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The
History of The Haçienda by DJ Dave Haslam |
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| written
exclusively for Pride Of Manchester in June 2003 |
The
Hacienda closed in June 1997 after which it stayed empty for eighteen
months before it was demolished. Bits of the demolished club were
then auctioned off. Bricks were £5 each; the sale raised thousands
of pounds for charity. Now on the site on Whitworth Street there’s
a block of flats mocking us with its use of the Hacienda name. |
But
before we get too deep into the Hacienda’s history perhaps
it’s worth remembering that there have been dozens of other
great clubs and venues that have contributed to the city’s
peerless nightlife scene. Time, though, is merciless. Other great
venues in Manchester’s recent club history have suffered a
similar fate to the Hacienda’s; on the site of The
Gallery on Peter Street there’s a particularly depressing
example of a Bar 38; the site of The Reno in Moss
Side is wasteground; The Boardwalk is an empty
building. |
Despite
all this, interest in the Hacienda has never been greater. In the
late 1980s, the Hacienda was unique. Without the club there would
have been no Cream in Liverpool, and perhaps no
Ministry of Sound. Visits to the Hacienda inspired
DJs like Sasha, the Chemical Brothers,
Laurent Garnier, and Justin Robertson. |
The
recent release of the film (and DVD) ‘Twenty Four
Hour Party People’ is keeping interest in the Hacienda
alive, even though it tells an idiosyncratic version of the history,
mostly based around the story of Tony Wilson (played
by Steve Coogan). You’d have to talk to some
of the longest serving staff members; Leroy Richardson, Andrew Berry,
Angela Matthews or Suzanne Robinson. And the regulars; everyone
has a different version of what went on at the club. You’d
have to collect all those individual memories to make the complete
picture, like getting back those auctioned bricks from their thousand
different homes. |
| Financed
by Factory Records and New Order,
the Hacienda was open for fifteen years. Most nights it opened, money
was lost. Peter Hook once claimed that New
Order would have been better off if they’d given ten
pounds to everyone who ever came to the Hacienda, sent them home,
and not bothered with the club at all. |
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From
Joy Division To New Order |
the
true story of Factory Records |
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| There
were at least a couple of years when it all came together, though;
the end of the 1980s, the Madchester years, the birth
of the rave era. I DJ-ed at the Hacienda nearly five hundred times,
mostly back in the 1980s, and we had some amazing nights there, but
back then, although we knew things were good, I don’t think
anyone would have predicted that over a dozen years later there would
be a film about those years; it was just a matter of getting out there
and enjoying the weekend. Cameras were rare in the club, although
there had been one character, Malcolm, who had a company called Ikon.
He filmed New Order, Mantronix,
Grandmaster Flash, The Smiths and
all the other acts who ever played there but then he disappeared into
the Pennines and no-one has heard from him since. |
| In
the absence of any major archive or much TV footage, the makers of
‘Twenty Four Hour Party People’ built
a stunning replica of the building in a warehouse in Ancoats and opened
the doors to a thousand clubbers one Friday night in March 2001 for
one of the most talked-about nights out in Manchester for years.
Mike Pickering, Graeme Park, Jon
Da Silva and I DJed, and the night exploded. It was a farewell
party, a celebration, a reunion. Within a couple of days the replica
version had been taken down, demolished like the original building,
but the film-makers had got some great footage and we’d had
a ball. |
|
‘Twenty
Four Hour Party People’ is concerned with much more
than the Hacienda, though; it follows the fortunes of Factory
label. Spurred on by punk, Tony Wilson and Alan
Erasmus put on gigs, hosting ‘Factory’ nights
at the Russell Club in Hulme in June 1978, which
led to the formation of Factory Records later in
the same year. |
Rob
Gretton instigated a joint venture between New
Order and Factory Records, looking for
a site for a club of their own. Others involved in the record company
took some persuading. There’s an episode in the film when
Martin Hannett - New Order’s
producer (and co-director of Factory) - throws a massive strop;
he wanted to spend any spare cash on recording technology. |
Late
in 1981 Gretton and friends took a lease on an old yacht showroom
on Whitworth Street West in a semi-derelict part of town overlooked
by a rusting gas works. Making full use of the warehouse layout
- the industrial girders, iron pillars, and high ceiling - Ben
Kelly set about designing the Hacienda, a very different
place to most clubs in Britain with their sticky carpets and potted
plants. The ‘Architectural Review’ called Ben Kelly’s
Hacienda a “pioneering interior”. |
Open
from May 21st 1982, the Hacienda was a members-only club, open sometimes
five or six nights a week. Bills weren’t getting paid and
no money being made. Fortunately for the whole enterprise, New
Order had commercial success with 'Blue Monday';
the single spent 34 weeks in the charts in 1983 and became the biggest
selling 12” record of the era. The band were persuaded to
part with proceeds from their record sales to support the club’s
high losses. |
For
all its aesthetic glory, the Hacienda was cursed with bad acoustics
and poor sightlines. The first resident DJ, Hewan Clarke,
was hidden away in a little boxroom to one side of the stage. He
lobbied for the DJ box to be moved from the bunker and a wooden
structure on the balcony was eventually built, overlooking the dancefloor.
Ben Kelly claimed his design was being compromised,
but it was the perfect move, pre-empting the shift to club nights
and the rise of the superstar DJs. |
 |
Ben
Kelly Designs - Plans and Elevations |
features
The Hacienda & Dry Bar |
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But
in those early years the club would often be empty. I’d sometimes
be there, a paying customer, possibly the only one. I’d sit
at one of the balcony tables watching the videos projected onto
a big screen and listening to the sound Hewan’s electro selections
echo round the hall. Claude Bessy was the video
jock; he’d splice together bondage videos, old black and white
films and weird psychedelia. An amazing character, although he’s
not in '24 Hour Party People'. |
On
one occasion the club hosted an installation by David Mach;
thousands of vinyl copies of New Order’s
‘Confusion’ single were glued together
in huge piles round the dancefloor pillars. This is not in the film
either, although at the time it was impressive. To me, at least,
and probably around two dozen other people, although they never
made a film about us; the twenty four arty people. |
The
smaller clubs were more fun; The Venue, Berlin,
The Playpen, The Man Alive. The
busiest club night at the Hacienda up to 1985 was their ‘No
Funk’ night on a Tuesday. On Saturday nights in 1984
the big tune was Lulu’s ‘Shout’
(you can’t believe this can you?). |
When
Mike Pickering instigated ‘Nude’
night on a Friday it all changed. He had the perfect playlist to
lead the club from post-punk to electro funk. He’d play stuff
like Whistle ‘Please Love Me’, and
the SOS Band ‘Just be Good to Me’.
There were no rules. He was playing house before anyone else. |
Paul
Mason arrived in January 1986 from Rock City in Nottingham
and, with Paul Cons, instituted a new regime. These
two men were pivotal in the story (though they were unrepresented
in ‘Twenty Four Hour Party People’); they were responsible
for the day to day running of the club and the promotion and marketing.
In this era, there were chaotic board meetings when New
Order would be cajoled into pledging more money, and Wilson
and Gretton would air more differences of opinion
(the tension, enmity, between the two men is one of the best things
in the film), but Mason, building on the success of ‘Nude’,
accelerated a switch into club nights. |
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Tony
Wilson - 24 Hour Party People |
what
the sleeve notes never tell you |
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Although
there were some memorable gigs at the club - ‘The
Tube’ filmed Madonna there in 1984,
and the likes of the Birthday Party and The
Smiths had played there too - but by 1986 live music was
clearly not making the Hacienda any money. I’ve always believed
that starting some club nights was a last resort; at that time having
DJs playing was so much cheaper than booking bands. |
I
was invited to launch a Thursday ‘Temperance Club’
night in May 1986. The first night five hundred people came in,
which was pitiful in the context of what went on later, but it was
enough, at the time, for me to be given Saturday nights as well.
By the end of 1986 my DJing was deemed a success and I was given
a pay rise; £110, for two nights work. I wasn’t looking
to make money out of this DJing lark; I might even have done it
for nowt, if they’d asked. |
There
was no plan. No-one got round a table to mastermind the perfect
strategy to ensure we were playing the right records to win ourselves
a place in music history. We were DJs who understood the people
in the queue, and we played what we liked. On Thursdays I played
hip hop, New Order, The Smiths,
The Stooges, and Public Enemy.
Saturdays were more funky, then housey. Mike Pickering
had already been joined by DJ Graeme Park and ‘Nude’
was already legendary. |
By
the end of 1987 the famous Hacienda queues were there from Wednesday
through to Saturday, each night having its own identity. At 9pm
the queue would be round the building. Ironically, considering what
was to happen in the club within a year or so, it was a friendly
crowd. There was more violence at Manchester’s mainstream
nights where lager louts would battle it out with broken bottles
at closing time. |
A
conclusive change came in 1988. Ecstasy use changed clubs forever;
a night at the Hacienda went from being a great night out, to an
intense, life changing experience. The new sounds of house and techno
seemed to survive the club’s poor acoustics; cluttered music
sounded a mess bouncing off the walls of the club, but thudding
beats, piano lines, and minimalist bleeps rocked the room. The music
sounded even better on drugs. |
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Generation
Ecstasty |
into
the world of techno & rave culture |
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I’ve
glimpsed it since in other clubs, looking out of the DJ box and
seeing steam rising, seeing the bodies pressed together, moving
together on the dancefloor. The DJs weren’t in control; it
was like trying to tame a thousand maniacs. The nights were unpredictable,
hard to handle. One night a girl came into the DJ box, took alll
her clothes off, lay on the floor and started pulling at my trousers.
I resisted her charms; no-one ever cleaned the floor, I reasoned,
what was she thinking of? |
The
most intense night was Wednesdays, ‘Hot’,
launched in the second half of 1988, the quintessential Summer of
Love experience piloted by DJs Mike Pickering and
Jon Da Silva. It was like a mini-midweek Ibiza,
with a swimming pool next to the dancefloor, and airhorns and thunderstorms
and pianos filling the air. DJs weren’t quite anonymous, but
they certainly weren’t the stars. The audience was just so
crazed, devoted; nothing would have been achieved without them. |
Whereas
music in clubs is now pigeon-holed and segregated, in those first
years of acid house, the dancefloor was open minded. In retrospect
DJs have tried to convince us of their purist underground credentials,
that wasn’t really the case. In the acid house era you would
have heard house, and techno, but also hip hop records like ‘Know
How’ by Young MC, New Order and
Euro disco tracks by Italian production teams. |
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For
a couple of years, the Hacienda could boast sell-out crowds four
nights a week, but there was massive energy throughout Manchester
at the time; clubs like the Thunderdome and Konspiracy
were also attracting big, discerning crowds. |
Downsides
to all this activity were becoming apparent, though. In July 1989
Claire Leighton took an 'E' given to her by her boyfriend,
collapsed in the club and died thirty-six hours later. By the middle
of 1990 there were problems on the door of all the best clubs in
Manchester; the scene was being wrecked by drug dealers. |
I
finished the 'Temperance Club' night in October
1990; in attempts to control the crowd coming in, the doormen had
started requesting student ID, which is always a bad sign. Unbeknownst
to me, Liam and Noel Gallagher
had just started hanging out in the club. Noel was a roadie with
the Inspiral Carpets, Liam was a devoted fan of
the Stone Roses. It was a wonderful community.
The older generation would hang out too. Mark E Smith
of The Fall would be there, nursing a pint, grumbling
about hairdressers and students in the club. Happy Mondays
and their mates would be underneath the balcony, surrounded by the
thinnest girls in the club. |
The
Hacienda was a great community but escalating drug use meant the
club became a major market for drugs, and violence ensued as gangs
battled for control of the door (and, thus, the supply). There were
less welcome visitors to the DJ box. At the end of one night a lad
drew a gun on me and demanded my records. Jon Da Silva
has since told me that my choice of records sucked, but thinking
about it, at least the gunmen was threatening to shoot me because
he liked the records I was playing, rather than shoot me because
he hated them. So I must have been doing something right. |
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Gang
War |
inside Manchester's gangs |
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During
1990, the management fended off attempts by the police to have the
club shut down, but in January 1991 they closed the club voluntarily.
The violence was increasing and the disastrous publicity was scaring
away customers. Tony Wilson usually stays opimistic,
talking things up, but these were bad times, and when he announced
the closure anxiety was etched on his face. |
The
closure was temporary, and three months later the club re-opened.
In later years, there were some great nights in the club, but the
Hacienda no longer had the monopoly on good ideas and big crowds.
There was a belated attempt to exploit the brand, and t-shirts were
printed and sold (another job for Fiona Allen;
she ran the shop). |
In
1992 Factory Records went bankrupt, struggling
with unsuccessful new signings, the faltering career of Happy
Mondays and the reluctance of New Order
to make another LP for the label; the financial problems compounded
by the high borrowings incurred on a new HQ on Charles Street. At
the Hacienda there was recurrent violence and Mike Pickering
finally severed his connections with the club just after the 11th
birthday after he’d had a knife pulled on him, and guest DJ
for the occasion, David Morales, had a glass thrown
at him. New clubs arrived in the city; Paradise Factory,
Sankey’s Soap in 1994. |
Through
the mid-1990s, Paul Cons ran the huge monthly gay
‘Flesh’ nights and Graeme Park
kept the flag flying on Saturdays with his choice selection of American-style
garage (ably assisted by Tom Wainwright who was
another unsung hero), but most of the city’s successul nights
were elsewhere; ‘Bugged Out’ at Sankey’s
Soap, ‘Life’ at Bowlers,
‘Yellow’ at the Boardwalk,
‘One Tree Island’ at Jabez
Clegg, and ‘Headfunk’ at Time.
In Liverpool, ‘Cream’ learned important
lessons; trying not to make enemies of the police, getting the merchandising
right. The world had certainly caught up with the Hacienda. |
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Discotheque
Volume 1 - The Hacienda |
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After
five years at other clubs, I returned on Saturdays in 1996. Elliot
Eastwick had graduated to the DJ box, and we had six months
when it looked as if the club was riding another wave, with more
lives to change, but then one Monday, after one very busy Saturday
at the end of June 1997 we got a call telling us they club was closing.
In the film there’s a final night when Wilson appears in the
DJ box exhorting the crowd to loot the offices; this never happened.
When the end came it was an accident. Thanks to the film, though,
we did get one final, great night, in the fake Hacienda in that
warehouse in Ancoats. |
The
point of clubbing had been proved. In a room full of loud music,
a bunch of good people with a lot of love and a bit of luck can
create a great community. It can be done. |
| Dave
Haslam, June 2003 - www.davehaslam.com |
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Nightclub designed by Ben Kelly, opened on
Friday May 21st 1982
