7. Chip ETime to Jack
I moved to Manchester in 1986 using the smoke screen of an education in philosophy to hide my real intention, which was to study the city of Manchester, home to a good proportion of the music I loved. If I had moved to any other city at any other time the outcome for me may have been completely different. I can thank my friend Eddy Leviten for providing the trigger for the next paradigm shift. I met Eddy on my first night at university, we were both wearing hats and thus naturally gravitated to each other. Over a refreshing can of Breaker lager with accompaniment provided by ‘the House Sound of Chicago’, he persuaded me to join him on a mission to the Hacienda nightclub. As soon as I walked in, all other music suddenly seemed ridiculous, this was the future echoing around a former yacht vendor’s showroom. House music. I became an insufferable fashion victim for a time and spent most nights flouncing about the many and varied rave dens of the town. From angst ridden teen to deconstructed hedonist in the space of one term.
House music was the beating heart of Manchester clubland, a gloriously alien, hypnotic pulse, the soundtrack to a confident city living under a harsh regime. Whistles and dancing were the perfect tonic. When, a few years later, the capitol’s media finally caught up and Acid House was on everyone’s lips, the sound of Mancunian clubs barely changed, we were still jacking just on posher drugs.
