It’s 7:15PM. Celia Cruz returns from the dead and sings through the speakers; the sunshine beams through the windows, which are open. I can hear feet on the sidewalks, walking slowly. The rhythm of conga and piano reminds me of the little island where I was born, but I want to hear the sound of Manchester, England or what I think is Manchester, England but it doesn’t matter. Like Tony Wilson said, “If you have to choose between the truth and the legend, choose the legend.”
In my legend, all they play in Manchester is “Madchester”, Joy Division, New Order, and the throbbing vibrations of rave music, dance music, house music. My iPod is connected to the mixer of Angels and Kings; the music of Celia Cruz slinks back into the grave.
In forty-five minutes, Dave Haslam, Hacienda DJ, among other prestigious titles, will be onstage to present his discussion. I’m drinking a Jack and ginger. I ask the bartender if we can rearrange the positions of a bench.
She tells the bouncer to help me move all of the seats. I expect only 15-20 people so I tell him not to move all of them.
We move all of them.
The place looks like a proper room for a lecture about Joy Division, New Order, and everything else. A room overstuffed with seats in the front to accomodate only my projected 15-20.
By 7:45, there are nearly forty in the room. Maybe more.
Dave Haslam @ Glasslands on 4/3
I introduce Dave to his audience, which comprises many people I’ve never met. I can barely get the words out of my mouth to list off his accomplishments to the audience. I make no mention of my name (Jenn pointed this out to me). I’m a standing body in the spotlight, like a mannequin. But when I say “Dave Haslam”, everyone cheers. He walks onto the stage, away from the spotlight so that half his body is concealed in a long shadow. I should have done that.
Some of the writers for The Whiskey Dregs are in the room. Some friends. There’s Simon Reynolds and a guy who looks like Richard Belzer but it’s not him.
He begins with Ian Curtis’ death — the why and how. Then some history behind Manchester — the whys and hows of an industrial age giant, crumbling before the feet of its once prosperous citizens. Dave says we have cities like this, too like Chicago and Detroit. More like Detroit. He says the echo of the collapsing ruins was Joy Division’s music. He talks about other things, too. I’m completely engaged. It’s like listening to the first story I ever heard. It’s because I love this music and I love what it did for me throughout my life, like kissing a girl to “Blue Monday” when I was in high school or hearing the synthesizers wail on “Love Will Tear Us Apart” in Donnie Darko.
Dave talks about the last show they played before Ian hanged himself. There were 300 people in the room — no indication this band would stretch their influence beyond their generation or beyond genre because they had no genre. Just like Manchester, Dave says, the city no longer had industry and were left with a voice. A pained, dark, working class voice.
After his lecture and hardy, enthusiastic applause, he takes questions. Hands raise and then more hands but then I cut off the questions, otherwise Dave would still be asnwering questions and missed his flight back to Manchester. Dave might not have all of the answers, although it almost seemed as if he did; the possibility of learning about your favorite bands from someone else’s qualified and intimate perspective is enough.
