On the Sixth Day God Created Man…chester, Part Four.

“What Manchester does today, the rest of the world does tomorrow.”

See also: On the Sixth Day God Created Man…chester: Part 1; Part 2 and; Part 3

“Has rock and pop music ever seemed so thoroughly knackered, so stumped for inspiration as it did in 2000?” asked The Guardian’s Alexis Petridis in a reflective preamble to his glowing review of Elbow’s Mercury Award-winning 2008 album, The Seldom Seen Kid. (“Elbow, The Seldom Seen Kid”, 14 March 2008) Alongside their fellow five-lettered friends from Greater Manchester, Doves, Elbow’s arrival on the national music stage at the dawn of the decade went largely unheralded at the time, their non-descript names, drab images, and neo-prog rock tendencies eliciting resigned yawns more than sparks of excitement.

Since, though, Elbow and Doves have emerged—or have been re-evaluated—as trailblazing innovators of British guitar rock, their creative and evocative albums earning almost unanimous critical acclaim. As is so often the case with bands at the forefront of a zeitgeist moment—a circumstance so many prior Manchester bands have been in—it often takes hindsight to appreciate that which at the time was not, or could not, be foreseen. Petridis accepts his own mea culpa, noting that while Elbow are today embraced as one of the saviors of British guitar rock, the “hot” indie acts of 2000—JJ72, My Vitriol, and King Adora—are but distant memories.

The history of modern Manchester music has been a story of reactions and reinventions, of bands recognizing their predecessors while also acknowledging the need to break from them to pursue uncharted territory at points of artistic exhaustion. By the end of the ’90s, Britpop, the nation’s dominant guitar-based genre of the decade, had all but run its course, its principle flagship band, Manchester’s Oasis, reaching the point of what Pitchfork’s Hartley Goldstein called, “semi-retirement and complete creative bankruptcy.”

As Britpop faded, a new rock paradigm came into view, symbolized by established bands like Radiohead and U2, as well as by acolytes like Coldplay, Muse, and Travis. Less tied to the Beatles and Kinks formulas that had restricted Britpop’s song structures and styles, the so-called new millennium rock was less standardized and more ambitious in scope and purpose. Through an array of adventurous releases, Radiohead et al established an encouraging precedent: experimental rock music could still garner a receptive audience. And many of the new groups—Elbow and Doves among them—were taking note(s).

Although new millennium rock was neither rooted in nor developed from Manchester’s rock traditions, when filtered through and embraced by the city’s bands the genre often expressed many recognizable and long-standing local characteristics. Its anthemic song constructions played well to the stadium ambitions of U2, but in the hands of Elbow and Doves a more bitter-sweet melancholy and “rainy day” pall tempered the genre’s inclinations towards euphoria and grandiosity. Big and bombastic in the hands of Muse, Elbow and Doves brought modest restraint to their epic constructions. Slow burning and textural like Radiohead, Elbow and Doves juxtaposed their art rock atmospherics with more down-to-earth and grounded lyrical explorations.

New millennium rock has become the prevailing genre of the last decade for British bands with guitars, and it has also contributed a new chapter to the history of Manchester music. A low key and folk-oriented side to the form has been represented by such introspective operators as Badly Drawn Boy, I Am Kloot, and David Gray, while Elbow and Doves have developed a more multifaceted neo-progressive style. In their hands, an “introspective epic” side to new millennium rock has emerged, a sub-genre particularly identified with artists hailing from the Manchester music scene. This sub-genre echoes many of the hallmarks of the city’s musical roots, while simultaneously expanding beyond them, in the process continuing Manchester’s long-standing artistic trajectories towards innovation and influence.

Roots ‘n’ Fruits

The history of Manchester rock has been one where external as well as internal influences have been enthusiastically embraced, each used as stepping stones into new avenues of musical development. Elbow and Doves are clearly bands whose members have large and eclectic record collections. Classic prog rockers like Pink Floyd, Genesis, and ELO linger in the grooves of both bands’ long, shape-shifting songs, in their time variations, in their multiple effects, and in their experimental sonic directives. Tinkling pianos enter and exit, horns interject, orchestras soar, and choirs join in, often within the same song!

Yet this is not your father’s prog rock, as the moody sound-scapes of Elbow and Doves are infiltrated by the pulses of modernity, too, ambient techno rhythms often providing the backdrops for the more traditional instrumentation, particularly in Doves’ works. Radiohead are the common denominator inspiration here, but the acid house beats that the Madchester scene imported from Detroit and Chicago are equally omnipresent, while Manchester’s northern soul tradition—rooted in the beats of Motown—can also be heard, if, perhaps, by way of the precedential forays of the Stone Roses. For all the broad-ranging influences and deep musical roots at the heart of Elbow and Doves, a notably Manchester sound still emanates from them in the final product. As the NME opined when reviewing Doves’ house-inspired debut album, Lost Souls (2000), “above all you hear a time and place” in the songs. (“Lost Souls” 31 March 2000)

The striking similarities that make Elbow and Doves kindred rock spirits can be accounted for by their own deep roots in time and place. Unlike so many boom-and-bust bands of these times, Elbow and Doves are classically mature bands who paid their dues through many years of labor on the Greater Manchester small club circuit. While the Elbow boys met at school in Bury during the late ’80s, Doves came from Wilmslow but came together through their common attendance at Manchester’s infamous Factory-owned Hacienda Club, which, during the late ’80s, was the epicenter of the city’s acid house craze. There, they met with such Factory insiders as Rob Gretton and Bernard Sumner.

Then called Sub Sub, they signed with the former’s Rob Records and received production assistance from the latter, enjoying some commercial success with a few techno-inspired releases that owed more than a little to the prevailing Madchester techno scene, particularly to Sumner’s New Order. The band recently paid tribute to this influence with “Jetstream” (from Kingdom of Rust [2009]), a song that could sit snugly within any New Order collection.

Elbow were similarly affected by the music that surrounded them in early nineties Manchester. Unlike Doves, however, they drew more inspiration from earlier local acts like Joy Division and The Smiths than from the pulsing beats of acid house. Ian Curtis’ bleak musings on existential themes and affairs of the heart echo through Guy Garvey’s similarly introspective reflections, though Garvey has a perspective more attuned to redemption than fated futility. Morrissey’s wry observational humor is also apparent in Garvey’s lyrics, self-deprecation being the common ingredient tempering their ubiquitous melodramatic pleas and lovelorn personas. PopMatters critic Michael Lomas assesses Garvey as “a less maudlin Morrissey” but still “one funny fucker.” (“Elbow: Leaders of the Free World”, 17 February 2006) Both largely out-of-step with the Britpop explosion of the mid-’90s, Elbow and Doves were spectators as their fellow Mancunians Oasis exported the genre’s local manifestation around the globe. Such mis-timing has proven to be a mixed blessing for these bands, though, for as much as the ’90s were barren years for them, when Britpop faded so Elbow and Doves were prepared to step into the void it left.

Now, rather than being perceived as aging has-beens (as Oasis have been), they have been embraced with adulation and admiration, their experience and perseverance seen as welcome aberrations within an industry ordinarily intent on disregarding such traits. Moreover, thanks to the good fortune of the winds of change, both bands have found that the neo-prog innovations they labored upon in decades past have now become the cutting edges of a larger rock zeitgeist, thus propelling them and their music to the forefront of critically-admired British guitar rock. And unlike some of the pouting prima donnas that preceded them from within Manchester’s rock royal court (hello Liam!), such a happy accident could not have happened to a more modest, accommodating, and nicer bunch of blokes.

Manchester United

Manchester United

The current crop of Manchester bands continues a long-standing local tradition of communality, both in regards to a vibrant inter-band network and a conscious connectedness to audiences. This practice of participating in a mutual support system, of working together for the greater good, is as practical as it is missionary in nature. Set apart from the industry’s and country’s capital, London, Manchester—like so many of Britain’s musical outposts—has found that strength can only come through the presence of numbers. By banding together, Manchester has fostered and forced its own scene within and beyond, garnering attention for multiple bands simultaneously.

Thus, when one ship sails beyond the city limits, all surrounding boats rise, too. Such a survivalist ethic of underdogs uniting for both an individual and common cause has long maintained Manchester as a focus and fountain of talent. One might argue that this communality has deeper local sources, too, in the early trade unions and protest groups that forged solidarity amongst the working classes as Manchester struggled with the transformations of the industrial revolution. Asked to explain the tight-knit Manchester music scene, Damon Gough (a.k.a. Badly Drawn Boy) pinpointed “the general pride” and “the hustle bustle of being in a working class environment.” (“Q&A: Badly Drawn Boy interview”, CNN, 24 November 2006)

Doves benefited from Mancunian hospitality early in their career when—as noted—Bernard Sumner of New Order assisted them in their Sub Sub recordings and manager Rob Gretton adopted them into his fold. Later, when Doves’ studio burned down, it was New Order who stepped up to rent the band their old practice space. “We look after each other,” says Elbow’s Guy Garvey, a local figure increasingly tagged with the moniker “Mr. Manchester” since the death of Tony Wilson. Besides assisting with the local Skinny Dog label, Garvey has worked with many on the local rock roster, even producing I Am Kloot’s debut album. “I’ve had a beer with everyone,” Garvey adds. (“Seldom Seen Never Bettered” by Kev Heath, Liberation Frequency.co.uk)

For Elbow, communality means more than just working with neighboring artists, though. It is a pronounced feature of the band’s very identity. Cast of Thousands (2003) paid tribute to their fan base, its song “Grace Under Pressure” featuring the cast of thousands (among them Doves’ Jimi Goodwin) in attendance at the band’s 2002 Glastonbury Festival performance. During the song’s soaring finale, Garvey updates old Beatles sentiments by leading his cast through a communal sing-along of the line, “We still believe in love, so fuck you!” Such a sentiment of commitment and togetherness, of us against the world, has become a hallmark, not only of Elbow’s lyrical philosophy, but often of Manchester and the Manchester music scene in general.

Alexis Petridis recently described Doves as a “humble” band, saying, “the sarky hauteur common among Manc musicians is nowhere to be found.” He no doubt had such singularly-driven provocateurs as Oasis and Stone Roses in mind with this statement of contrast. And though these earlier bands exuded the spirit and pulse of Manchester every bit as much as Doves and Elbow currently do, the recent bands embody an almost hippy-like community consciousness that sets them apart from their more punk-inspired, spit ‘n’ spite predecessors. Unglamorous, understated, and undemonstrative though they may be, Doves and Elbow signify a commitment to cooperation, collectivity, and community.

However, because such “activism” has taken place in local obscurity—rather than via the media spotlight—these bands have been less rock star-amenable than some of their peers and predecessors. Modest and dedicated, Doves and Elbow register in the nine-to-five tradition of working class Manchester, where respect is earned over time through practices of hard work, and character is assessed by the criteria of true-to-self authenticity and true-to-others selflessness.

Home is Where the Art Is

Guy Garvey’s girlfriend once quipped that her “guy” had written more love songs about Manchester than he had about personal relationships. In reality, though, the two are inextricably linked in Elbow songs, Manchester invariably playing backdrop to more intimate intimations. Furthermore, to call these “love songs” is to underestimate the level of ambivalence inherent. In his songs of both people and places, Garvey’s romantic yearnings are always tempered by a disquieting despair, cravings to stay, leave, and return tugging at each other and in constant tension.

“How’s about getting out of this place anyways?” Garvey sings on “Any Day Now” from their debut album, Asleep at the Back (2002). The band got to satisfy this wanderlust in the years thereafter, hitting the road beyond the parochial confines of hometown Bury. With the release of Leaders of the Free World (2005) a few years later, however, it was apparent that such escapist dreams had been supplanted by homesickness. The sentiments of that album’s “Station Approach” are forthright, blunt, and typically confused: “I never know what I want but I know when I’m low that I need to be in the town where they know what I’m like and don’t mind.”

Pride of place and comfort in the familiarity of home inspire this sentimental ode to Manchester. “Coming home I feel like I designed these buildings I walk by,” Garvey sings, adding a psychogeographical dimension to his celebratory homecoming.

“Forget Myself” (2005), with its “Penny Lane”-like detailed observations of Manchester street life, is more ominous, its images of “packs” of shoppers “moaning for mercy” serving as a backdrop for the narrator’s “broken heart”. One is reminded here of Morrissey’s plaintive juxtapositions of public views with private reflections in The Smiths’ “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now”. Here, though, place is more pronounced in the personal, the chorus line forging the two: “No, I know I won’t forget you / But I’ll forget myself, if the city will forgive me.”

More than any other Manchester band since The Smiths, Elbow use local imagery to evoke emotional states. “As long as it’s part of the bigger picture,” Garvey explains. “Great Expectations” (2005) is particularly poignant in illustrating this lyrical methodology. A filmic portrait of a moment in love, the song charts a couple’s walk down the aisle of the last bus home. With understated simplicity, an emotional crescendo is reached through the weight of memory and the specificity of details, as the narrator imagines the surrounding passengers as participants in the love ritual, a “call girl” acting as “witness and priest” and the “Stockport supporters club” supplying the heavenly choir. As Simon and Garfunkel did in songs like “America”, Elbow employ the particulars of place—here on a Greater Manchester bus—in order to pictorially animate universally common emotions.

Whereas Leaders of the Free World captured a band seeking to reconnect with their Mancunian roots, Seldom Seen Kid (2008) finds them in a deep state of ambivalence, despair fueling feelings of uncertainty and dislocation. Primarily sparked by the loss of their close friend and local musician, Brian Clancy, the album investigates how loss relates to both personal and geographical displacement. “I’ve been working on a cocktail called ‘Grounds for Divorce’ / Polishing a compass that I hold in my sleep”, Garvey wails with blues-infused grief on “Grounds for Divorce”. “There’s a hole in my neighborhood,” he adds resignedly, suggesting that the loss of his friend amounts to the diminishment of the spirit of Manchester culture itself.

Equally adept at capturing personal circumstances via topographical settings are Doves. Album titles like Some Cities (2005) and Kingdom of Rust (2009) establish their urban milieu, while nature-bound titles like “Winter Hill” and “Bird Flew Backwards” (both from Kingdom of Rust) suggest alternative desires to escape the city-scapes. Like Elbow, Doves use sounds and words as visual devices, as sparks for our imaginations to cross sensory lines. And as befits bands hailing from the city that provided the first passenger railway service, travel—particularly by trains—provides metaphors for themes of movement, unrest, escapism, and life journeys. Doves’ equivalent to Elbow’s “Station Approach” is “10.03” (2009), a conventional riding-the-rails blues melody set against a techno-modern rhythmic backdrop, while an earlier song, “M62” (2002), had the band surveying urban topography from the context of a North-West motorway; indeed, they even recorded the song under one of its overpasses.

Reflective of their techno roots, Doves experience Manchester in fast-forward mode, with a rhythmic momentum of and about movement, speed, and change. Some Cities recognize the transformations that cities like Manchester have gone through in recent decades, the progressions weighed against the inevitable loss of tradition, the commercial vibrancy against the erasure of character and distinction. “Home feels like a place I’ve never been,” reflects Jimi Goodwin on “House of Mirrors” (2009).

For “mature” local bands like Doves and Elbow, contemporary Manchester—like so many cities in recent years—is barely recognizable from how it looked and was experienced a generation ago; it’s a city in flux, its personality mutable and unclear. As such, these bands continue to find personal inspiration from their place of identity, to see themselves in the city and the city in themselves, each serving as apt metaphors in accounting for the changing conditions of the other.