(Mad): Scenes 4-6

SCENE 4

March 1981: Tony Wilson is showing New Order around the Marine Center on Whitworth Street – with them are Mike Pickering & Rob Gretton

Tony Wilson
Welcome to the proto-Hacienda,
The Ur-Hamlet, lets say, or the Hobbit,
This space, this place, shall be own demense
For we deserve a place to socialize
As does this fabulous city of ours
If Manchester has made us, let us gift
A present back to goodly Manchester,
Look at the fuckin’ Beatles, working class
Scouse lads shifted lock-stock to Saville Row
Factory the sacred antithesis
Of such turncoat disloyalty to roots

Rob Gretton
Besides, I cannot DJ anywhere
In Manchester, obviously
Jealous of my talents, but I will need
Somewhere to play my music for the birds

Tony Wilson
Remov’d from smoky, scampi-in-basket
Scarlet-lampshade nightclubs, dress code wanky,
Rotters & Oscars, brown bottle, old school,
Table-cloths, Jilly’s lagerlout ethics,
These are the nineteen eighties, sweeping change
Has blown away the empires of nations
So why not modes of late night dance & drink

Peter Hook
I understand, we’ve partied in New York
Confestively on another level

Tony Wilson
You were the city’s deputations there

Stephen Morris
O! what a whirl of wonder & lightning
Eden, Danceteria, & Tier 3
From steamy, low end sweatshops painted black
To Ritz’s full of art installations,
Bacchanalia was all we desired

Rob Gretton
Ne’er should an artist understimate
The influence of early adventures
Without Childe Harold would Byron be great
Without New York would we be standing here

Peter Hook
Some devote their lives to trees, some deserts,
Others to booming music in the dark,
I’m well up for a nightclub to call home
A place for strepic pleasures to uphold
It should be a parable of the present
A polythemic congress of the faiths,
Electro, disco, funk, punk, cocktail bars,
& party alcoves, creativity
Focuss’d, for buildings create synergy

Tony Wilson
Yes, buildings alter ways that people think
I mean, just look at Renaissance Florence

Bernard Sumner
Yeah, but, this isn’t Renaissance Florence
This is Dark Age Manchester, in the rain
A New York disco to this city moved
A senseless act based on a sceneless base

Stephen Morris checks the acoustics with a loud shout

Rob Gretton
Bloody hell fire

Stephen Morris
The acoustics are superb
The rest is an obstacle shambolic
But potentially fucking brilliant
As things mutate their being is improved
The natural selection of a space
It just needs the right vibes to set it off

Tony Wilson
For those ascending Mount Improbables
Claiming crown summits doubles the glory,
But think about it, the location’s great
The living rooms of Hulme just down the road
Will pack it to the rafters if they know
A night of decent music’s half a mile,
Ten minutes til they step inside
A temple for this next generation
Of kids untouch’d by rockist snobbery

Rob Gretton
Think of it less of an old-fashion’d disco
But more of a community service
Where people can trade off inspiration
When hearing fresh ideas every day
This city’s splinter’d scenes shall coalesce
& disliquate to a single gospel

Mike Pickering
What did you say it was gonna be call’d

Rob Gretton
The Hacienda

Bernard Sumner
Bit Mexican like

Peter Hook
Yeah, why, why that

Tony Wilson
I was reading a book
Call’d ‘Leaving the Twentieth century,’
Limited edition, seventy-four,
Situationist International,
Where Franco-Russian Ivan Chtcheglov
Wrote, wait, I have a photocopy here;

And you, forgotten, your memories ravaged by all consternations of two hemispheres, stranded in the Red Cellars of Pali-Kao, wiithour music & without geography, no longer setting out for the hacienda where the roots think of the child & where the wine is finished off with fables from an old almanac. That’s all over. You’ll never see the hacienda. It doesn’t exist. The hacienda must be built

Rob Gretton
The Hacienda must be built… boys, BOYS!

Peter Hook
Well lets fucking build the fucker then!

Stephen Morris
YES!
We’re gonna have our own friggin’ nightclub
These coming brisk & giddy-footed times
Shall invocate the ghosts of dance-floors past
In polychromic fashions yet undar’d

Peter Hook

Then let this dull, grey city yield to light!

Rob Gretton
The light of nights of music, here shall be
A mortar & brick manifestation
Of New Order, of Factory artwork
You can literally walk right into
Forum to fall in love, to dance, to slump,
Perform, work, plan, & just like now, to dream

Mike Pickering
So as your future booker of the bands
Where the hell ya gonna put the stage

Rob Gretton
At the end obvioulsy

Tony Wilson
No, no, no
We haven’t discuss’d that yet properly
But let the dais prosper centralized
This is fundamentally a disco
Not a space for performers & egos
The club shall be the master, not the flesh

Enter Martin Hannet

Martin Hannet
Oi wankers, you pile of pretentious cunts

Tony Wilson
Martin, so glad you could make it today

Martin Hannet
Let me interject here for a moment
I quit

Tony Wilson
What

Martin Hannet
You should be spending money
On top of the range production equipment
Make records sound the best that they can be
Not spunking it all up against a wall
Especially these shite, recreant walls,
Nah – you’re never gonna see me again
I’m far too good for you, for Factory
For failing, as this venture surely shall

Exit Martin

Bernard Sumner
Well, that didn’t go well, did it Tony

Tony Wilson
He’ll be back, that’s a tamazi tantrum

Stephen Morris
How much is it going to cost us Tony

Peter Hook
& who’s gonna run it

Bernard Sumner
Logistics, lads

Rob Gretton
Well, the plan is we’re going to let it loose
Rather than just run it

Tony Wilson
Seventy grand
Half from Factory, half from New Order

Stephen Morris
Thirty-five grand, but the band only draws
Twenty quid a week each, that sounds crazy

Tony Wilson
We’ll use the profits from Unknown Pleasures

Bernard Sumner
We will, will we?

Peter Hook
At the end of the day
We are still gonna get paid our wages
& we’re gonna have a nightclub to do
Whatever we want, whenever we please
Reciprocally splendid arrangement
Argumentative ingenuity
Prevails thee yet again, Tony
There might be a million ways to die
But there is only one way we should live
No-one changed the world by being normal,
Life’s remit is to leave a legacy
Suggesting greatness to posterity
For us, it seems, our destiny shall be
The most avant-garde club in the whole world

Tony Wilson
That’s the matter, I cannot help but think
Our spirits once they obtain their conquests
Retain them forever, that from the heights
They’ve rais’d themselves, unable then to fall
For us the Hacienda is that height
Hoch soll sie leben

Rob Gretton
Eh

Tony Wilson
Long may she live

The lads make gratuitous cheers in celebration


Scene 5

1983: Ian Brown’s flat, Hulme – it is his girlfriend, Michelle’s 21st birthday party — Ian is talking Gluebag Glen / Enter Jodie & Geno Washington

Jodie
Ian

Ian Brown
Hey Jodie, who’s this

Geno Washington
I’m Geno,
Geno Washington

Ian Brown
Never heard of you

Geno Washington
I’m from outta town, been playing a gig
In your town, its kinda cool, Manchester

Ian Brown
Then welcome to my home’s humility
But what fatequirk hath shone thy light on Hulme

Geno Washington
I was playing that gig at the uni
& was signing some autographs out back
When this one told me about your party
& its hard to say no to girls like Jodie

Ian Brown
Sweet, brother, sweet, you wanna drink?

Geno Washington
Whiskey
Or anything, I don’t really mind

Ian Brown
Sure

Geno Washington
Can I make a smoke, y’know, the good stuff

Gluebag Glen
How good?

Geno Washington
Its Jamaican

Ian Brown
Twos up

Geno Washington
Twos up?

Jodie
He means can he follow you on the joint

Geno Washington
No problem, lets make this shit really great,
Put glide in our stride, & loot in our
Flute

Gluebag Glen
Fuck’s sake, Lucy’s just come in, big mistake
I’m outta here

Ian Brown
Gonna sort out them trips

Gluebag Glen
I’m on it

Exit Gluebag Glen / Enter Lucy & Donna

Lucy
Ian, Ian Brown, its me

Ian
Huh

Lucy Davidson
Lucy Davidson from Altrincham

Ian Brown
O, its been a while

Lucy
Sure, you’re all grown up
& looking good

Ian Brown
Thanks

Donna
& your party’s ace
Thanks for having us

Lucy
Where’s your Michelle then

Ian Brown
She’s always in the kitchen holding court

Donna
Nice one – best go & give her her present

Lucy
Bye Ian

Ian Brown
Go & help yourself to drinks

Geno Washington
Those girls were sure into your style brother

Jodie
They all are, all the girls like our Ian

Geno Washington
Looks like you’ve got lots of action going on

Ian Brown
Nah, man, I’m just hanging around, foolin
With my boys, listening to the music
I’ve never been a massive tail-chaser
& besides, wait til you meet my Michelle
A lovelier lass you will never meet
For her I’m like a loyal labrador

Geno Washington
Here, take this
{passes Ian the joint}

Jodie
I’m off for a mingle boys

Geno Washington
Thanks for bringing me here, Jodie, real good
Got my mojo going and everything

Jodie
Pleasure

Exit Jodie

Geno Washington
You oughtta be a pop star

Ian Brown
What

Geno Washington
You oughtta go into the pop business
Whenever girls go crazy in that way
I seen ‘em swarm oer you, I see a star

Ian Brown
No chance, mate

Geno Washington
Trust me, the boys dig you too

Ian Brown
But it’s our party & these are my friends
That’s why they like me, I’m the host

Geno Washington
You sing?

Ian Brown
Sing, not really, no, I don’t sing at all

Geno Washington
Do you write songs?

Ian Brown
Well, sort of,
I did form a band, once, with some schoolmates
& play’d the bass & forg’d the odd lyric
But we drifted adulthoodly apart
For everything dustdwindles in the end

Geno Washington
Unless that dust is stardust, son, listen
Ya gotta get the boys back together
Mark my words, the best thing you’ll ever do
Goddamn it, when you was back in your school
Did you write poetry, some shit like that?

Ian Brown
Yeah

Geno Washington
Now, I’m being very serious
Composing poems leaves you but an inch
From writing songs, in the music business
That is where the pie is, you’ve got the looks,
You got the personality, & so
All you need to do’s to learn how to sing
& write your own songs, then cooking on gas,
Perform them from an ever-bigger stage.

Ian Brown
Really? You think so?

Geno Washington
I’m speaking the truth,
I’m aint bullshitting you boy, I see things
Sometimes, & tonight I see a shamen,
But you cannot see the secret yourself,
You don’t really know what you got going
You got the looks, the personality
People love you, you’re a goddamn magnet
All you gotta do is write more poems
Then etch those rhymes in music, make pure songs

Ian Brown
Yeah, I’ll look into it, I’ll look into it,

Geno Washington
Good, good, just listen to Uncle Geno
At the start you might sound shit, but hold this
Single thought inside – ‘I’m just warming up,’
The more you do the more you will improve,
You got it in your hand, man, go do this
Youre a star, go do the thing – as for me,
I’m off to find that stunning little Jodie

Ian Brown
{passing back the joint}
OK man, hey, you will be needing this

Exit Geno – Ian stands all alone in the centre of the party with a new sense of purpose


Scene 6

1983: The Hacienda, just before The Smiths come on stage – Lucy is in the crowd, as is Joe : they are dancing to DJ music / Joe sings to/at Lucy

SONG: Lyrical Fireflies

Joe
She’s a mystery
Like a troubl’d dream
Then she came up to me
& ask’d me what did I see
I said I’ve seen the sunrise
I said I’ve seen the sunset
Then she dropp’d to her knees
& ask’d me what did I mean
I said you are my firefly

She’s the song of God
We’ve been dreaming of
Then she mention’d the show
& said, ‘would I like to know
I really wanna see them play
I’ve heard they’ve blown the world away’
She pick’d me up by my hand
& with a tactile command
Ask’d us to dance like fireflies

Lucy
When we listen to the song we are just
Whistling along to the lost messages among
Lyrical educators who entertain us

Joe
Now knowing what I’m knowing now
I’d rather be famous & sing to the ravers
I guess that she’s teaching me how

Lucy
Here’s a song I wrote
So your dreams may float
I’m the best on the scene
& my melody’s green
Like the hills of Northern Thrace
As they soar thro stars & space
While the slide of the waves
Celebrates us in staves
& oer the surf flew fireflies
Oer silver foam flew fireflies
Over the surf flew fireflies

Lucy
Wow, what’s your name

Joe
I’m Joe, nice to meet ya
We totally synchronized then, I stand
Genuflective to thy rampant beauty

Lucy
A charmer – are you here to see the Smiths

Joe
The who?

Lucy
They will be on in a minute
Honestly, I’ve heard some of their demos
You should stick around

Joe
Yeah, I like it here
This amphiktionic party temple
They’ve call’d the Hacienda’s super cool
So, what number are you

Lucy
What do you men

Joe
On your membership card

Lucy
Oh yeah, hang on
{getting out her yellow membership card}
I’m number five, seven, seven, zero

Joe
I’m in the four thousands me, I’m cooler

Lucy
Fuck off

Joe
Sorry

Lucy
So, are you a student

Joe
How can you tell

Lucy
Well, yer accent for one

Joe
I am Lucy, yeah, well spotted, & you?

Lucy
I work in a record shop down Northwich

Joe
Finger on the pulse

Lucy
Indeed, hence I’m here

Joe
I think I came a litle underdress’d
Its absolutely baltic in my coat

Lucy
No hypercaustic floor to keep us warm
But sacrifices must be made to gain
Wisdom, this temple of cultural lore
Of holy hymns beneath cathedral roof,
Thro’ omnivagrant symphonies of song,
Defragmentizes, flagshipping focus
Hath given this dark city a future
Beyond the machinations of ‘the Man’

Joe
I’m all for it, but the sound’s a bit naff
Like a swimming pool, still it’s my new friend
Always recommending brand new music

Enter The Smiths to a ripple of applause

Lucy
Talking of which, here come the Smiths, that guy there
Is Morrissey, he’s a Mancunian
A formidable & inventive force
Of poetry sat on searing setting
Of tight drums, guitar-walls & bass lines deep
Form a deft, inflorescence of song, which
Speaketh amazedly, & hath become
My marvel & my message, to the courts
Of Hulme & Gorton, Salford & Chorlton
No worthless emulations, but heroes!
I’d say I was a fan before them seen
Tonight’s the night, I’m glad you’re here to share

Morrissey
Hello we are The Smiths, we are not smiths
We are The Smiths – the only thing to be
In Nineteen Eighty-Three is handsome

The Smiths begin their set…

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