Tag Archives: manchester

I Like That, Turn It Up!

As anyone who knows me well can testify, one of my favourite rants in the whole wide world is bemoaning the hopeless state of radio (specifically, music radio) in this country. 6 music aside, it tends to be awful. Local radio is even worse. Yes, there are decent shows on at odd times on various stations but (to these ears) there’s nothing in existence that you can switch on with the assurance you’re going to be entertained, amused and god forbid hear stuff that makes you think ‘Yes!’

I’m sure that the people in charge of running the likes of Key 103 or Galaxy or Smooth FM don’t set out to offend the casual listener, it’s just that in practice they do. You know what I’m talking about: generic, formulaic mush served up by hospital radio-schooled morons churned out depressing hour after depressing hour. ‘Coming up we’ve got the new one from Cheryl Cole and after that you can text in to win a new kitchen…’

What makes the current state of play so depressing is that between 2005 and 2008, a tin pot little radio station broadcasting from the top of a hill in Oldham did something very different – they installed Clint Boon as head of music and he lay the foundations for something that quickly reigned supreme over the airwaves of Greater Manchester for 3 years. If you can excuse what may appear something of an outlandish claim – for an all too brief period, The Revolution 96.2 became the best local radio station in the world.

What made ‘The Rev’ unique was the music and the people playing it. Here was a place where at any point in the day you could hear stuff as diverse as Sufjan Stevens, Glen Campbell, The Pixies, Curtis Mayfield, Teenage Fanclub, Pharoahe Monch, The 13^th Floor Elevators…it simply played an endless stream of great music. Playlists acknowledged Manchester’s musical heritage (The Smiths, New Order, James etc) but not in a hackneyed, ‘all our yesterdays’ sense – as much airtime was dedicated to breaking new, local acts with the likes of Cherry Ghost, Jim Noir and Twisted Wheel receiving great backing and heavy rotation.

Clint Boon jumped ship after a year or so to join the newly launched XFM, leaving Manchester club circuit veteran Phil Beckett at the reigns. By then there was a tremendous line-up of regular DJs in place. Mani and Mike Joyce hosted weekly shows, ex-Mock Turtle (and brother of Steve) Martin Coogan looked after the dayshift with Nev Cottee (ex-Proud Mary and South Nightclub DJ) covering the early evening slot. Former Paris Angel Scott Carey hosted the fantastic midweek ‘Transmission’ and soap actor bods Graeme Hawley and Jeff Hordley (better known as Corrie’s John Stape and Emmerdale’s Cain Dingle) chipped in on a Sunday afternoon. Add in a few specialist late night shows and you get the idea of what was on offer.

Via word of mouth, the station quickly developed a strong, cult following throughout the North-West. Being positioned in up in t’hills proved to be advantageous – the transmitting mast structured to serve Oldham, Rochdale and Tameside beamed out a decent signal throughout Greater Manchester and beyond. Although XFM (playing Snow Patrol, Stereophonics and Razorlight ad-nauseum) had come along in a blaze of publicity with a huge advertising budget, The Rev offered more diversity and became the infinitely cooler alternative. I had every radio in the house tuned to 96.2 and the CD player in the car was made redundant.

Aside from the quality tuneage on offer, what stood out was the people involved and their reasons for doing it – the station was clearly being run on a shoestring so the only motivation of those involved was to make the best of what they had by filling every hour on air with fantastic music. Like falling in love with your ideal woman, it was so good that there always something of a nagging suspicion or sense of foreboding that ‘this isn’t gonna last…something will happen to fuck this all up’. And something did. Quite spectacularly.

It had been coming for a while in truth. Despite the best efforts of management and presenters, the all-important RAJAR figures (produced quarterly to reveal listenership figures and of paramount importance to potential advertisers) made for miserable reading. This measure only counted listeners within the official target area of the station itself, the fact that in reality they were broadcasting to an audience of thousands beyond the Oldham district proved of no consequence whatsoever.

What happened next was both grimly depressing and at times, tragically comic – management panicked and imposed a new music policy and daytime playlist with immediate effect, alienating both presenters and audience alike. Where there had once been Big Star, now there was Will Young. Stereolab? Forget it, try Elton John with ‘I’m Still Standing’…“and no, I’m not being ironic” intoned a demoralised-sounding Martin Coogan.

It was all over within days. Barring a couple of exceptions the entire team of DJs walked, and insult was then added to injury via an announcement that the station had been sold to a consortium fronted by Steve Penk, the ex-Piccadilly/Key 103 breakfast goon and presenter of countless, godawful TV shows. The self-appointed king of lame-assed radio banter and ‘hilarious’ prank calls had come back to save the day. The Revolution returned to Bland FM territory, playing mogadon-tinged MOR non-music just like every other local radio station in the world. Celine Dion and Maria Carey, anyone?

Facebook and internet messageboard campaigns were launched as dismayed former listeners voiced their collective disgust at the hi-jacking of their favourite station. The former presenters banded together under a newly adopted ‘Radio Republic’ moniker and via a myspace page, announced that moves were underway to re-launch online in the near future…but then all went quiet. It appeared that ‘The Rev’ as it was once known and loved had been consigned to history.

Then last month, as another quartet of much missed Mancs plotted up in a Soho hotel, announcing their long-awaited comeback to the assembled world’s press – there were rumblings on Twitter that 3 years on from Penk’s smash and grab raid, Radio Republic were about to stage their own resurrection.

The newly constructed www.radiorepublic.net confirmed the news to be true, and the station went live on the 11.11.11 at 11.11am. Early shows have been absolutely brilliant, and I can heartily recommend you get on this immediately and give these good people your support.

What’s in place now isn’t a radio station in the traditional sense, the music being consistently good and the presenters not being insufferable dickheads makes it different for a start. Shows are pre-recorded and uploaded daily onto the site, where they can then be accessed simply by clicking on the links provided. Webcasting it’s called – no software required, no need to register and simple to suss out even for the computer illiterate.

Spread the word. Spread the love. Viva La Republic!

www.rednews.co.uk

3 Stripes Up The Side

Leave a reply

Other than my family and United, the longest relationship I’ve managed to maintain throughout my life is with Adidas trainers. There’s nothing particularly unique about that, they remain the footwear brand of choice for right-thinking men of advancing years everywhere. And by right-thinking, obviously I’m referring to us traditionalists who tut-tut at Phil Jones’ highlights and who’d happily choose to go barefoot rather than support the current hipster fuckwit-led trend for Espadrilles. Anyway, as has been exhaustively documented elsewhere, there’s a definite kinship in existence between Adidas and us lot reared on the terraces of North West-based football clubs.

My relationship with die marke mit den 3 streifen began whilst in primary school, back in about 1980. Before the age of 7 or 8, you rarely question what you are wearing – it was shoes (Clarks if you were posh) for school and Woolies black pumps for PE. Trainers were something you would wear for playing out in on evenings and weekends – and trainers were just trainers, you had one pair and you’d wear them until they were knackered or you grew out of them. They were functional, not fashionable…until I first laid eyes on a pair of Adidas Kick.

I don’t recall who was wearing them, but once I’d clocked a pair they suddenly seemed ubiquitous. Everyone seemed to have them – everyone except me. Shiny black leather, black rubber toe bumper, gum sole and the classic three white stripes adorning the side of each shoe. Adidas…A-dee-das…even the name was cool – trainers soon became an obsession of sorts.

I was always a clumsy kid. Flat footed, no sense of balance, crap at football despite playing about 8 hours a day throughout my childhood – my speciality was walking into lamp-posts. The situation wasn’t help by the fact that from about 8-10, I’d routinely walk around with my eyes glued to peoples’ feet. I was a committed trainer spotter.

Unfortunately for me, the economic realities of the time meant I wasn’t able to join in the fun. Despite my protestations, the fact my dad was out of work for long periods during that era dictated that any household income was blown on trivial things such as bills, food and clothing as opposed to kitting out the adolescent first-born in expensive foreign footwear. I was still in no-name specials off the market whilst the rest of the world was proudly flaunting West Germany’s finest.

Enforced abstinence only fuelled my interest though, and all kinds of exotic sounding brands and names sprung up around that era. Instead of your basic Adidas, Patrick, Puma and (urrgh) Gola football-type shoes, suddenly it was all about the tennis. Minimalist-looking Stan Smiths had been around for a bit – though I could never get my head around them because they were Adidas yet they didn’t have stripes.

So Nike Wimbledon (as sported by McEnroe), Puma G.Vilas and Diadora Borg Elite briefly became chief objects of desire. It remained all about the Adidas for me though, whilst Ivan Lendl no doubt looks back with some frustration at his inability to win a Wimbledon title, in my eyes he was de-facto champion every year because he had the smartest footwear.

By the mid-80s my folks had split and as the dust settled, I was delighted to discover that ‘proper’ trainers were finally on offer as a means of consolation. I wasn’t complaining. Sambas, TRX, Jeans, Gazelle…I even enjoyed a brief fling with Nike during that time. The overall look consisted of Lee cords, polo shirts and crew neck jumpers – wardrobe staples that still see me right a quarter of a century on. My hair is no longer permed though, thankfully.

Madchester came and went (we’ll gloss over that era as clothes and shoes became of secondary importance due to other umm…’interests’); as jeans returned to sensible widths it was time to consider footwear again. There were bargains to be had if you knew where to look. I can recall picking up deadstock pairs of Stan Smith and Puma States round then for the princely sum of £12 each – high street shops didn’t understand the enduring appeal of vintage designs, to them it was simply a case of moving on ageing stock.

To compete with the rise of Air Jordan and abominations on offer from the likes of British Knights, Troop and Travel Fox, Adidas rebranded themselves as Adidas Performance and the classic gear was now marketed separately under the Originals banner – so the classic trefoil logo lived on.

Adi had cottoned on to the fact they had a dedicated set of punters who weren’t interested in the buzzwords of the time like ‘innovation’ and ‘technology’ – they simply wanted suede in nice colours and a flat sole. In a market containing things like the Reebok Pump (a shoe you could literally ‘pump up’ – christ knows what for), trainers were re-released that hadn’t been seen in a decade or so. As I was now earning for the first time and, pre-kids and mortgage, had a fair bit of disposable income – I was free to indulge myself.

By the turn of the millennium, the internet had changed things again. Not only did it prove a valuable resource of information and archive material, websites and message boards enabled like-minded fetishists to communicate with each other for the first time. This, and attempts to cash-in on the ‘casuals’ scene (films like Awaydays and an endless stream of Hoolie literature of mostly lamentable quality) helped ramp up interest, and the growth of eBay led to prices rising to ridiculous levels on the second hand market. Yes, people happily pay exorbitant prices for 25 year old, pre-worn trainers.

The true extent of this interest was hammered home to me in May 2010, turning up outside Size in town for the long awaited re-release of the semi-legendary Adidas Manchester – originally brought out to coincide with 2002’s Commonwealth Games. I knew there would be plenty of others on the case, though I didn’t expect to see about 400 people ahead of me in the queue at 6am on a Saturday morning. Mental.

Stalwart Red Issue scribe Life of Smiley recently commented on the fact he’d clocked a sample pair of Adidas Noel Gallagher on the internet, and their very existence made him shudder to the extent he was questioning his brand allegiance – amen to that, brother. His words got me thinking though: how old is too old to be buying trainers? And more pertinently, am I too old now?

I don’t mean trainers for doing the garden in or nipping to the shop or playing sport, I’m talking about wearing trainers for going out. Over the years I’ve built up what’s turned out to be a collection of sorts – nothing too valuable or mega-rare, just stuff that I like. In recent times I’ve even kept the boxes too, mainly for storage purposes so they’re not filling up the bottom of wardrobes and getting crushed. I’ve probably got about 25 pairs in total, a number which some people may shrug at and others will find hilarious – but I find I’m wearing them less and less.

It’s always rained here, but these days I refuse to even contemplate wearing a pristine pair of Stockholm if there’s even the slightest possibility of a shower – it’d be an affront to a classic. More and more often I’ll put on a pair and just think ‘naaah, not right…need shoes’. Pairs in more ‘eccentric’ colourways have gradually been relegated to the back of my thinking, ditto white trainers. I’d never have thought it conceivable that Adidas might join the likes of Henri Lloyd, Burberry, Ralph and Lacoste in the ‘stuff I used to wear’ category…slowly but surely, that’s the way it’s going.

I’ve become increasingly conscious that I can be seen sporting similar footwear to lads 20 years younger – and that’s not a good look since my first grey hairs have started to appear. If I don’t change a habit of a lifetime, I’m in grave danger of falling into the same camp as these 50 year old balloons you see wearing baseball caps and Stone Island – still attempting to live out their Danny Dyer fantasies at an age they should know better.

So my dearest Adi, it’s time to suggest that our 30 year relationship has run it’s course and we should go our separate ways. We’ve had a great time together, you were my first love, but I’ve grown up and feel I’m looking for something different now. Out of respect for you, I want to be totally upfront and admit I’ve recently developed feelings for a pair of Native Craftworks Trail Shoes I’ve met on the internet…it’s not you, it’s me…honest…I won’t forget you x

www.rednews.co.uk

Uwe Rosler>>>Maradona

Leave a reply

In recent seasons, it’s become customary for us to reach the first international break of the season and see a league table with United sitting a few points off the pace. We’d bemoan the lack of investment (which remains a net figure of ‘minimal’ since the Glazers took over), Fergie would say ‘it’s all about staying within reach’ and remind us that we never get going until after Christmas anyway – a fair point I suppose. Not this year though. Nine points out of nine and a goal difference of +10…and it was us who had the difficult start apparently.

West Brom was pretty much last seasons’ away performances encapsulated within 90 minutes. United start brightly, go a goal ahead and look like adding to it…the opposition equalise and then it all…sort of…fizzles…out. Except this time we managed to sneak one and fortunately got away with an undeserved 3 points.

The story during the aftermath of course, predictably, was David De Gea’s error. It was obvious the kid was going to make gaffes during the course of the season, but the relish with which pundits and commentators lined up to pen his obituary after one game was laughable. It’s good he’s subjected to this level of scrutiny early in his United career and gets these mistakes out of his system – get the realities of the job ahead and a bit of ‘siege mentality’ instilled in him early and he’ll be fine.

Next it was the visit of florid-faced fuckwit Harry Redknapp’s expensively assembled underachievers. Spurs’ downward trajectory looks set to continue given the evidence on view, with European footballer of the decade (November 2010 award) Gareth Bale especially quiet. It’s perhaps unfair to judge Spurs on their early season showings, as Harry’s mind has been no doubt been elsewhere during the summer. He’s had his ongoing (and strangely, largely unpublicised) tussles with HMRC to contend with as well as gearing himself up for the real highlight of Harry’s year: briefing that toothy SSN reporter on deadline day whilst hanging out of his Merc. “Yeah ee’s a smashin’ player innee…ooo wouldn’t be interested?” etc, etc…

That Spurs game, particularly the 2^nd half, hopefully give us a glimpse of what we might expect this season. Pace all over our team now, particularly in defence. Phil Jones looking anything but a 19 year old taking his nascent steps as a United player and Chris Smalling filling in effortlessly at right back. With Nani and Anderson having good days, Bratfud Tom buzzing around like the anti-Gibson, Young looking instantly comfortable on the OT stage and Rooney back to his imperious best…well, it’s hard not to sound giddy.

Arsenal arrived as a team in crisis, albeit one slightly buoyed by a decent midweek showing vs Udinese in their CL qualifier. Pre-match talk was still of ‘by how many?’ though, as opposed to the usual ‘will we win?’ No-one could have predicted what lay ahead of course, 8 goals and the kind of walloping we’ve seen on very odd occasions in the past vs relegation fodder is simply not what one expects to see in a United-Arsenal game.

The signs of Wenger’s increasing fragility have been there for some time, though this season he’s taken to frantically scratching his head as opposed to wildly launching water bottles about the dugout. Le Prof has clearly lost it at present – his refusal to accept the inevitable departures of Fabregas and Nasri, even as the former was aboard a Barca-bound aircraft showed the extent of his desperation. You could tell Fergie sensed what lay ahead last season, as all hostilities were ceased and he began talking about the guy in complimentary terms for once.

Wenger doesn’t look a well man at the moment – his team’s spectacular implosion over Easter has clearly taken a heavy toll. Yes, he has numerous annoying traits, (the best usually do) – but I can’t help feeling a bit of sympathy with his current plight. Although they’ve finished potless in recent years, to my mind he’s done a decent job in keeping Arsenal in contention, in spite of the financial constraints placed on him since the Emirates move. Much like Ferguson, he’s single-mindedly carried on with the job in hand, working within a budget of sorts and (publicly at least) claiming to be happy with his lot. Unlike Ferguson though, his recent buys haven’t been the most astute…they’ve been pretty shit in fact.

Growing discontent led to the shackles coming off on deadline day which lead to an uncharacteristic scramble for much needed reinforcements – the unfortunately monikered Mertesacker (sub-editors will have some fun with that name) and another typically Arsenal-esque, inconsistent lightweight in the form of Benayoun. Mikel Arteta might prove a relative steal at £10M, however.

Chelsea have enjoyed a decent start, and in Mata and Meireles look to have addressed the problems posed by the aging Lampard and perma-crocked Essien. Even if Torres returns to the player he was 2 years ago, I still expect them to ship goals this season. Terry has got by on a wing and a prayer for years now and despite winning plaudits last season, Sideshow Bob looked like an accident waiting to happen on numerous occasions. Comfortably top four again, but off the pace as regards the title.

A similarly bright start has been witnessed over on Merseyside, adding fuel to the collective state of delusional euphoria that’s been in place since King Kenny returned to reclaim his rightful throne…la. Last seasons splurging on Carroll and Suarez continued with the arrivals of Adam, Downing, Henderson, Enrique, Bellendamy, Doni and someone called Sebastian Coates from Nacional for another €8M. All of these and he’s managed to get rid of Meireles to Chelsea, who was by some distance their best player last season.

Dalglish has clearly decided to go shit or bust as that’s £100M or so he’s done in since taking over. In preparation for the moment the realisation dawns they’ve spent £35M on Peter Crouch MkII and Adam can’t last 90 mins, they’ve devised a genius way to deny they’re still not good enough: if you’ve not heard of it already, please acquaint yourself with the website www.rawkprof.blogspot.com, the home of ‘The Alternative Premier League Table’.

The seeds of this lunacy were sown on the RAWK forum, a place that makes Bluemoon or similar United forums look like MENSA gatherings. ‘Prof’, to much appreciation, came up with the priceless theory that league tables don’t tell the accurate picture of teams’ standings during a season as ‘they don’t take into account the teams played so far neither do they illustrate whether the fixtures were home or away’. In other words, when they are nine points off the pace at Christmas, Liverpool will still be top. I can only urge you to investigate, get the site bookmarked and check it regularly. As far as I can make out they’re being entirely serious.

Unfortunately our nouveau riche, idiot neighbours do look like challenging this season – a glance at their early subs benches was confirmation of the strength in depth they’ve now amassed. One only hopes that Mancini remains a precautionary pussy when the pressure’s on, Tevez and Balotelli take their fall down the pecking order with the good grace one might expect of them and they collectively struggle to cope with the raised expectations CL football provides.

Talking of the Champions League, a massive ‘cap doffed’ to the monkeys off the Red Issue forum who recently spent an afternoon registering on the official SSC Napoli fans forum threatening all kinds under the guise of being rabid Berties. “Your knives are no match for our bananas. We’ll be doing the Poznan over your corpses.” Heheh. Childish and immature? Most certainly – but very entertaining nonetheless.

A sobering thought in conclusion, though: City’s overall prospects? Top two and our main rivals. I know, I never thought I’d see the day either.