I first visited Manchester 25 years ago this week, en route to a Rush concert at Stafford's Bingley Hall concert venue, and I was there again 11 days ago, to see Rush at the MEN Arena on their 30th anniversary tour.

I hadn't been to Piccadilly Station since 1980, when I spent a memorable night walking the streets of Manchester between there and Victoria station,  to pass the time before the first train to Huddersfield where I was at University!  And I must say I barely recognised Piccadilly Station at all when I arrived there, at around 1:30pm - unsurprisingly, it's changed an awful lot in the last 24 years.  I noticed a few Rush fans in 2112 t-shirts, and felt the same sense of community that we used to share in the 'old days', when Rush toured the UK frequently.  Small groups of Rush fans would turn up at the nearest railway station to the concert, and we'd wave a greeting to each other or share concert stories, worshippers of the same cult congregating in distant cities.  However, this time I was keen to get out of the station and acquaint myself with the City of Manchester again, having spent far too long away - so I ignored them.

I dug out my street map and left the station to head for the Palace Hotel, walking along Piccadilly and Oxford Road.  I've visited Manchester only four times in my life, and hadn't been there since 1993, but I hoped I would recognise its streets.  Oddly, I didn't at all.

I checked into the hotel - quite a grand place, with a huge, very traditional foyer - and took the lift to my room.  It was quite large, with a thoroughly adequate ensuite bathroom, and an unusual external wall straight out of the early industrial age, looking very much like part of a Victorian railway station with ancient white tiles and a huge arched window.  I opened the (opaque glass) window for a quick look at the view, but found only what looked like a disused canal and the side of another building.

I showered and changed, and headed for the Moon Under Water pub on Deansgate, where several dozen other Internet Rush devotees and I had agreed to meet for a few pre-concert beers.  Fantastic to meet so many of my Internet pals in person at last and I was quite touched by the number of people who wanted to meet me :D  We drank for England (or Scotland, or Ireland, or ..) and had a thoroughly good time.

At 7:25pm or so, we left the warm, congenial confines of the pub to set off for the arena, ten minutes' walk away.  I'm not a big fan of arena concerts, but as enormodomes go, the MEN does have a good atmosphere and acoustics.  And this time, I had quite a good position.

At around 7:40pm, the lights went down, the crowd roared, the band took the stage.  They opened with the 'R30 Overture', a stunning medley of moments from classic '70s Rush music - it worked brilliantly and the whole crowd lost it!  The roof nearly came off the arena.  Everyone was shouting, cheering, crying as the divine power of some of the most exquisite, exciting, highly-charged music known to humanity exploded from the stage.  It was extremely emotional; not a dry seat in the house.  There were to be a few more wonderful moments in the set, and overall it was a great gig - but it must be said the selection of material (is this becoming a recurring theme?) left something to be desired.  They performed almost half of the godawful Feedback record, and some of their most forgettable, or tragically unforgettable original music in an overlong set lasting three hours, including an intermission and (oh no ..) a drum solo.  Yet the only two truly outstanding Rush songs of the last 15 years, the excellent Test For Echo and Totem were both omitted.  'World of the unlikely and bizarre' indeed.

Nonetheless, the highs (Red Barchetta, Mystic Rhythms, Between The Wheels, By-Tor, the extraordinary R30 Overture and a couple of others) more than made up for the lows.  Some of the older material was accompanied by archive photos of the band from long ago drifting nostalgically across big rear-projection screens behind them as they played, to very powerful emotional effect.  I left feeling contented and slightly elated.

I was amused, by the way, to see a few teenage Rush fans at the concert.  I suppose they can't really be blamed in some respects, because popular music culture seems to have come to a virtual standstill, if it's not actually moving backwards.  But how sad, at that age, to be an enthusiast of a band which, truth to tell, had its day over two decades ago.  Thankfully, these adolescent archaeologists of progressive rock music were few in number, and of course it's quite possible that the less unfortunate of them do appreciate some of the music of their own time as well.

I walked back to the hotel from the arena.  On the way I passed a huge flat-panel TV screen mounted on the side of a building, showing a local news story or documentary about the Moors Murders; I suppose they cast a perpetual dark shadow over the city.  Oh Manchester, so much to answer for.

I lay awake for hours.  My head was buzzing from the concert, memories of Rush concerts I'd attended years ago, and someone I'd met earlier, too briefly, in the evening .. she floated across my thoughts rather like the nostalgic images had floated across the screen at the arena.  But I must have slept eventually, because I woke up, at about 8:30 AM.

I showered and dressed fairly slowly, plenty of time before my train.  I drank coffee, checked out, and walked to Manchester's Oxford Road railway station, conveniently located a two-minute walk from the hotel.  I had a 20-minute wait for my train, and I sat on one of the benches, watching a small bird hopping up and down the disused platform opposite, occasionally fluttering its wings slightly.  A black cat came running along the platform, leaped on it, and killed it.  The cat trotted smugly back along the platform, in a slightly more self-satisfied manner than was necessary I thought, its quarry hanging limply by the throat from its jaws, wings pitifully half-extended from its vain attempt to escape.

In the CD player : Andy Sheppard & Steve Lodder, Moving Image

I've been meaning to devote an entry to my adventures in Manchester last weekend, and I will do that in the next couple of days - but events have sadly overtaken me.

Brian Clough, one of my all-time heroes and surely the greatest football manager of all time, died at the City Hospital here in Derby a few hours ago.

In some respects it was inevitable that I would become an admirer of Cloughie.  He played football for Middlesbrough, where I went to University.  He was a phenomenal goal-scorer, scoring 251 goals in 274 games for Middlesbrough and Sunderland.  Injury cut his playing career short in the early '60s, and he embarked upon a career in football management at Hartlepool, my home town.


He went on to manage Derby County, a small club from the East Midlands town where I now live, first to promotion to the first division, then to victory in the English football league championship.

And incredibly, he took Nottingham Forest, the team I now follow - then a small, provincial club side languishing in the old second division, which is exactly we are again now that he's gone - to the top of the football league, and the dizzying heights of European Cup glory, winning the most prestigious prize in club football two years running - surely the most astonishing achievement in the history of the game.

And yet - he'll probably be remembered more for his character than for his record as a manager.  He was one of the most plain-speaking, opinionated, outspoken of men.  He would sometimes make his players apologise to referees after a game.  His own son, Nigel, who played for him at Nottingham Forest, was once cautioned for a cynical foul, and Cloughie himself went to the referee after the final whistle to tell him that he had been quite right to yellow-card his player, and that Clough Jr would be fined.

It seems terribly hackneyed and obvious to use the term 'legend' here, but it's genuinely well-deserved.  It's very unlikely that his achievements in football will ever be matched.

Lots of references to 9/11 in the media today, the third anniversary of the most audacious terrorist atrocity in history.  Thousands of people lost their lives on that day of course, but what's too often overlooked is that many thousands more innocent lives have since been destroyed in the cynical, malicious foreign adventures for which 9/11 provided an excuse, and which our own government has so shamefully aided and abetted.

Unlike the victims in New York and Washington, the victims of coalition aggression have no remembrance ceremonies, no special day - so I spare a thought for them today, as well as for the victims of 9/11.

The terrorist leaders must have taken an opportunity today to look back over the last three years with a measure of satisfaction.  So far, regrettably, the governments of the United States and the United Kingdom have played into their hands beautifully.

Years ago, I used to read Personal Computer World magazine every month, and I still have a stash of them in my loft.  Yesterday, out of curiosity I dug out an old copy, from July 1987.  I had a good laugh at the PC ads (a 12MHz 286 with 1MB memory and a 40MB hard drive - yours for a mere £2199) but I was amazed to read an article on "high speed modems".  Here's an excerpt:

Until two or three years ago the most common standard for dial-up computer systems was V21 (300 bits/sec).  V23 has been used by Prestel for a few years - this is 1200 to the user but only 75 back - and it's reasonably good for receiving data but not for uploading prepared messages, for example.  V22 modems are more recent and more expensive.  They provide 1200 bits/sec in both directions at the same time (full duplex).  Even at this sort of speed a screen-full of 80 column text takes around 15 seconds.
 
The latest modem standards provide 2400 bits/sec (V22bis) and a staggering 9600 bits/sec (V32).  V22bis modems are widely available and prices are falling.  They currently cost between £500-£1000. V32 is very new and pricey at around £3000.

So next time you're in the market for a 53kbps modem (about £25 I should think if you shop around) think what a 9kbps modem would have cost you back in the '80s!

Went to see PJ Harvey at Nottingham last night.  A very good gig, although I have one or two reservations - I was a little frustrated by the selection of material and the way her set was paced.  Even so, she performed her swampy rock'n'roll with all the usual effortless style, dark power and mystique she carries into everything she does and I'm looking forward to the next time (pic courtesy of www.pollyharvey.co.uk)



Rush started their UK tour at Wembley last night and I'll be there to see them in a few days, for what will hopefully be the last time.  It's hard to escape the conclusion that they've started to flog the proverbial expired donkey frankly, although by all accounts they can still do the biz in the live context.   Looking forward to seeing them; should be a nostalgic evening.  Alex & Geddy appeared on Phil Jupitus' breakfast show on 6Music yesterday morning in a highly entertaining, slightly irreverent interview which they both seemed to enjoy very much.

In other news:  I became an Uncle on Friday, 3rd September!  Warmest congratulations to Penny & Eric, and I look forward to meeting my week-old nephew soon.

In the whisky tumbler: the Glen Moray.  I don't like Speyside malts nearly as much as Islays, but this was hard to resist at less than £13 a bottle!  Very nice, though not as smooth as the Glenlivet (my favourite Speyside) and a bit too light with a grapey tang in the aftertaste.  Nonetheless, it's a thoroughly decent single malt, and at roughly the same price (on special offer) as one of the godawful el-cheapo brands (Bells, Teachers, Grants, Famous Grouse et al) an absolute bargain.

In the DVD player:  Oasis, Live By The Sea
In the CD player: PJ Harvey, Uh Huh Her