mightaswell.

Despite it being Bugged month and me having vowed to give my newly developed love for wearing noise-cancelling headphones on public transport a break, I still feel that it is the music that makes traveling through Manchester attractive, interesting and sometimes simply bearable.

I noticed how dreaded journeys like getting the Magic Bus (see previous post) in the morning or walking down Market Street on a busy* Saturday can almost turn into a pleasure when accompanied by the right music. It makes me relaxed, helps me bury my head deeper in my book despite the hoards of noisy students getting on in Fallowfield, makes me feel cooler than everyone else, parading down the street with my headphones, throwing presumptuous and omniscient smiles at people who don’t see me anyway while blasting out and bopping my head to whatever’s coming onto my little black iPod (5 years old and still going strong, bless!), unknown pleasures that only I can hear.

In the prospect of getting sued, here’s my playlist with ten songs for some of the situations you may encounter in the streets of our rainy city – ready to download as a handy zip file. Let me know if you like it. Let me know if you don’t.

Send me an email if you would like a copy of this :)

1. American Analog Set – Punk as fuck
   Hangover music. Not too loud. Don’t ever remove from player. Good for getting on the bus around midday when it’s sunny and fairly quiet, won’t help covering the noise of loud mobile phone conversations in the seat behind you. Which will happen inevitably.
2. Das Racist – Shorty said (Gordon Voidwell remix)
   Best soundtrack for busy Saturday afternoons on Market Street. Makes you think you’re down with the kids. Like, totally. Turn it up loud enough to drown out the guy with the creepy duck whistles and the crazy Christians shouting “JESUS CHRIST” at your face.
3. An Horse – Horizons
   Good for the rare sunny days in Manchester. Leave the house and walk to the bus stop, wearing large sunglasses that look ridiculous. Feel bittersweet, but happy, but annoyed, but ah well never mind. Oh yes I’m doing so well.
4. Talking Heads – Once in a lifetime
   Listen to nothing but Talking Heads for weeks. Go to Smile at the Star & Garter and get stupidly drunk on vodka while sitting downstairs and waiting for the first people to start dancing. Realise that you’re dancing on the benches two hours later. Ask yourself: how did I get here? Drop your drink on someone. Apologise. Drop your drink on someone, again. Fall down the stairs, blow a kiss at the bouncer, get nearly run over crossing the road to Piccadilly station and fall into a taxi. Same as it ever was.
5. Roisin Murphy – Ramalama (bang bang)
   Walk down Burton Road through West Didsbury on a Saturday night. Witness the drunken messes staggering home and sing “Ramalama bang bang flash bang bing bang bing bong ding dong dum dum du dum” to yourself. Imagine you are in a Disney musical and do a little dance. Hope that no one has noticed you.
6. Gui Boratto – Terminal
   Try to break your own personal record walking from West Didsbury to Fallowfield. Convince your house mate that it is absolutely possible to get to the post depot in 20 minutes. Take a deep breath and engage in 17 minutes of power walking while listening to Brazilian techno. Find a huge queue at the post depot. Swear.
7. The Smiths – Half a person
   Coming from Piccadilly Gardens, walk down Portland Street on a very gray and rainy Saturday, towards the Temple pub and down the stairs. See your friend through the window at the bottom of the stairs, wave and take off your headphones. Wonder how you’ll ever manage to dry your soaked shoes.
8. Tears for Fears – Head over heels
   Good soundtrack for a bus journey down the curry mile when it’s dark. Watch the people walking down the road outside the takeaways and curry houses. See the neon lights’ reflections in the puddles on the pavement and the rain drops on the window. Think about how 80s synth pop and neon go together so well.
9. The Shins – Kissing the lipless
   Get off outside the Sainsbury’s in Fallowfield. Walk into the shop. Try and time your movements with the music. Feel sublime if you manage to pick up your bread the second the music gets louder. Block the way in the isle with the crackers, the one that has a pillar in the middle, and don’t hear people repeatedly saying ‘excuse me’. Notice them. Feel guilty. Turn the music down.
10. Japandroids – Wet hair
    Walk home from Fuel after a far too boozy Tuesday night. Feel the warmth of the pavement that has been heated up by the sun. Remember the crazy hot summer in your home town. Think of your friends. Feel a bit upset. Hope that everything gets back to normal soon. Cross your fingers.

* nightmarish

Everyone who has lived in Manchester for a while has their own little “Manchester Underground” story: apparently there are large networks of tunnels, secret World War II bunkers all over the place, market depots and generally so many big holes in the ground that it is impossible to build an underground transport system here in this city. Elbow even wrote a song about it!*

After publishing an article on ‘Urban Exploration’ by Jim Gilette in the very** popular b&n magazine, I was intrigued to find out more about the world that’s hidden beneath the busy roads and buildings. Thanks to Gareth, I stumbled upon Manchester Confidential’s Tunnel Tours – 1 hour long guided tours through the tunnels under the Great Northern building in the city centre. Count me in!

Tickets are £10 and can be booked on the Manchester Confidential website. In case I don’t get lost down there, I shall report back next month.

* My interpretation of Grounds for Divorce: it’s about the massive hole that opened up in the middle of the road in Didsbury last year. What do you mean, the song was released long before that?

** not quite so.

[Photo by Stewart Priest. Thanks!]

There aren’t many things I genuinely hate, you know, I’m a pacifist and stuff. Okay, there are, but not as much as I hate having to rely on public transport in this city. This is what I imagine hell to be like:

Giant blue beasts racing down the streets with deafening roar and bawl, their grotesque faces distorted from years of abuse and anger, breathing out black clouds of fumes, controlled by raving mad men who urge them as if there was no tomorrow, no future. And there you stand, damned to wait for all eternity, while the cold rain is pouring down on you, soaks your shoes, your coat, your bag, and you wait, wait, wait.

There, is it a dream? Is it a mirage? You get tense, focusing all your attention on the forehead of the beast that is quickly approaching. Will this be the one to take you back to the safety of your home? The feeling of relief when you realise that you are lucky at last is almost impossible to bear – yes, YES,  the monster does carry the two magic numbers above its eyes!

You climb up into the belly of the creature, get hit by the foulest stench, push your way to the desired position, surveyed by the piercing stares of your fellow travellers who do nothing to hide the fact that they are also fellows in misery. Water is dripping down through the window, adding only little to the dampness of your clothes that slowly turns them into a lifeless cold matter clinging onto your skin, while the adolescent join the never disappointing parade of tribal rites, accompanied by the loud rattling sounds of unknown atrocities played from strange metallic boxes.

Finally. It is your time to get up, stagger and squeeze your way towards the creature’s mouth, touch one of the red tumours that have grown in its belly, one last screeching scream and the monster comes to a halt, opens it lips and vomits out a stream of people eager to escape the horror.

Run! Run! Run for your life, your health, your sanity.

Don’t know if you could tell, but I really don’t like getting buses in Manchester.

To make all this more fun, 11,000 students* have signed a petition on Facebook to get the Magic Bus Drivers to wear wizard outfits while driving around their drunken arses, probably to give them something to laugh at while they’re trashing the bus, leaving their rubbish everywhere, throwing up, shouting at people on their phones, smoking pot and being generally annoying. (Trust me, one of the regulars at the bar I used to work at used to come in after his night shifts driving the 142 Magic Bus. I have heard even worse stories.) And because Stagecoach LOVE their customers so much, they have come up with the amazing** idea to give in and, yes, let the drivers wear wizard costumes on their so called Wizard Wednesday in June. Humiliation in the name of charity.

But you know what?

I’ve got a bike now. The first time I was riding it I cried from relief. No more black magic in my life.

* idiot nutcases with too much time

** absolutely stupid and pathetic

[Photo by Gregoire Chabrol, who went from Manchester to London in a Magic Bus. I'd love to hear that story!]