Retrospective : Placebo, Manchester Academy 1998

PLACEBO with ULTRASOUND, MANCHESTER ACADEMY, OCTOBER 18th 1998

1998 was the gig-going year of my youth - I attended many gigs before and after this year, but 1998 was the year when I truly felt like I'd gained my post-school, young-adult status and freedom.
I had a small amount of income from my part-time job working at Afflecks Palace, and still living at home meant I could spend the cash any way I so desired, which mostly meant attending 2-3 gigs a week.
When I picked-up an Academy flyer during one of my shifts at Afflecks, and saw Placebo were coming to Manchester, I elatedly ran to a phone box to call my then-best friend, and offered to pay for her ticket in advance - this was a show I thought would sell out almost straight away.

You see, for us indie kids who gained our seminal self-defined musical education via the twangy guitars riffs and jolly-holiday sentiments of Brit Pop, Placebo were like a heart-jumping, body-seizing last gasp of fresh air when all was starting to feel musically stifled and suffocating.
Placebo were cool. We were just that bit too young to really appreciate Nirvana and the rough-and-tumble of Grunge, with all it's heavy guitars and politics. However, with Placebo, we had our own opportunity to really rock-out and a reason to wear eye liner, a chance for indie kids to dip their toes in the edgy and unknown world of heavy indie rock, which was sprinkled with hints of Goth, Metal and Grunge. Placebo were exciting.

They also spoke a language which had laid dormant since the age of Grunge; the voice of the disgruntled, unappreciated outsiders to mainstream culture. The Gothy S&M front of Brian Molko, along with his androgynous and svelte silhouette and his offbeat lyricism gave the "townies" and conservative types something to gripe about and, quite ignorantly, fear.
Other than the twee and tongue-in-cheek statements made by Jarvis Cocker in songs like "Mis-Shapes"

You could end up with a smack in the mouth, just for standing out

there really wasn't anyone around fighting the corner for those of us on the side-lines in the popularity game any more.
Then came Placebo. "Teenage Angst", "Nancy Boy", "Without You I'm Nothing" and "You Don't Care About Us" screamed at us from a void that was waiting to be filled.

When I arrived at the Academy I sensed the euphoric anticipation in the air, it was intoxicating. I was thrilled to find that prog-rocking, alt-indie outfit Ultrasound had been brought in as support to Placebo, and I knew this was going to be an important gig experience.
However, I didn't realise why this gig would be a cornerstone in my social and musical life until Ultrasound came to the stage.

It's no secret that "Tiny", lead singer of Ultrasound, possibly has the most ironic stage-name in music history. He is, of course, really not tiny at all, and in fact quite large, in regards to the BMI spectrum.
As far as I was aware, he was quite rightly proud of his large stature, and this being just before dawn of the 21st century, he made no qualms in supporting the other culture "outsiders" like himself.

Most notably, Tiny was employed by kitsch working class-champion and entrepreneur Wayne Hemingway, to strut his topless, ample torso down the Catwalk with "Unique" emblazoned across his midriff in red lipstick. Frankly, he didn't seem to give a shit, and nor did I, I appreciated his forth-right stance on self expression.
Ultrasound's most significant release was "Stay Young" - tribal drums, swooping and glazed Neil Young-esque guitars. Fantastic lyrics about urging the young not to relinquish their youth in pursuit of unknown pleasures. Then the spine-tingling, operatic vocals of Vanessa Best to top it all off... it still remains one of the most unappreciated tracks to be released in the 1990's.

In my mind, this Placebo gig was a hive of the unappreciated. I naively thought that we, the audience, were all there in a kind of musical-stronghold, heralding the concept of individualism and the right to exist in whatever form you so desired, as long as you didn't harm anyone else in the process.

It turned out I was wrong, oh so very wrong.

Ultrasound arrived on stage and burst straight into the first song of their set. When they finished, they were met with a shoddy round of applause, and then, a barrage of insults.

"WHO ATE ALL THE PIES?!"

"GET OFF THE STAGE YOU FAT BASTARD!!!"

Groups of the audience chanted together, laughing, booing. My soul took a stage dive.

What happened to this "Hey we're all in this 'being on the outside' together" ethos I thought we were all here to champion? Around me I heard sneering comments about Tiny's waistline, churlish cackles about him being too fat to be on the stage.

I was dumbstruck. I came to realise that these "alternative" folks were nothing but a bunch of judgmental, cool-kids who'd come to see the freak in leather sing about lube, ass and cross-dressing. They'd somehow got the memo that Placebo were the kind of music you should listen to if you want to piss off mummy and daddy, and that was the only substance to their attendance.

Tiny's facial expression dropped slightly once the insults started, from eager excitement, to crestfallen acquiescence of the crowds' disapproval of his apparently problematic physique.
My heart dropped along with his features, these aren't my people, I am ashamed of these cultural interlopers.

In a brief break betwixt the heckling, I emphatically screeched out an opposing "I LOVE YOU ULTRASOUND! I LOVE YOU TINY!", my 16 year old girl-voice lost in the crowd.

Ultrasound boldly continued on with their set, but not without a taint of rejection and sadness to their performance. Vanessa Best could be seen stage-right, occasionally interjecting her bass-lines with a snarling exchange of "WANKER" with various crowd members.
The crowds continued to disrupt the Ultrasound show, until Molko made an impromptu appearance mid-set, when he promised the crowd they would be going home without seeing Placebo perform if they refused to show a little goddamn respect.

I knew times were a-changing, it was undoubtedly the first time I realised that being "unique" was often actually nothing more than a badge to be worn by those whom didn't have anything noteworthy about themselves otherwise.
You can dye your hair black, wear black nail polish, tattoo and pierce yourself from head to toe, but when you start deriding a man for being too fat to sing on stage, there's some serious hypocrisy that needs resolving.

After Ultrasound vacated the stage, Placebo followed-up soon after, with Brian Molko slinking his way under the spot light, a glint of indignation in his eyes as he surveyed the whistling and screaming crowd.
Two songs in to the set, he moved close to the microphone and said quite sternly "THIS SONG'S FOR ULTRASOUND. IT'S HOW THEY FEEL ABOUT YOU" at which point, the band erupted in to "You Don't Care About Us", full-throttle.

You Don't Care About Us by Kittysaros

It was Placebo's FUCK YOU to the paying audience, without putting too many noses out of joint.

I sensed a vague nuance of embarrassment in the audience once Molko made his musical statement on behalf of Ultrasound. It seemed as though those that had previously been jeering Tiny, were somehow surprised to find that Brian wasn't exactly on their side.

I put my anger and disappointment in my peers straight back in to the event, and allowed myself to be thrown about the writhing crowd and mosh-pit of the Academy. I scream-sang so loud, I lost my voice for 2 days afterwards. I left the gig sweaty, tired, musically-fulfilled, but with a small dent in my heart that had been otherwise quite pristine beforehand.

Think I'll leave it all behind, save this bleeding heart of mine.
It's a matter of trust.
Because.
You don't care about us.
It's your age, It's my rage.

Sharston Baths

Many years ago, a looming great piece of Modernist architecture cast shadow over the speeding cars of the Sharston section of the M56.

The Sharston Baths, constructed in 1959 (originally known as the Wythenshawe Baths, before the creation of the Forum) were at the epicentre of every Wythenshawe child's life for many years, until they were sadly demolished in the mid-nineties.

The designs for the baths were created in 1955 by City Architect L. C. Howitt (Leonard Cecil Howitt), whom conceived some of Manchester's most notable pieces of Modernist architecture, including the much-celebrated Toast Rack, Manchester Crown Court and Blackley Crematorium; a building I had the mournful duty of visiting as a teen when a friend's father passed-away.

I believe that the architecture of Sharston Baths has been over-looked for many reasons, and if it still stood today would be surely upgraded to a listed building.
Visiting Shartson Baths, passing by the Toast Rack on the bus, making a sad entrance to Blackley Crematorium as teenager - something really shook my ideas of what civic buildings should look like, and this is credit to L. C. Howitt as an architect.

The ominous concrete bones and glassy skin of the architecture stood clear of its surrounding fellow denizen structures; Dutch-roof council houses of the 1930s, the conventionality of Victorian-built "The Sharston" public house.

Models of Sharston Baths proposed design.

This grey monolith did nothing with its presence to deter the young from enjoying almost daily swim-trips, Sharston Baths was at the heart of a community that would otherwise be deprived of such leisure activities.

From the day of its creation, until its untimely demise, the pool offered many out-of-the-ordinary spectacles for the locals to enjoy, including a 1969 visit from what the children were lead to believe was "Flipper" - the spectacular, crime-fighting Dolphin.
The Dolphin in question actually turned-out to be a generic porpoise, given the name of Flipper to bring in the crowds - however, I'm quite certain that the exotic nature of the event would have been enough to generate a stir in the community without the Hollywood spangled Flipper moniker on the posters.

As a side-note, the original Flipper (real name Mitzi) never left her

watery home of the US, and apparently died of a heart attack in 1972.

Sharton Baths was on the precipice of boasting an Olympic Size pool, if it were not for a tile-miscalculation - the concrete frame of the pool had been designed exactly 50 meters in length. However, once tiling of the inside commenced, it slowly became clear that the pool's length was decreasing, leaving it just that bit too short to qualify as "Olympic-size".
I'm sure this caused much confusion and embarrassment for the contractors and council at the time, however, the patrons were patently oblivious.

Pale, skinny prepubescent children would throw themselves with reckless abandon from aloft the 12 foot diving boards, in to the great depths of the deep end. There was austere joy in consuming watery chicken consommé in too-hot-to-hold plastic cups from the vending machines, inhaling the insipid chickeny aroma to counteract the thick stench of council-commissioned chlorine in the air.

Mid-1960s Certificate

I received my first swimming certificate from Sharston Baths (my 5 meters) as did my mother, and thousands of others from all different generations of Wythenshawe.

This is my ode to Sharston Baths (1959 - mid nineteen nineties).

All photos are from the Manchester Local Image Collection.

A huge thank you to The Manchester Modernist Society for their additional information.