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Moody in Manchester:
Everyone Has a Thing
by Rachel Waxman


Everyone has a Thing. Mine is going to concerts, shows, gigs. This means spending too much time scouring the local papers and magazines, hitting up the records shops on a weekly basis, checking various music blogs and listening to internet radio stations, all in the name of finding the best, newest musical groups and finding when they are coming to town to play.

When I temporarily moved to Manchester, this changed. Gone were The Village Voice and Sounds, my city stalwarts, always offering the latest in candy for the ears. Stereogum.com and Woxy.com were still there, but any information they held was quite irrelevant. It was time to realize I was in New York City no longer.

The days passed (slowly, at first), the classes started, the rain poured and people drove on the wrong side of the street. The accents even failed to thrill. I fell into a routine, but still felt slightly misplaced.

Birthplace to Joy Division, Oasis and more recently, The Doves, Manchester is more than just a blip on the musical radar. But in dark February 2005, Manchester was quite dead; to me, at least.

Long lists of coming attractions and bright, colorful posters at the Student Union continually taunted me. I turned a blind ear to their siren calls until one afternoon when I spotted a band named Hal on the list. Highly rated by my Britophile friend, they were slated to appear at a venue called The Roadhouse. I decided to take the eight pound gamble.

It was a Thursday night, I was tired, irritable and cold. Hunched over a plastic table in the food court of the Arndale shopping center, my friend and I counted down the minutes. The street signs in Manchester are poorly positioned, and we passed the street and unhelpful strangers multiple times.

The street signs were unclear and the loitering Mancunians unhelpful as we passed our destination several times.


The Magic Numbers Frontman Croons

After a mini epiphany and a strange heightening of map-reading abilities, we found ourselves outside The Roadhouse. It was dark, dirty and my friend was apprehensive. We waited faithfully in line, and when the doors opened, I shoved her in.


Hal's Lead Strums and Sings...

I entered carefully and took a deep breath. The haze of stale beer and smoke invaded the space, my nostrils and my memories. It was like the Village Underground, before the smoking ban and the beloved venue’s demise. It was like home.

Hal was touring with The Magic Numbers. Heralded as “the next big thing” by the guy-in-line, The Magic Numbers are a London based group who create both moody and charming melodies backed by lovely vocals. Switching off headlining spots throughout their mini tour, Hal rounded out the evening with some excellent, catchy Irish rock.

It was a cold night but the bands and crowd basked in the warmth of mutual appreciation, love and delight. People huddled around the small, slightly raised stage and fragrant, slightly warm beer. It was a scene that is played out many times in many cities, yet never exactly the same. It is all I need to feel at home.