It’s a tired cliché, but it does work: a song that has nothing to do with a particular city, reminding you exactly of that city. The first time I went to Manchester it was a cold November, for a job fair at the G-Mex Centre, now Manchester Central Convention Complex. The job fair was exhausting, but as promised, we had our travel expenses from Nottingham reimbursed. My friend saved it for a later date, I spent it on books and DVDs. No job came from that job fair, but I got to see a place that I wanted to visit during the 90s.

The Madchester era was long gone by 2003, but still, one off the bucket list.

Before leaving Nottingham and buggering off back to Mexico in 2004, I went again, now with another friend, who, let’s say, is geographically challenged. So the struggle of sudden bursts of flurry was enhanced by having to drag around a guy who was obnoxious as heck. Still, managed to score two Weezer albums from a shop. 2 for 10 quid. Bargain back then.

When I eventually made my triumphant (!) return to England, my bucket list consisted of three places: York, Mam Tor, and Manchester. That buzzing feeling I had arriving in September of 2008 was intoxicating, and the random song shuffled by my iPod was Doves’ Black and White town. They are from Wilmslow, so Manchester plays no part on their geography.

Walking around town, getting to know the bits and bobs, the wide streets, and the jennels. It was like a small puzzle. The city had changed, and it would change over the years. The Granada TV building, a sight for anoraks like me, is now gone. New Broadcasting House, on Oxford Road, and it’s lovely BBC signage, now dust in a landfill. Things change, I know, but I also need to accept it. It was a shock when I came back in 2018 and pretty much walked all of Manchester’s city centre, from 9 am until 10 pm. Because anxiety is apparently a motivator for walking. That and a bottle of Frijj.

Many a great gig were witnessed in Manchester. I even had to sleep overnight at Picadilly, since I missed my train and a night at a rail station is a strange, almost psychedelic dream. Replacement buses, interviews with bands, being a roadie for a band, getting dumb drunk and crying about an ex at a pub with a good friend from Southporth (thanks, Stu!). So many experiences, good and bad.

Black and White Town. That piano interpolation from Martha and the Vandellas’ Heatwave. The urgency in Andy Williams drumming keeps you in good spirits, and Jimi Goodwin’s honeysuckle voice tells a sad story in a wonderful way. Don’t crack your head on that pavement; crank the volume up!

-Sam J. Valdés López