Layered City

People will have these stories, usually second-hand like the recitation of an urban myth, pushing the boundaries of the plausible. But there will be some kernel of truth in them, some reason why they were told, some mystery that made the story possible. And every so often you will hear from someone first-hand, a person who witnessed the surface being pulled back, who has seen beneath the skin of the city and peered into that other world just beneath our feet.

That there is such a world in our city is only natural - our city is built upon physical pockets of forgetfulness. Forgotten spaces, forgotten places. Covered up because the city, by its nature, builds upon itself, continually upon itself, creating a series of different layers. Layers that are no longer disticnt, layers that are mixed together, layers that are altogether forgotten amongst each other. Where the medieval covers over the Victorian, where the 21st century rests inside the Edwardian and where the Cold War lies beneath us all. Especially in Manchester, an innocuous Lancashire town up until the 18th century when the populations suddenly exploded - trebling in the 15 years leading up to 1800 and continued to grow and greater pace. It had harnessed the industrial revolution, in a more acute way than any other city. It was "the centre of the manufacturing world" in the words of Friedrich Engels. A chaotically/planned industrial city emerged, and the revolution spread worldwide. After two centuries of rapid expansion followed by decades of stagnant decline and an eventual re-ermergence, Manchester too has seen a mixing of layers and a bubbling over of forgetfulness.

The whole exciting sequence of topographical dummies that decieves him could only be shown by a film: the city is on its guard against him, masks itself, flees, intrigues, lures him to wander its circles to the point of exhuastion.
walter benjamin, moscow

DPercussion

The Castlefield basin could not be a more unique setting. It is distinctive with or without the annual DPercussion festival. This is the site of the original Roman settlement of Manchester - or Mamucium as it was initially called. Roman ditches remain interspersed throughout the basin and old Roman stonework can still be found. However, it is the structures of the Industrial Revolution that really catch the eye here. The red brick of the former factories and warehouses punctuate the landscape. Many have now been converted into modern flats and trendy bars, trying to restore an importance to the area that has been lost for decades, while others simply remain derelict. The canals cut their way past these buildings, their still waters betraying their old power, and the monstrous cast iron railway bridges of the Victorian era overlap in the eye's upward gaze. Castlefield is a site of former powers, whether a fort on the fringes of the Roman Empire or a former centre of the manufacturing world. And hovering in the distance are the striking glass edifices of 21st century Manchester.
Any visitor entering the basin is confronted with a labyrinth composed of virtually every stage of Manchester's history. This is even more so when the area is heaving with 50,000 revellers. Weaving through these crowds just adds another level to an already layered experience. During the DPercussion festival each open rise, each nook and crevice, and each open space is occupied by different performance stages, bars, food vendors, or simply gatherings of people. The variety of music on offer reflects the variety of the surroundings. Hip hop, dance, indie, rock and even ragtime were all performed in the different spaces at this year's fetival. It had been billed as a showcase for up and coming talent - as the previous festivals had proved to be. But I prefer the words of Dr. Curran: "There are cities out there with millions more in population that would never have the guts to put on an event like this". Just like the basin itself, this festival is unique to Manchester. It is indigenous. Castlefield sits on the fringes of the city centre and the festival runs throughout the day and into the night, bringing in Mancs and others from all walks of life. The variety is reflected in the people then too. By 9.00 pm the bar's beer supply had run dry and they spilled out into the surrounding stages with cups of brandy in hand.
First held in 1997, the festival was originally called Re:Percussion to commemorate the first anniversary of the IRA bomb which brought havoc to the city. The festival was to stand as testimony to the city's resilience in the face of such destruction. Music was one of the most powerful tools of response - a tool that not only drew from the city's past but also showcased the present and made an optomistic look to the future. The festival continued virtually every year for ten years, although in 2003 ther was not enough funding available and this year it was almost cancelled for the same reason. The £2 donation demanded upon entry looks set to continue in the coming years. It has long since abandoned its original title - no one wanted to continually commemorate a bomb. DPercussion it became, DPercussion it remains.

DPercussion: 05/08/06