The Home MCR audience were on the edge of their seats from the outset. No curtain pulled back. A wide stage with simple metal crowd-control barriers, lighting, and a large swathe of material alongside a step was all that could be seen. Varied lighting followed throughout. However, barging onto stage with full-blown presence was political comedian, Mark Thomas. Except it wasn’t. Mark played everyone within the play, centred around Frankie.
Frankie has been busted for importing narcotics. Banged up inside the character narrates a dead gripping story, through various characters and moments shadowing the 1990s. The content involves the Berlin Wall downfall, Strangeways riots, Britain under Thatcher, and the IRA. Light materials. The properly bare Mancunian Home theatre stage was filled with energy. Thomas delivers. The pace flips, sensitivity grinds, and characters fly out of the solo lead. Ex-squaddie Bron and De Niro enforce and run the wing and similarly the audience.
“A fundamental belief in the power of rebellion.”- The QR
The exploration of freedom, power, and injustice is full of wit but is heavy in its themes. The toxicity of colonialism and is effects on modern day are rife. Just like real life there’s elements of toxic masculinity and how the current prison system is a duality of both luxury and hell. Thomas does not preach. He owns it. It feels like you’re down The Railway pub on Dean Lane, supping on Crystal lager and the chat is fresh from his belly. Ed Edwards has written a mint and pacey script weaving politics with graft.
Saturday was a tough day. Tough to get out of bed. Tough to put one leg in front of the other.
Heading to the ground, I suddenly felt the need to cry, and slip away somewhere alone. I’ve always found it easy to step back and find solace or pull myself up. Today felt different. It was as if some gremlin was hanging on my toes inviting me to slide under ground into a pool of blackness. I dropped my friend Nat a message and went for a refreshing wander. I thought about calling my best mate Dan and realised how much that I didn’t want to speak. I sat and stared at the bleak Ashton canal. Its uninviting tones warned away those beyond water. I peered at leaves and their array of colours. Autumn’s cooler breezes had arrived.
Motivation is limited. I feel energy levels have sapped. I don’t want to do anything. It seems like every day is a push against a wall that won’t budge. I have so much to live for. I have so much to be responsuible for. I am incredibly lucky. Yet, the coolness of autumn and the shedding leaves feel unwelcome right now. I know days and nights will improve. I believe things will get easier but today, like Saturday, it is okay not be okay. A cliche maybe. But, that is how I feel.
Negativity at football seemed magnified. Impatient fans failed to cloke their dislike for Nunes and Nico. Neither did much wrong. Both put in a shift. I felt like turning on fellow fans. Instead I applauded those players louder and more passionately. Armchair and stand managers should still back their team, no matter who wears the shirt. It didn’t improve my mood. Then I pondered calling Dan again but realised I had no desire to talk. Sorry Dan, miss you matey.
I want to thank my friends at City, the ones I bumped into and nattered to, and remained with after the game for a while. Chatting to my mates, I happened upon a chance to talk to and get a programmed signed by the modest and splendid poet and author Lemn Sissay (OBE FRSL). His book Tender Fingers in a Clenched Fist has always stood out in my mind. Rain is another example that I can’t forget. And Daz, for the lift to Gateshead to see City draw with Newcastle Utd in the Subway Butty League Cup – and win a bonus point 7-6 on penalties. Daz, Haguey, Alison, Hagred and co have kept me sane for the last few years of football. A great bunch that have distracted me. I love my friends and those I encounter at work, at football, and in my life. They make me stronger and I hope they feel my heart.
And back to Saturday morning, collecting Astrid at the newly opened North View mental health hospital at Crumpsall. It was opened by Ricky Hatton. I couldn’t help think about his departure from life. I was born in Crumpsall, and I caught my vision and thoughts about my own mortality. I fear death. I have too much left to do. I also know how close the fine line between here and the next life appears. That void or whatever you believe isn’t far away. And at Crumpsall as I waited for my sister. I found my overactive mind imagining the ripple effect of my death. It hurt. It shook me. I questioned my own mind. It scared me. I’m not ready. I have much to do.
I played football again tonight. I didn’t want to play. I felt numb. I went to clear my head and pull my socks up. So, what now? Think I’ll call Dan tomorrow.
Rest in Peace Shez. I will miss that green and blue North Face jacket and the natters at EDS, away, or whereever summat City could be found. I’ll miss the simple shake of hand and greeting. Had to laugh when you took Chermine to the U18s game on Valentine’s Day. Of course you would! There are but a pocket of Blues who travel as far and as wide as Shez – and less so that take in the U18s, U21s, EDS, and Women’s games so frequently. A real die hard Blue. And one that was never too far from pushing his daughter into City the right way. Alisha and Shez at footy together was normal. If you didn’t see one or the other, then City weren’t playing. Massive condolences to Jordan and Alisha!
When awful news comes through and you know that a piece of the City community, the Manchester football landscape, and an all round good person has departed life, it leaves absence and hollowness. I have been bumping into you for years – never a close friend, but always someone welcoming, polite, and a laugh. Always positive and often sleepy. A bubbly character – even after early morning post rounds and minimal sleep! That being said I have seen you napping at City Football Academy watching the EDS, or U18s, or women’s team. Thanks for the brews shared, the supportive words, and the encouragement to bring my family to the U.K.
Shez represents what being a City fan is all about. The football is great a times but it is minor to the culture – and the politics, drama and celebrations or commiserations. Forget titles, parades and trophies, or allegations and ticket prices for now. Celebrate real fans. Build a statue or mural or expand the memorial gardens. City’s community matters more. Stand closer to those mates and family on the terraces. It doesn’t matter if we face Barcelona or Bristol City, your mates are the ones that deserve then praise. When an empty seat comes and you know who was there, you’ll feel the loss. We all do. People matter. Fans like Shez matter.
If the legacy you leave behind is countless Blues praising your character and spirit, then you did something right. I am gutted for your loved ones and your family. I offer my condolences and best wishes to all. Good night, God bless. Treasure life.🩵
Doves have accompanied me for years. The band was mostly made up of Jimi Goodwin on guitar and often lead vocals, with drummer Andy Williams and his twin Jez on guitars. Martin Rebelski has for a long while provided keyboards and other bits and bobs. Yet, here we are, in 2024, with a new look lineup. How would they sound in Birkenhead’s Future Yards?
“Sure enough if you feel nothing You’re better off this way Gets to the point where you can’t breathe” – The Last Broadcast, Doves
Jimi is taking an extended hiatus as he “needs more time to recover.” Naturally, fans of Doves are there for Jimi and will be ready and waiting when Goodwin is ready. In light of this, the twin duo Williams’ brothers take central stage. Alongside Nathan Sudders on bass (who I’d seen in Nadine Shah’s band) and Jake Evans (Bad Lieutenant), the line-up started a pre-tour on Wednesday, November 27th in Stoke. The Friday would see Hebden Bridge, but the only ticket I managed was Birkenhead, sandwiched between those dates. No complaints at all!
“And as you make for the door this time you’re walking out …out forever” – Renegade, Doves
Swept up by Lost Souls in 2000, the dreamy soundtrack to college studies were plaued between CDs like Badly Drawn Boy’s The Hour of Bewilderbeast and all other available audio distractions. The wholesomeness of sounds that stood out and warmed my studies helped me reach university and apply to work for Greater Manchester Fire and Rescue Services. Listening to Doves helped my mind decode that university was the intended choice.
“In satellite towns There’s no color and no sound I’ll be ten feet underground Gotta get out of this satellite town” – Black &White Town, Doves
During my university years, The Last Broadcast helped me process my Grandad’s death. And then the death of my Gran’s partner Ernie, who I regard as my grandfather. Every hard moment had a song and some tracks were visited more than others. Words for comfort. Melodies for medicine. Even heading to see Manchester City would swiftly be showered by the foot-stamping Pounding. All the combined track energy and near-psychedelia sounds would transport you from a lonely student room in Aberystwyth to soundscapes far beyond the hills. Feeling like an imposter at university, lost in not belonging, the words hugged me and kept me grounded.
“Follow Your own path from here So don’t listen To what they say” – Words, Doves
Hearing Here It Comes, I’m spellbound by the genre-crossing ambience and the simplicity of the backing sounds. The lyrics are magical. It’s reminiscent and inspiring in equal measure. Just like the rays of hope from the latest album track release, Renegade. There’s an unmistakable warmth and tone, despite the Piccadilly garden rains. By the time I’d graduated at university, Some Cities had fired volcanic-proportions of indie rock at the world. The track Snowden, complete with rhythm and magic, alongside the drive of Black And White Town, amongst others, propel your ears. The lyrics range from frustration to joy to wonder. I’m sure other bits are covered in equal measures.
Playlist for the night:
Firesuite, Carousels, Words, Cold Dreaming, Black and White Towns, Snowden, Renegade, Rise, Circle of Hurt, Sea Song, Mother Silverlake, 10:03, Pounding, Caught by the River, The Cedar Room, Here It Comes, Kingdom of Rust, There Goes The Fear.
Future Yards is a class venue, with friendly staff, a great sound system, ample ales and beers, decent food, and warmth. Seeing Doves perform there, after many years of radio silence, was an absolute privilege. So, where’s the next Doves experience? Manchester Aviva. Can’t wait. The superb Doves Music blog website is firmly back on my homepage. The Doves family are back. This next broadcast is more than wanted.
“There goes the fear again, let it go There goes the fear, let it go” – There Goes The Fear, Doves
Thank you Doves, thank you so much, thank you for coming back. I truly feel energised after a tough few months and feel you’re with me, blessing my ears and touching my soul as the future unfolds. Thank you to Jez, Andy, Jimi, Martin, and the new beginnings.
Diane Charlemagne wasn’t Dido. She didn’t feature on Eminem’s Stan. She could have. Instead, her voice permeated a string of hits, club classics, and iconic songs. Sadly, discovering her name and back catalogue, I realised that I was too little, too late. And she’s a Manc. Why hadn’t I heard of her?
For many years, I had the song, “The key, the secret” bouncing around my head. Diane’s voice held that tune. Having sang alongside Moby and Elton John, having featured on Goldie’s Inner City Life amongst others, Diane Charlemagne deserves greater recognition – and she was Mancunian.
In the vibrant tapestry of Manchester’s music scene, where every note finds its rhythm and every song tells a story, one voice soared above the rest: Diane Charlemagne. With a name that echoes through the annals of music history like a perfectly pitched chorus, Diane was more than just a singer; she was a force of nature, a vocal virtuoso, and the beating heart of Manchester’s melodic soul. Oddly, few people know her name.
Born, February 2nd, 1964, in Manchester, Diane was destined for musical greatness from the heave-ho-get-go. Apparently, even as a child, she had a knick-knack for turning mundane moments into impromptu concerts, much to the bemusement of her family and neighbours. Her early years were a symphony of talent shows and local gigs, each performance adding a note to the masterpiece that would become her career.
Diane first strutted onto the big stage with the band 52nd Street, a group that effortlessly blended soul, funk, and jazz into a sound as smooth as silk and as infectious as a catchy jingle. Their single “Tell Me (How It Feels)” rocketed up the charts, and Diane’s voice, with its rich timbre and emotional depth, was the secret ingredient that left listeners hooked. Manchester’s very own diva with a voice that could melt butter and a stage presence that could ignite fireworks. Yet, only amongst a select audience.
Yet, Diane was no one-hit-wonder. She was seen as a musical chameleon, seamlessly transitioning from the sultry vibes of 52nd Street to the pulsating beats of dance music. Her collaboration with the band Urban Cookie Collective on the track “The Key, The Secret” became an anthem of the 90s rave scene, propelling her to international stardom. With her powerful vocals driving the song’s euphoric energy, Diane became the queen of the dance floor, commanding crowds with a single note. And that got her noticed.
Like any true artist, Diane was not content to rest on her laurels. She sought new challenges and found them in the world of drum and bass. Teaming up with Goldie, the genre’s godfather, Diane lent her voice to the iconic track “Inner City Life.” Her haunting, soulful delivery added a layer of poignancy to the song, transforming it into a timeless classic. Critics and fans alike hailed her as the undisputed siren of drum and bass, a title she wore with grace and humility.
“Inner city life; Inner city pressure; Inner city life; Inner city pressure taking over me (yeah, yeaaah); But I won’t let go” – Inner City Life, Goldie
Despite her impressive accolades and the glitz of the spotlight, Diane remained grounded. She was known for her generosity, her infectious laughter, and her unwavering dedication to her craft. Her collaborations with artists across genres (from jazz maestro Moby to pop sensation Beverley Knight) demonstrated her versatility and her boundless passion for music.
Tragically, Diane’s vibrant life was cut short in October 2015, when she passed away after a battle with cancer. However, her legacy endures, resonating through the speakers and headphones of music lovers around the world. Manchester lost a star, but the universe gained a voice that may echo through the ages. In the end, Diane Charlemagne was much more than a singer from Manchester. She was a musical luminary whose voice could paint emotions and conjure memories. Her journey from local talent shows to international stages is a testament to her extraordinary talent and indomitable spirit.
AGAINST THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC - ACTON28.BLOG 