29 October 2007

HALLOWEEN PARTY

Saturday October 27th. Halloween fancy dress. I didn't really put any effort in. Just chucked on some skinnies, an emo top and my chunky nike trainers. The flat was packed. In what was the living room, 3 bands were setting up their equiptment. The sound system that had hosted a DJ the evening before, was set up for a indie and screamo kids. I was fucked before the first band had even finished their set.

The police raided.They pigs weren't as placid as the weekend before, they were detirmined to chuck us all out. And they did. The bands had to lug their drums, guitars, and emo fringes out of that flat in seconds. Awaiting the kids outside was two patrol cars and two riot vans. The police meant business. Everyone headed onto Urbis, the place where most of these lads and girls had spent long bleary-eyed days, before they convinced themselves they had grown up a bit.

The police cars circled Victoria, eyeing up the teenage scum.Instead of following the crowd, Me and my friends thought we'd be clever, and hang out on a park just off Miller Street under the CIS Tower and wait for it to blow over. I just assumed that the police would follow the kids, and take all their beer. Ask any indie, emo, goth or scene kid and you will find this is usually the case every weekend on Urbis. We wanted to keep our stash.

After about an hour, we headed back to the flat, got chatting to some kids in Halloween costumes and asked them what was going on. Even though they were under the influence of illegal substances they told us that everyone was going to a rave near Deansgate Lock and the former Gasworks site. I gave the hostess a ring, and she had lead this 150 strong indie army down Deansgate, and by the time we got there, the area infront of The Hilton Beetham Tower was full of us. Someone got a call, and we all headed off. Down past Gasworks towards the Mancunian Way.

Behind the swanky apartments and offices there was a massive wall, and a cobbled street. In the middle of this wall was a single steel door. We all huddled outside, waiting to be let in, and finally after a few minutes the door opened. As soon as the door opened the wreak of paint fumes in this massive warehouse hit me. There were bikes hung from the ceiling with strings holding them up. There were dogs running around, and bails of hay. there were art displays and music. All the time me and my mates looked puzzled at each other. What was this?

There was a massive Marquee-type enclosure. Inside was a massive projector screen showing messed up images in monocrome. Gazing mindlessly were all these 30 and 40 year old hippies, sat on sofas and chairs that your grandmother would have discarded in 1990. Some of these bearded guys, were shooting up. Nice.

Everyone from the party gazed around, looking at each other. It was like someone had put a catalogue of random drug-aided thoughts in a room and invited Manchester to see. There was a stage with strobe lights and DJ decks. I was told afterwards that the police had raided, but said that the ravers could stay, as long as the music stopped. The Greater Manchester Police were obviously busy that night.

After about half an hour of confusion we all left and the hostess was approaching people she knew quite well and whispering "You and two or three of your mates can come back to the flat, just keep it quiet". We headed up to G-Mex, and got the Met back to Victoria. The party resumed, everyone was told to be silent. After half an hour, everyone else that was previously there was raving once again, an iPod was linked up to the sound system. Everything was back to normal. If 150 drunken Uni students in a swanky flat could be described as normal.

At around 4AM a loutish neighbour burst in, shouting about the noise and vomit patches in the stairwells. A well-built scene kid confronting him and everyone circled."Who the fuck are you comin' into his house......"The argument went on and they both squared up to each other. After what seemed like 10 minutes (I was absolutely slashed remember) out of nowhere came this high-pitched childish voice:
"I know. Why don't we just push him out of the flat?"
It was legendary. Everyone obeyed the command of this dweeb and shoved this 30-odd year old guy towards the door. I can't describe how amusing it was.The door was closed, and everyone kept on pushing until he fell against the door. He was punched by three separate people and thrown out. After that soon so were we.
Me and a few friends made the long walk home.

I SAY: At least thanks to British Winter time we got an extra hour in bed.

27 October 2007

Manchester Party (Revisited)

Friday 26th October meant going back to The Flat near Victoria. The theme on this evening was Barbie and Ken. My fancy dress effort was pretty poor. A posh shirt, with a preppy jumper, some jeans and formal shoes with a clip file. Can you guess what Ken I went as?
Office Ken. Obviously.
Some of my mates really put the effort in, with deformed and decapitated barbies being a favourite Necklace accessory.

It was a mad night. I had been through a really tough week at College and I just couldn't wait to get absolutely Trollied and just go for it. This night was a bit of a let-down numbers wise though. Not as many people went on Friday as on the nights the previous weekend. But that meant room to breathe, and a chance to talk to people. I'm making it sound like a rather conservative affair, it really wasn't. The Vodka poured once again, this time diluted with Oasis, served from the bottle. Classy, I know.

I met some really cool people and instantly repelled them by dancing like a Strictly Come Dancing contestant on Acid. But the most embarrassing moment came when One of the bathrooms became a social area, and the second became a crack-den and I really needed a piss. I ran out of the flat, stumbling against the walls ran into the stairwell, and saw an open window. Yeah that's right. A reoccurance of this happened, but one floor below, with my head sandwiched inbetween the two pains of glass, sending my vomit to whatever happened to lie below.

Change of subject if you will. I ended up walking home up Bury New Road and got home around 4am. Then had to appear at work the next morning, layering on my Southern-esque fake accent, and my "Hi I'm in pain" smile. But I wasn't thinking of work.


I SAY: As is the case with parties, plays and gigs, the best night is always the last.

21 October 2007

Manchester Party

I SAY:A sign of a good weekend out is the devastating aray of facial expressions displayed the following day.

A good friend of mine hosted two parties last night and the night before (friday and saturday). I met her during the week in Koffee Pot in Manchester's Northern Quarter, she told me about these parties she had been planning, and that half of the kids in the city would be there. She's one of those people that just knows everyone, living just by the Northern Quarter she gets free gig tickets, and an invite to everything in the city's subculture.

Friday's Electro Rave started the proceedings in the Oh-So-Posh apartment block just by Manchester's Victoria Station. The furniture and appliances were all gutted out with only walls, floors and the inticing smell of Vod to welcome you into the flat. What a night! Being a Nu Rave event, broken glowsticks carpeted the cig-but trodden carpet. The walls became a huge canvas, permanent markers, spraypaint and highlighters were used to create a massive arty array of messages and pictures. Mint. I became an absolute state of course, Vodka being the chosen bevvy. I can never gauge the correct side of the Anorexcally thin line between having a good time and being KO'd on a pavement, reliving the tastes of whatever food you'd just consumed in the hours before. But to be fair, being in your late teens, what more can you ask for except good music, good friends and a good drink.

Where drunken teenagers arrive, trouble naturally follows! But being a Wristband only event, the dicks that just love trashing things, weren't let in. And in a typically mancunian fashion the Apartment Block's security guard was soon won over to the youthful invasion with a few bottles of beer. The police were called, but were soon shooed away, they didn't return that night. I left around 2am. Work the next morning was hell. Kendal's Department Store is where I spend long weekend days, serving the Cheshire Set, the rich lot who treat you like you're a brown stain on their Jimmy Choos. I just had to keep thinking of how legendary after work would be.

Saturday's Rave was more of a classy affair. Slightly. The dress code was 1920's/1930's Masquerade theme. I nipped down to the Fancy Dress shop on the top floor of Affleck's Palace and picked up a simple black mask, donned a panic at the disco-esque waistcoat, some skinnies and a posh shirt. That did me grand. Same again really on Saturday as the night before, can't remember much. Got home at 3am. Work today was even more hellish.

Oh and she's having two more on friday and saturday of this week. My liver will crawl out of me screaming for remorse. Sack it, you're only young once, yeah?

12 October 2007

Control

Friday consisted of seeing 'Control' at The Cornerhouse on Oxford Road (Next to Oxford Road Station). The Cornerhouse, is the place to be in Manchester if you're a fan of Art House films, it hosts several screens and an atmospheric bar. As the cinema doesn't just show the typical Hollywood blockbusters, the feeling inside isn't as tacky and corportate as other cinemas in the city, and it isn't that expensive either!

The first thing I should say is, what an amazing film 'Control' is! The story is based in the 1970's in Macclesfield, south of Manchester. It revolves around Ian Curtis the mysterious genius who wrote such songs as 'Love will tear us apart' and 'She's lost control' as frontman for Joy Division. The film deals with the period of time between his late adolescence, his stage of inner turmoil and his death in 1980.



Curtis is played by Leeds-born actor Sam Riley who's acting brilliantly simulates his onstage presence and his distressing epeleptic fits. These fits along with the concoction of drugs Curtis takes to help cure them lead to a depression in his life. Curtis's troubles causes a great burden for his wife Deborah. Deborah then falls pregnant, and Ian is seen as detatched from the child. Frictions continue until Ian takes his own life.



Although the film is based on the life of the lead singer of a great Manchester band, it doesn't overkill the Manchester element. The storyline is simple but thrilling, focusing on what is going on in Curtis's head and not what is going on in the Manchester music scene. This personal element has been kept intact from the film's origins as Deborah Curtis's book 'Touching from a Distance' to the scripting by Prestwich writer Matt Greenhalgh. Because of this you seem to get more emotionally attached to the characters. Another compliment is the use of Joy Division's music throughout the movie. The songs add another dimention to Curtis's lyrics, and instead of being corny they emit Curtis's feelings, through the lyrics, to the Viewer.



You seem to get those films that win awards just because of the actors who star in it, or just because it's being talked about by the critics, but anyone who sees 'Control' will be able to understand why this film has recieved such Critical Acclaim. Sam Riley won 'Best British Performance' at the Edinburgh Film Festival and director Anton Corbijn won 'Best New British Feature' and 3 awards at the prestigious Cannes Film Festival. The film also recieved the 'Most Popular feature Film' award at the Melbourne International Film Festival.

Go and see it now!