Luckily I was amongst a gathering who didn’t take football seriously enough to get upset by such pseudo-Partridgism. The most interesting thing about the match was the advert for “McDelivery.” I wondered if this is what foul cow murderers McDonalds call their planet raping toxicity in Russia? I imagined a literal muck delivery happening during the match, so the players had to kick the ball about in a sea of slurry: a real shitkicker of a game. The match was projected on the wall at the back of the stage before The Starlight Magic Hour played and I worried that the ball might get kicked through the screen and knock over a microphone stand. Downstairs at the bar I met Louise Woodcont who was also not concerned about football as she told me she’d wasted too much energy on it when she was younger. Brian who I met at the Vital Idles gig was also there and I told him about the strange surprise you gave me at the time of Inglund’s first cup match. I got almost as rowdy as a ball fan to “Safe European Home” by The Clash. I’ve certainly wasted a hell of a lot more energy jumping around and shouting along to The Clash than kicking balls or shouting at men kicking balls and some older friends tell me The Clash were the best band they ever saw. Anyway to take the stage after one of the finest rock’n’roll tunes in existation is a challenge the red boiler suit clad Caroline Rose was up to. Luckily she soon brought the stage back and played some very danceable anthems with her gender balanced band and got everyone down the front doing the Woodcock. She showed us her pussy. I mean she showed us her fluffy toy cat that sat on her keyboard. She also had fake red flowers all over her microphones. I found myself wiggling about just behind Lou and next to the helpful fellow from Fopp who knew exactly which DVD I was after when I asked him if they had “That film about the alien woman who kills men in Scotland.” Just past him was Rivca Burns, who luckily was not literally burning although if she had been we were all close enough to the new fire exit to get out in a hurry.

Some of this letter has been fake news, in honour of the glorious king of the free world, Donald Duck. I would like to credit you and any other nosy parker reading this with enough intelligence to know the difference between bullshit and dog shit. Please click my like button as myself is steam and I only live for likes. Fake news! Fake news!

Bonus points to anyone who can recognise the film about the alien woman who kills men in Scotland.

Vital Idle Plant Mystery (tenth letter to Lowri)

On a Sunday trip to Sale Water Park just past the Chester Road Bridge I was waylaid by a young man with a bike who’d seen something strange in Bridgewater Canal. Bottles, cans, plastic bags, footballs, fish, ducks, swans, geese: these are the indigenous flora and fauna of Bridgewater Canal. How had a cannabis plant ended up a hand span underwater? Obviously he needed advice from a person with longer hair than his, as everyone knows that knowledge of cannabis sativa increases in direct proportion to hair length. We marvelled a moment at this biological conundrum, until I hit upon a possible aquatic sativa hypothesis: someone had feared a police raid and hidden their plant in the canal where they could return later and fish it out. On returning a few hours later, the mysterious hash plant was gone. What really went on there? Had the mysterious plant been rescued by a pot diver? Had stoner swans nibbled it all up? Maybe a disgruntled lover had tried to drown it in a jealous rage.

Disgruntled partner: “Yo love yo spliff more ‘un me!”

Gruntled partner: “Too right, innit bro!”

Disgruntled partner: “I’m drownin’ yo plant in the canal.”

Gruntled partner: “Ha ha ha! No one talks to me like that! No one talks to anyone like that!”

The mystery of how a large cannabis plant made a brief guest appearance in the canal will probably always remain. In the end it’s just another silly story to tell someone in Brazil. It could have been a male plant as the males just don't get you high!

Facebook has been so useful these past few days, reminding me it’s my birthday soon. What would I do without these constant tedious reminders? Maybe watch the world cup final? On Monday Simon the signer-onner wished me happy birthday for next Sunday, and told me it was also the day of the cup final. How fishy that I hadn’t even realised this! Sun Ra’s weird and wonderful “Space is the Place” film is showing at Home and that’s more my cup of Saturnic jazz. If England play Saturn in the final your waters will have been proven half right. Whoever wins, it’s an exciting time for Mediterranean vegetables, as courgettes and aubergines are on special offer at Aldi, or All Die as I call it in a questionable attempt at “black humour.” I’ve never heard people talk of “white humour.” Is this racist?

Through the window of a 15 bus I saw a cyclist with an anti-fracking banner balanced precariously on the back of her bike so I knew I’d got the right day for the protest against frackers Cuadrilla and their appeal to extend an injunction against protesters at the Preston New Road fracking site. It turned out that this was Amy S. Olive who I’d met once before at an Acorn Tenants Union meeting. Minnie Mirshahi had told me about this demo, but she didn’t make it herself even though she lives just round the corner at Islington Mill. She must have been busy Minnying elsewhere. A huge amount of statements in opposition to the appeal had been delivered earlier, so the appeal was going to go on much longer than just that morning. When I arrived at the county court I pushed the number of protesters into double figures. Most of them were dressed in yellow, but I was dressed in red, just like those confusing world cup matches. Fifteen people turned up to protest, and most of us left just after midday for some lunch at the nearby People’s History Museum, kindly bought for us all by a sweet old lady called Julie who was wearing a pro-immigration Paddington bear T-shirt. We all got to know each other a bit better over lunch, and somehow I ended up giving the last four remaining protestors an acapella rendition of “It’s a Heatwave!” A girl called Samar said, “I don’t think I would like this band.” 

It was nice of the government to pay my travel expenses for a day of protesting against their fracking foolishness, but I had to sacrifice two and a half hours to job searching at Standguide on Piccadilly Plaza. This is a company who are paid by the government to help people find work. This amounts to providing a slower internet connection than the public libraries so is a pointless waste of tax money. I amused another job searcher by telling him I might well try to find work by writing an article about Standguide for a newspaper, but I’ve been threatening to do this for well over a year without actually bothering to do it.

Later in Vinyl Exchange Joel the bassist of the excellent Easter sold me two CDs by American psychedelic primitives Carlton Melton and Australia’s most sensitive and philosophical band, Cosmic Psychos. I crossed the road to Piccadilly Records to flip through lots of vinyl I can’t afford to buy and was greeted by the very familiar tones of “The Fifteenth” by Wire. I punched the air and shouted “Yes!” like a football fan whose squid propelled wheelbarrow has just scored a goal, and sang the whole song whilst Andy whooped from the counter. It was the fish teeth! Fifteen people had been protesting outside the county court, and the fifteenth is also my birthday. There was a silent spell afterwards so whether they liked it or not I gave them an acapella rendition of “The Other Window,” the next song from “154.” Great music followed me about as I was slightly amazed that they were playing The Stranglers “Golden Brown” in Nationwide Building Society so I got to do a bit more punk rock karaoke. Outside on Market Street a very good rasta singer was singing reggae karaoke, with a friend on bongos, so I stuck around to listen until he finished his busk by singing Bob Marley’s “Redemption Songs” with an acoustic guitar instead of a backing track. I went for an organic cider in an almost deserted Peer Hat, where it seemed that someone had stolen poor Michelle Woods’ bag with her house keys and other valuables. Aki the artist turned up for the life drawing class in Aatma, and whilst he waited cut out some ugly Donald Trump heads from old flyers for a play so I could use them to make a hideous sign to hold on Friday’s anti-Trump demo. I met Julie again at the anti-Trump mobilisation meeting but was slightly disappointed that none of the speakers mentioned his despicable war on elephants, although Trump is guilty of so much bullshit we’d have been there well into the next day if it all got spoken about.

 I couldn’t believe I was actually at a musical concert for the first time since Friday. It had been so long I’d almost forgotten what gigs were like: the roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd. This was actually a relatively small crowd who were not at all smelly. The upstairs room in Marble is quite small and hot so we were all glad about that. According to my friend Vicky Middles, Dinosaur Jr fans are the smelliest. I think she may be wrong and Stranglers fans might be smellier. The only person I know in Manchester who might possibly make it to more gigs than me is Cath Aubergine and she was there, as was Laurence who occasionally puts on nice quiet gigs where he gives everyone cakes he bakes. Downstairs at the bar I got talking to a guy called Brian because he was wearing a Sonic Youth “Confusion is Sex” T-shirt. It turned out he was just three years old when I saw Sonic Youth for the first time, supported by Mudhoney at Kilburn National on the “Daydream Nation” tour. I told him it was the most excited I’d ever been at a gig, yes, even including Hotpants Romance gigs!  I am so sorry. How can you ever forgive me? We exchanged opinions on the relative merits of various Sonic Youth albums and it turned out we both liked Lee’s songs the most. The extraordinary drummer Andrew Cheetham of Easter was there too, along with Nick Ainsworth of Former Bullies and Secret Admirer. The always amiable RL Perry had put the gig on and even after a few drinks he was still Comfortable on a Tightrope. It was the second time I’d seen Wurms and the first time I’d seen Vital Idles. Both bands sing out of tune so I think you would have appreciated them. Vital Idles remind me a little of early Wire, but much more ramshackle. The drummer of Vital Idles seemed quite familiar but I couldn’t place him at first until I realised it was Matt, who used to go out with our firm friend Kate Armitage. It was uncannily funny that I was carrying my important papers and water in the Hotpants Romance shoulder bag that Kate gave me when I went round to her posh flat for an emergency shower, as for the rest of the anti-leather jacket heatwave I’d been using a Talk Normal shoulder bag. It was nice to see Matt again even without his beard, and it struck me as funny that the night his band were playing Manchester Kate was playing a gig in London. Then again maybe I am just easily amused. 

I am now using the free newspaper with a picture of that relentless incompetent bozo Boris Johnson wearing a silly helmet and waving a Union Jack to mop up water that leaks from my fridge, drowning him in effigy.

A Half True Story (ninth letter to Lowri)

Friday night was time for a Beauty Witch gig put on by Sammy Powell who can always be relied on to pick a quality ear battering bill. Before Cattle stampeded through Soup Kitchen I met Penfold Kowalski outside who gave me a nice big hug then chatted with Miriam Ma Ve and Sam and his sister Amy inside, as another confusing game of reds vs yellows screened. It would be so much easier to understand football if one team always played nude. Said hello to Nick Georgieu, Karl Astbury and Al Wilson. Look at me name dropping in a pathetic attempt to get more people to hit my “like” button. This was the fourth time I’d let Leeds noise punks Cattle do battle with my hearing. Their double drummer dynamism always gets me moving, and they were my favourite band at this year’s Sounds from the Other City. Every time I’ve seen them the screamer has worn a black MC5 T-shirt. I wonder if he always wears it or if he has a wardrobe full of black MC5 T-shirts?

It was a gig of two halves where anything could happen. In the break between the first and second half of the Soup Kitchen gig, I headed over to the Peer Hat just in time to see Heather Glazzard’s short film about the “True Story” of a beautiful funny woman with pink hair buying a sea fish to carry around. The soundtrack was silly burps and grunts, and there was a surprise guest appearance from a cheeky naked lobster. The pink haired woman seemed a very charming and stylish person, and I predict this will be the high fashion statement of the season. By the end of the summer I expect to see Ely Grey, Heather Glazzard, Jen Wu, Simon Morris, Rachel Goodyear, Martin Warmwidow, Stuart Calton, the facebook free Kate Armitage and everyone else who watched stripping naked and carrying fish around. If England win the world cup all the fans will surely strip naked and carry fish all over Russia to show how much they care!

The second half of the gig had just kicked off when I made it back to Soup Kitchen basement and the Cosmic Dead were taking off on a heavy psychedelic trip to the extreme frontiers of loudness. They’d recently lost half the band, but had luckily found another half who seemed even noisier. Afterwards the prolific Vacuous Otiosus gave me a couple of CDRs he’d recently recorded, “Elitism for the Masses” and “The Burning Mountain” which has a drawing of a squid in a wheelbarrow on the cover. Sample lyric from Squid Treatise: “If I was 98 % chlorine I’d be less happy than I am. Fish identifies locust container. Could a squid in a wheelbarrow propel itself? If so, a staggering invention! Replace all professional footballers with squid in wheelbarrows: much cheaper and probably infinitely more entertaining!” The bouncer bounced everyone up the stairs and out before I could buy a Cattle or Cosmic Dead record. I hung around a while outside Soup Kitchen with Isadora Darke, Jamie Robinson, Sophie Bee and Al Wilson before heading back to the Peer Hat for more cider and chat. And more cider and chat. And more cider and chat and some dancing. I’d better also mention Michelle Woods, Anne Louise Kershaw and Maria Gutierez in a cynical attempt to increase the “like” factor as I definitely spoke with them on Friday night. I ended up heading upstairs to Aatma with Andrew Guest and a few other people where Dom Jam and Liam Farr kept going until 9am. I started to walk home, but instead found myself wandering aimlessly around Poundworld. I was very disappointed to find they had no worlds for sale in their sale. No wonder they are closing down. After buying a chocolate soya milk sugar fix and booking my face at the library I felt like strolling pointlessly around the city centre and eventually found myself in Vinyl Exchange where for a fiver I bought a CD from Rae Donaldson called “mmmr” by guitarists Loren Mazzacane Connors, Jean-Marc Montera, Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo.

I walked home along Bridgewater Canal just after the England Sweden world cup game began. I wanted to get out of the city in case England lost and drunken fans turned nasty. People were crammed together in and around pubs straining to see the digitised match. “Get out of the way you prick,” shouted one drinker repeatedly at a possibly E’d up grinning guy who was prancing about in front of a screen at a pub near Castlefield Arena. I made sure I squeezed past behind the angry fan to avoid any unnecessary trouble on my way to the nearby bridge over the canal. As I headed towards Cornbrook the uproar of men in ball kicking ecstacy receded, replaced by the whooshing of trams. From a distance it sounded like a choir of intoxicated lads were singing, “She’s coming home! She’s coming home! Lowri’s coming home!”

A gang of kids had gathered under a bridge and were sitting on the towpath, completely blocking it, except for one girl who began repeatedly shouting, “Get up! There’s someone coming!” as I approached. As I reached the bridge she told me I’d have to jump over her friends as they wouldn’t get up, but then they all stood up to let me past, laughing. I told them they were lucky I didn’t try to jump over them as I might have landed on one of them and injured them. Perhaps they are sporting innovators who will grow up to introduce Kid Leaping to the Olympics. Just past Old Trafford football ground a dead fish about the size of a tennis racket was floating on its side slowly towards the city centre. Its head had almost been cut off and drifted at a right angle to its silvery glinting carcass, on which seven bright emerald green flies were feasting. I’d already stripped half naked for the first time this heatwave. You can probably guess which half. No, I was not carrying my black jeans. If I’d fished the fish out of the canal and carried it home, then I could have made my own “True Story,” but I’m just not stylish enough to carry it off. It was very hot and I didn’t want to smell of that damned fish! A relevant fish song:

The Damned – Fish

Lowri wrote that she was surprised but not surprised that I saw a dead fish in the canal. I replied:

Surprised but not surprised? A rational fish response dictates that I am choosing and editing experiences that relate to earlier experiences. If Lowri had carried a dead heron around for “True Story,” I would instead have mentioned the fish eating heron that landed on the opposite side of the canal when I sat down to cool my feet off. The rational response would also say that a dead fish in a canal is in itself not a particularly rare or special thing, but where’s the magic in that? Had Lowri never invited me to watch “True Story” I may well have still seen that dead fish and thought nothing of it. I’d never have described it, or counted the flies on it and would probably have quickly forgotten 

Aphex Tot Revelation (eighth letter to Lowri)

Three days ago I had no idea I’d be sitting in a church with a colourful psychedelic stained glass window of Jesus standing on a rainbow over a yellow brick road whilst a four year old boy played his techno track. “This is my song. It’s called Ready Penny,” said the happy child with big yellow ear protectors. I thought he’d said the song was called Bawdy Pepé but I’d have been surprised if that was what he actually said! From where I was sat I could only see his head over the table on which his laptop perched. I think he might have had a little help from his dad who was sat nearby. I’d never been to St John’s Church on Ayres Road in Trafford before, and the reason I’d walked there was to hear Noise Orchestra, the duo of David Birchall and Vicky Clarke who play self-built light activated synthesisers and samplers. When they played techno boy stole the show by running up the aisle with a phone to take a couple of pictures. I should have asked him to send me a copy as some say a picture is worth a thousand words. I suppose that depends on which picture and which thousand words. Vicky waved a torch over a light senser to make rhythmic noise. Maybe it was a magic torch as I zoned out for a while and started hallucinating that I was on a train and could hear a conductor talking. I’d had my eyes closed for a while so afterwards had to ask Alexa Kruger and Kelly Jayne Jones if there had been some vocal samples. Indeed there was and afterwards Dave showed Kev Craig and I the wooden boxes with basic samplers and varispeed loopers that they’d used. I’d actually used one of these at Seed Studios which is nearby in Trafford Wellbeing Centre and had organised this church gig. Dave and Vicky had held a workshop there, showing people how to make a small light activated synthesiser. From now on I would like to call people who play techno on a laptop techtoppers. The last techtopper played from the pulpit which reminded me when Kev sang for Last Harbour from the pulpit of Sacred Trinity Chapel in Salford. I wonder what St John would have made of all this. Maybe it would have given him another Revelation?

A Beautiful Place (seventh letter to Lowri)

The most beautiful place I know in Manchester is Broad Ees Dole nature reserve, between Sale Water Park and the River Mersey. On Wednesday afternoon I walked there and ended up staying there until 7pm. I walked along Bridgewater Canal, turning off at the path that doubles back under the canal and tramway and leads to Stretford Ees. There I headed across “A Field In England” which is what I call the grassy field between the footpath running alongside the tramway and the Mersey, because it reminds me of the film of that name which I watched shortly after moving to Streford. Crickets were making enough leg rubbing racket to almost drown the rumble of the trams. Electric blue dragonflies hovered and butterflies fluttered in the tall grass. At the pond in the corner a moorhen scuttled into the water, looking like it was running on water. Maybe it was a Jesus moorhen. I climbed over the damaged fence and got onto the river path, following it back to the footbridge and tram bridge where I could turn right back to Stretford or left to Sale Water Park or follow the Mersey upstream. I took the high path upstream, and this is where there are three openings to footpaths through Broad Ees Dole. All but the signed path are hard to spot, and even that isn’t obvious, so I hardly ever see anyone in there. The people who do walk there often stop and talk, like we’re part of some special club who know a secret place. Inside Broad Ees Dole is thick woodland and the trees shelter the animals from the hot sun. I’ve seen a stoat darting about there in the past, but this time the only mammal I saw was a squirrel. Soon there will be small brown frogs crawling about and I’ll have to watch my step to avoid squashing them. It’s quite marshy there but the muddy ground had turned hard from the heatwave so it was possible to walk to parts normally inaccessible, and I found a huge fallen tree with roots exposed and a little grotto where the tree cover was lighter and the sun shone through turning the leaves bright green. The stagnant water nearby had attracted clouds of mosquitos, and one bite on my right arm is about the size of a peach stone! If it wasn’t for the mosquitos I could have stayed there for hours, looking at a different view of natural beauty each time I turned my head. I always lose sense of time there and spend much longer than I thought I had listening to the birds singing, the wind rustling the leaves and the distant drone of the cars on the motorway. There are always a few reminders of human activity, but I take a plastic bag and pick up all the litter. I am the bane of future archaeologists. When I first cleared the litter a few years ago there were a lot of very old cans full of earth and I made them into a pyramid near the signed entrance. I pinned a note to the sign explaining that it was art installation. It was literally a pile of garbage, and that might have been what I called it, but I don’t remember. The most interesting thing for me was seeing how long it would stay there before someone destroyed it. Some of the cans in the pyramid had been dropped a long time ago as they had old style corporate logos. In the end it took a few months before all the cans were kicked down. I really didn’t expect it to last that long, and the writing on the note had faded completely before the pyramid was toppled. I gathered the strewn cans, washed them in the Mersey and put them in a recycling bin. As I walked back downstream along the Mersey, a heron flew over making a loud squawk. I picked up all the litter I saw on my way home. I stopped at the side of the canal to watch a mother duck and seven tiny ducklings nibbling at moss, then on the far bank of the canal I saw something I’d never seen before in Manchester: a nightingale. What a rare bird!

Jali and Minnie (sixth letter to Lowri)

Monday was mundane but Tuesday was great, full of last minute plans that all worked out very nicely. Jali the kora player was out busking on the hideous brutal concrete concourse of Piccadilly Plaza. I first heard Jali busk with the brilliant drummer Charles Hayward of This Heat at a more unorthodox Fat Out event: an improvised busk in Piccadilly, Manchester. Jali was there with his dancing friend the same time last week and brings much needed beauty to the dreary architecture. I’d love to pull down those big concrete barriers and replace them with trees. The old Piccadilly Gardens was so much nicer, a sunken walkway past flower beds, but old tramps gathered there so they had to be modernised away by the council. At least little kids love splashing about in the fountains when they are actually working, especially in this heatwave. I got a sugar fix as chocolate soya milk was selling for just a pound on the other side of the bus stops. It’s such a shame there are so many homeless people baking in the sun. Even if I gave every one of them money it’d make no difference and I really can’t afford to do that anyway. There was a film about young DIY music promoters at Deaf Institute, and Minnie Mishahi and I took full advantage of the free drink and food. Minnie’s always finds all the free arty events with free booze’n’gnosh! Minnie was one of the seven people who witnessed “True Story” not involved in creating it. She’s a vivacious funny person and it’s always a joy to hang out with her. I wasn’t even bothered by her Italian friends’ expositions on the benefits of meat eating! Downstairs the reds were kicking balls past the yellows, so I got a much more conventional glimpse of world cup action than “True Story.” Well cidered, I jumped on a 43 bus to Piccadilly and rushed to Peer Hat where I’d only missed one band but there were two Scottish emo-punk trios yet to play. I only listened to Carson Wells for the first time that afternoon on youtube and hadn’t heard Please, Believe! before so it was a nice surprise how much I enjoyed the latter. I enjoyed them so much I even shelled out a fiver for a CD. I love hearing a great band for the first time at a gig. Upstairs the regular Peer Hat crowd were celebrating the reds winning. Let’s hope the reds win the next general election and save us from the blues, even though I prefer the greens.

Smells Like Improvisation (fifth letter to Lowri)

I like the fact that almost every time I go to Chorlton I bump into someone I know. In Stretford the only people I tend to meet who I know are David Birchall and his partner in love Helen Brealey who live quite close to where I live. On Saturday I bumped into audio-visual artist Andrea Pazos on the till of Unicorn Grocery and improvising drummer Richard Harrison outside Chorlton Bookshop just as it was closing.  Richard told me he was going to see Sam and the Plants at St Margarets Church in Whalley Range that evening. I had a plan to go to see Real Terms at Aatma, but I was so tired from the heatwave I slipped into a late siesta slumber and didn’t make it out of the flat again that day.

I made it back to Soup Kitchen on Sunday for that rare thing, a very well attended improv gig, put on by Emer Emer of Fat Out. It was also the first time I’d seen chairs set out in Soup Kitchen, although my friend Martyn Walker had been to another seated gig. Not everyone got a seat as there were probably more than twice as many people as chairs. I suppose half the people could have sat on someone else’s knee, but that would have probably proved impractical for three hours. There were probably more people I know at this gig than any other I’ve been to for quite some time. Britanny Hoie was on the door and told me she’d cut all her trousers into shorts because of the heatwave. It was nice to see a few people I hadn’t seen around for a while. Alex Macarte of Gnod opened his solo set under the name Ahrkh by lighting a couple of joss sticks which was a good idea as Soup Kitchen was even smellier than Friday. It smells of cleaning fluid mostly. Alex sat cross legged in front of the stage like some yogic noise guru with a suitcase of gadgets to mutate his vocals and found sounds. He started out with quiet countryside ambience and birdsong that soon rose to a textured roaring, almost like a plane taking off. It made me think of Sale Water Park where you can hear the sounds of nature but always with the cars on the motorway in the background. It would have been easy to believe he was using multiple speakers but it was a stereo mix. The roar receded to reveal some gentle radiophonic beeping, like a rainbow over a river. More vocals transformed into layered drones, but these were not as engulfing as the initial roar. It was beautiful and violent, like nature. After he’d cleared away his gadgets the duo Mếsange appeared in front of the stage both wearing dresses, guitarist Luke Mawdsley wearing red lipstick and yellow eyebrow glitter and violin player Agathe Max with a painted on black moustache that made her look strangely like Salvador Dali. I just tried to tag Salvador Dali but I think he’s been deleted. Their music was not improvised, as Luke Mawdsley said one tune “The Cake” was from their album. Agathe mostly bowed but also plucked the violin and looped it, playing over the loop. Luke was funny to watch, pulling daft poses. Their music was elegant, intense and beautiful, and made me forget I was in a dingy smelly basement, suggesting vast mountainous landscapes. The stage had been set up with two drum kits facing each other at either end. These were played by Susie Ibarra on the left and YoshimiO of Boredoms and OOIOO on the right. YoshimiO also sang through a headset microphone and played a small synthesiser. Standing between them behind an open suitcase was Robert Aiki Aubrey Lowe. In the suitcase were the magical gizmos that transformed his vocalisations into strange new shapes whilst Yoshimi and Susie interacted with each other’s scattery clatter. Behind them was a slowly shifting projection of coloured lines. It was a unique performance that had me in a trance state for a while. Martyn had also seen them at Supersonic and said they were even better tonight. I’ve heard their recording of their first performance “Flower of Sulphur” and it’s a mere shadow of how they played tonight. Improvised music is always best heard live and documentation in the form of recordings rarely gives more than an impression of the impact of actually being there and experiencing it in the moment. They’ve also had longer to interact and get to know each other now, so consequently their playing has become more sensitive, nuanced and interesting. My friends Miriam Ma Ve and Sam told me they’d walked eighteen miles that day and they still made it to the gig! Lucky for them they arrived early enough to sit on chairs. When they left I asked them if they were going home to die. I doubt I’d make it out to a gig after walking eighteen miles in a heatwave.

Slow Crush (fourth letter to Lowri)

Yesterday the heatwave had factored up so much I had to cook a curry in the nude. It wasn’t a fish curry as I’ve been a vegetarian since I was sixteen. Luckily I remembered to put some clothes on before catching a packed tram, or I could have caused quite a commotion on the locomotion. I alighted at Piccadilly Gardens, destination Soup Kitchen. A funny thing happened just before I got off the tram. A man who was also disembarking banged on the window to attract a woman who was walking by but she was busy with her phone and didn’t hear him. As he walked along the platform just ahead of me he got a phone call from her, and as the tram pulled away they were directly opposite each other waving from across the tramlines. Later they turned up at the same gig I was going to! Soup kitchen basement must literally be Manchester’s coolest venue in terms of temperature, but it’s also quite likely the smelliest. Wilderness Hymnal was near the end of his set when I walked down the steps and was as close as I’ve seen anyone get to a nude performance since “True Story.” The bearded mohawked man was dressed in a sort of tropical tribal wraparound dress, bare chested, with white face make up and strange brow decorations that made him look a bit like an owl. He sang almost operatically as he played a keyboard and made quite a spectacle. Next Pijn played the loudest set I’ve heard anyone play for a while. They remind me a little of Swans and a lot of godspeed you black emperor but with metal influence. It was the second consecutive night I’d seen a band with a cellist, and Pad Ray plays a flat slide guitar perched on his knees. The other three play instruments that are easy to guess. The snare drum was so loud that I had to retreat to the sound desk to avoid hearing damage, and even there the volume made me so dizzy I almost felt like I was going to faint three times, but that felt good. Slow Crush from Belgium were less intense, one of those bands who definitely love My Bloody Valentine, and probably Cocteau Twins too. I thought they were quite dreamy but my friend Jojo who played bass in Breaking Colts and Jackie O left after half a song to go see The Jungfraus who were playing Night and Day. The Soup Kitchen gig finished quite early and I made it to Night and Day before The Jungfraus had even played a note. There were a lot more people I know at that gig as Jungfraus singer and guitarist Mick Kenyon co-runs Peer Hat and drummer Liam Farr runs the bar at Aatma upstairs. The Jungfraus have a lot of sixties influence and remind me at times of Love. I met our friend Andrew Guest there and told him about this facebook project and he seemed mildly perturbed which was quite funny. Then the DJ played “Knowing Me Knowing You” and I couldn’t help singing along which made a woman on the other side of the room smile. I didn’t realise I was Aha-ing so loud!

What Do I Get? (third letter to Lowri)

The heatwave seemed even hotter yesterday in Stretford and Chorlton and I only saw one crazy melanoma addict sunbathing on the yellowing grass in Longford Park. I hope she had the factor 9. The air in Hulme stinks of smoke that has blown in from the fire. Lucky for me the Peer Hat doesn’t have kitchens under the venue so doesn’t turn into a sweatbox like Fuel. Quite a many people turned up to hear Laura James sing her pleasant folky songs, sometimes with just her guitar and sometimes with a cellist and keyboarder who she bizarrely informed us were not her lovers, or something like that, which got her an odd look from the cellist. She seemed quite nervous. Upstairs afterwards the DJ got me dancing to some old punk rock songs after a line of people tried and failed to can can to Michael Jackson. An artist called Aki who often paints in the Peer Hat, and paints pictures of bands as they play, painted a picture of me dancing to “What Do I Get?” by Buzzcocks and wrote the words of the song as he remembered them around my head. He got the words all wrong but the gist of them is there and they make the picture seem quite sad. If he’d painted me singing through a paper tube to “2 by 4” and “The Man Whose Head Expanded” by The Fall, as I did just before I had to catch the last 256 bus home, and mashed up the words, that would have been way more interesting! I also turned “Heart of Glass” into karaoke and my Debbie Harry impression got people laughing.

Heatwave Fuel (second letter to Lowri)

It’s a heatwave! The Greater Manchester outback bushfire is raging near Stalybridge. Friends are saying the smoky air in the city is making the atmosphere seem like India, where people are always burning garbage. Stretford and Withington seemed unaffected by the pollution, at least as far as my nose can tell. Yesterday near Stretford mall I got shouted at by a turban wearing car passenger of probable Indian descent. Usually men who shout at me from their cars are shouting abusive orders to get my hair cut. This was the opposite. I couldn’t hear him at first as I had earphones in but a mother with two children waiting at the crossing next to me pointed him out, and asked if I knew him. I didn’t and I was a bit confused. Had I done something that had made him angry that I didn’t even know about? Even after I’d stopped listening to music I couldn’t hear what he was shouting over the noise of the car engines. As they drove off he gave me two thumbs up signs. The mother told me that he was shouting that he loved my hair!

That evening I caught a 25 bus to Fuel. How long is it since you’ve been there? I remember when Hotpants Romance and the Lovely Eggs played there and you walked around with a tray full of Hotpants Romance souvenir trinkets like a snack seller at a cinema, which was almost funnier than the funniest band in the world. Could this have been your first solo performance?

Fuel recently had a stage installed and it’s painted with black and white zig zags with a red curtain hanging at the back, like the black lodge from Twin Peaks. This was the first time I’ve heard a band play on that stage who actually sounded like Twin Peaks music, at least for some of their set. JFrisco are a jazzy trio from Leeds playing guitar, keyboards and clarinet or at least that’s what it looked like they were playing to me. Between songs the guitarist informed us that time and gender are illusions so I’m not sure if they would be happy if I described them as women, but I would if I was judging by appearance. They were a nice surprise as I enjoyed them as much if not more than the two bands I’d heard before. Cynthia’s Periscope is the one man synth pop and percussion dancer Paul Morrice who also often does the sound for gigs at the Peer Hat and Aatma. He played a set of what he said were his happiest songs as it was a very hot sunny day. The last song was much noisier than the others and he danced to the far end of the room banging a drum and danced on a table. He’d brought some flyers for a couple of gigs he’s putting on and these were very useful as fans. The bassist of Stoke instrumental trio Owte told us all their tunes were proggy, and that’s true if it means complex rhythms and time changes that catch dancers out. If I was judging the illusion of gender by appearance I’d say they were all men. The guitarist was wearing a Bilge Pump T-shirt and as they are one of my favourite bands we got talking about them after the bands had all played. Before they played the bassist joked that they’d probably clear the room, but promoter and compere Brandon M Bizzle told them the whole point of his monthly night “You Might Not Like This” is to have bands of different genres or styles play together. K1square finished off the night with some techno that got most people dancing, but I enjoyed dancing badly to Owte more.

Last time I did any vocals was in May at the monthly Fuel night “The Noise Upstairs” where improvising trios are formed at random by picking names from a hat. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone vocalise there so it was odd that the trio I was randomly thrown into was with Brandon, also on vocals but through effects, and a guitarist I’d never met before who plays in a band called Good Guts who I’ve yet to hear. Maybe I’ll put that right now if they have any music online.

Roland and Evans (first letter to Lowri)

Dear Lowri Evans,

Have you flown to Brazil yet? Or were you planning to swim there? I learnt to swim as a child but I’ve never learned how to fly, so it’s lucky for me that some clever fellow invented the aeroplane. A wise man once wrote that the art of flying is falling over and missing the ground, but I gave up after too many bruised knees. Yesterday evening I went to the Peer Hat to listen to an improvising trio playing guitar, drums and modular synth. You might remember David Birchall who played guitar. He played bass in the band Cornish Tin Mines who were crazy enough to let me vocalise over their music the first time we met, when your band Hotpants Romance shouted for a Sugar Fix at Stuart, Vixen, Ben and Adam’s house on Albert Road in Levenshulme. I don’t think they are hip to combining dead fish with improvised music yet, but David does have a CD with another trio where they all sit naked in a communal bath in Japan on the cover photo, so perhaps there is hope for them. It also amused me that they used a bass drum made by Evans and an amp made by Roland, which suggested to me that Life the Universe and Everything are trying to tell me that we should start this facebook art project as you suggested. They made fifty pounds and in a terrible approximation of an Australian accent I suggested they spend it on burgers for a barbecue even though I’m a vegetarian. I suppose I must have been drunk. I have also remembered two Wire songs about fish:

Wire – Playing Harp for the Fishes / Fishes Bones