FAC251 opening night

Hooky Played Guitar….

For a change. Gordo first met Hooky at a lunch at the Hilton Hotel on Park Lane in London. The Silver Clef awards, the music industry’s annual bash where they all compete to see how much money they can visibly throw at charity. Nearly eight hundred there on the day threw a staggering 1.2 million English in the pot.

Hooky, newly teetotal, was sat next to Gordo, having to watch him go to town on the booze as only he can on a Friday from the strike of midday, not having to go back to the office. Hooky looked like a fourteen year girl not allowed to wear makeup yet, sat next to an elder sister fully made up to the nines.

Gordo was fascinated with the women and busy making a cock of himself. All afternoon. At the end of the lunch, around five-thirty, Gordo asked Peter, or Hooky to you lot, what he was doing later.

“Doin’ a secret gig in a pub south of the river”, says Hooky, who has finally taken to Gordo. “If you fancy comin’, ‘ere’s the address”.

Several hours later having embarrassed Howard Sharrock at one of those upper middle class restaurants in Notting Hill that are invariably shite, Gordo decided that it would be pretty cool to go to the gig. After all, it’s not often you get to see New Order playing in a pub. Gordo jumped in a cab.

One hour, ten minutes and £87 pounds later, Gordo is stood looking at a battle cruiser of a pub that would put the Brass Handles to shame. Standing in his pinstripe clutching a man bag. All he was lacking was a sign saying ‘please kick my teeth in; I have eight mobile phones on me’.

Inside, there was no worry about slipping up on the wooden floor as the regulars had thoughtfully covered it in chewing gum. It was a quarter to eleven and the boys were on in fifteen. Gordo was standing next to a man who resembled a bad tempered weasel, wearing a hat. One of his pals came over.

“Mines a pint, Jack”.

Gordo quickly moved down the bar just in case Ronnie Kray nipped in to have a chit chat with Jack.

Gordo is stood looking at the performance area. About thirty foot by twenty, with a small stage, on which stood a rickety folding table and two old fashioned turntables. About thirty people in the crowd. Gordo must have come to the wrong place. A tap on the shoulder, and there’s Peter, all crooked smiles.

“Thanks for coming Gordo, have you got a pint? Great, I’ll do me set now”.

Hooky was doing his first set as a DJ. Now that was one long night.

So, it’s Friday afternoon and Gordo’s Editor tells him that he has to cover the opening of Fac 251, Hooky’s latest Factory pension stream.

“Your pal Hooky is doing a gig, you’ll love it. You’re the same age so you can both make twats of yourselves. Get some pictures and give me three hundred words.”

So, dear readers, Gordo finds himself at the new Factory, the old Paradise Factory opposite the Lass of Gowrie on one side and Eastz East on the other, both of which Gordo is far more qualified to comment upon.

Walking through the front door, Joanna and Emma from Life PR (who've done a grand job on this opening) drag him upstairs, shove two beers in his hands, then throw him back down to the main room where Gordo takes twenty minutes squeezing through the crowd to get within six feet of the stage and is finally delighted not to see a ‘set of decks’. The team come on, Hooky with his bass guitar.

The space is small, intimate and throbs. The sound system is awesome. All Gordo can tell you is that Manchester now has a truly great gaff for live music, particularly guitar music. Gordo’s heroes, The Kinks, Bowie, even Devo, would have loved it.

And they even say it allows young people in. In fact the whole point is to be a breeding ground for new Manchester music, for all sorts of different acts, exciting shenanigans, and all manner of music genres Gordo doesn't even want to know about.

As for DJ’s, Gordo hasn’t got a clue, but, he can tell you one thing.

Hooky can’t half play a guitar, with or without Weird and Gilly.

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