And So It Begins...Or, where it all went wrong.
The mercury was already well below zero as dusk descended to draw an end to November 2023. After loading up the gig bag with laptop and power supply (very important), audio interface, keyboard, mixer, collapsable metal stands, USB hub and various spare cables just in case, we trudged up the hill to the train station, reflecting on lines from "Fool's Gold" about aching backs and knifelike straps.
Venturing into Manchester city centre promises a multitude of architectural delights, blending ornate Victorian civic pride with the cutting edge. The reason is clear: Manchester is engrossed in its own seemingly perpetual reinvention. From being the actual birthplace of the industrial revolution, and later wet nursing the infant computer revolution, this city's taste for innovation and change is borne of its revolutionary roots. Any notions of waiting to hear what London thinks are routinely abandoned and surpassed with Mancunian ingenuity and an attitude of "I'll do what I want, me". Manchester listens, then deliberately creates something uniquely its own, by itself, for itself. And if you happen to like it, then good, but your approval is moot.
Yes, we're fans of God's Own City. You can hit the North, but it will probably turn the blows into a completely new martial art, and in six months the whole hip world will be beating each other up with a new-found grace.
So, it's no coincidence that The Manchester Electronic Collective was formed here. The name's a dead giveaway. Alex, Matt and Alberto, three polite, helpful young men, form a tripartite touchstone for the EMOM explosion currently engulfing the UK and, we hear, the world. The Collective has been organising BLEEP electronic open mic parties at The Peer Hat on Faraday Street for over a year now. On any given second Thursday evening in the month (except October - even God needed a day off) the club space beneath the bar is dark, loud, and packed with an audience as highly appreciative as it is eclectic, while local performers strut their stuff on the tiny stage beneath the massive, pendulous speakers.
Since first hearing of BLEEP from a video by the mighty Dots that popped up at random on YouTube, I knew I had to go down there and see for myself. YouTube's algorithm does, occasionally, get it right. Boy, does it get it right. That was piece of luck #1.
Fast-forward to April 2023, and me, that is Jon, descending the Peer Hat's notoriously dark stairs, pint in hand, wondering what's behind that door...
An empty room with the lights on, save for the Collective and the sound engineer setting things up, and big Dave Walker. Mho to his friends. Everyone's a friend of Mho. He knows EVERYONE! The dayglo housemeister himself! He strode over, shook my hand and introduced himself with "I know you from somewhere!". We've been friends ever since. He attends so many EMOMs and other electronic events, I swear he can be in two places at once on any given evening.
By the time I had to leave to catch my train home, I was hooked. I'd talked to loads of people, heard some interesting and sometimes quite challenging sounds, from noise to ambient. Everyone who has ever made the decision I made that night has their own story of their Lesser Free Trade Hall Moment. It was time for me to stop faffing about on Saturday afternoons with the free synths I'd downloaded, and a production process I barely understood, and get serious, get a sound, get some songs together, get a 15-minute set together, get up on that stage, and play. This was piece of luck #2.
The sound was easy. Fast, hard, heavy. That's the way I like my synths. I also wanted to say something about the world. That demands a singer, but I didn't know any. I certainly knew nothing about finding one. And anyway, how do you care for a singer? What do they eat? Microphones? Do they need walking? Do they chew the furniture? So, instead, I invented Libby, a very carefully vocoded AI voice whose slightly posh, detached tone just felt right for the vibe I was planning. Suddenly, I was not alone any more. I was in a band. A band ready to issue cynical dispatches from the dystopian now. Hey, that's good. I'll keep that. Sorry, we'll keep that.
The summer crashed by in a haze of tracks and visits to BLEEP to hear them played over the PA between acts. Hearing how you sound on a PA is vital in the journey from bedroom to stage, and gradually I started hearing a sound I liked. I saw people, strangers, moving to what I'd done, which feels weird, like looking at your own life from the viewpoint of your own ghost. I took old friends along with me, and they also seemed to think it was OK.
The next step was joining the local Ableton User Group, which meets at Spirit Studios between Piccadilly and the famous Ardwick Apollo. There, in the Charlie Jones live room, were assembled a range of people: seasoned performers with actual record deals, at least one producer with their own studio and real clients I'd heard of, performers of all kinds including Mho (of course!), and me feeling distinctly amateur in comparison. Led by the ever-helpful FOTN (A.K.A. David fletcher), and helped by the supportive studio staff, the user group is a super-friendly brains trust of knowledge, which sometimes gives away free Ableton tote bags and stickers.
Fast-forward and it was now late September. To misquote Rod Stewart, I really should be getting on stage. I had 15 minutes of material. Having friends in Shrewsbury, I booked a slot for the local Saturday afternoon EMOM down there. We could meet, hear me play my maiden gig, then get drunk to celebrate or, more likely, commiserate. After a swift visit to a rehearsal room at Trackside Studios in Macclesfield, both Libby and I were set, packed and raring to go. But the weather was not ready for our musical debut. Heavy storms and heavier flooding washed our dreams away. In hindsight, it was a massive blessing in disguise because it gave me valuable time to work on our sound. This was piece of luck #3.
And then, it happened.
The Manchester Electronic Collective announced on the Ableton User Group's Discord that they were taking applications for a live rehearsal night in the very room where the Ableton User Group meets. Finally, a chance to test our sound on a PA of epic proportions, with a sound engineer driving the desk, and a handful of helpful ears to tell me what's wrong. Enter piece of luck #4.
And we're back to the scene of me trudging up the hill to the train station on that bitterly cold November evening, several kilos of gear on my back, wondering what the hell I thought I was doing.
On the train, the sudden realisation that I'd never actually played live in front of strangers hit me over the head and stole my confidence. I gave chase. I caught it, and beat the living crap out of it. BIFF! If it sounds bad, this evening is about making it sound good. BASH! No surprises, just help. THUD! Back you go, to the darkest recesses of wherever I thought this paragraph was going when I started this pointless, clumsy metaphor for overcoming fears.
And now the long walk through the bowels of Spirit to the live room, pushing the door open and... nothing. A near empty room. A guy already set up on stage, FOTN, and the sound engineer. The Collective were fashionably late. When they arrived, it seemed there had been some cancellations, so Apropos (A.K.A. Tom) and I would have the whole evening to ourselves. Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce piece of luck #5.
Then It was our turn. Other than a few bum notes at the start, I played my set through without a hitch. I saw the sound engineer dancing. I saw the Collective nodding their
heads, I heard them clapping at the end of each song, and most of all, I heard Libby leading the whole mad parade. It sounded big, heavy, and real. Almost alien, like someone else had done it.
We can do this. We will do this. We are a band.
Next time, "The Hard Part..."
Comments
Post a Comment