Greater Manchester, September 25th, 2011

I’m walking down to Manchester Road for the first Sunday bus into town. My boot-cut jeans are starting to fray at the heel so I bend slowly to turn them up. My head is as murky as the sky.

Yesterday at the pub I was told about Mancunian culture: “We’re about football, music and clobber. End of.” What went unsaid is that my backpacker’s clothes are the most obvious sign of my otherness. Well, until I open my mouth.

I never planned to stop here. Certainly not stay here. But it’s a tough place to leave. After months wandering the continent, the pace of this town feels familiar.

I quicken my step so that I’m not late for the bus.

My cloudy head was earned during yesterday’s serving of football and music. At half time of the United game, I read that their new Spanish goalkeeper considers The Stone Roses his favourite band. While discussing the merits of this claim with mates, I was scolded when admitting to my own blind spots about the group. After post-match cask ales in the Northern Quarter, and Red Stripe Lagers during Clint Boon’s set at South, I forwent kip to download the debut Roses album.

I turn my coat collar up against the westerly and don’t break stride to board the bus. I join a small crew of dead-eyed souls, others also required to get the city moving.

I unspool my earphones and switch on the mp3 player. I press play on 01-I_Wanna_Be_Adored and wait. And wait.

And turn up the volume.

And wait.

Is that static? Are the bus’s wheels making those sounds? The windscreen wipers?

After 35 seconds the bass kicks in. It’s in the distance at first and then it gets louder. Then proper loud. I’ve maxed out the volume during the confusion of the early atmospherics.

This bass is melodic, it’s rhythmic, it’s urgent.

Then guitar. Are the sixties and eighties brawling?

For 90 seconds there’s a slow-building groove that makes sense. Then the drums change beat, the guitar kicks up a notch and the first vocals crackle through.

I play it through three times. Then I replay the opening bassline time and again.

By the time we pass the Salford Lads Club I’m so lost in this opening track that I fail to nod my respects.

 
 

Stereo Story 871

Photo by the author.

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Shane Puxley is a writer based in Melbourne's inner west. You'll find him on Substack and at the Footy Almanac.