NO HANDS

ISSUE NINE

THE ‘ZINE OF MUSIC, LOCAL CULTURE & THINGS

YOURS TO TAKE HOME FOR FREE

NO HANDS

ISSUE NINE

Are We There Yet?Back from her summer holi-days Lauren Padgett talks about holiday week of old.

The summer has definitely drawn its last breath. The heavy rain, strong winds, dark dawnings, cold evenings and the fact that Tesco is selling Christmas stock already are sure signs that autumn is here. Those of us who either A) aren’t rich enough, or B) aren’t posh enough to go away skiing or on a cruise at Christmas will be obsessively checking travel websites for package holidays, late deals and cheap flights to fit in one last holiday of the year.

We have so much choice today for holidays. There is the sight-seeing holiday across Europe (twenty two countries in three days, to quote Dirty Dancing) full of history, art, culture and in my case vomiting next to Trevi fountain in Rome. There’s the boys’ holiday consisting of the mantra “what happens on tour, stays on tour” and T-shirts reading ‘Boys on Tour, Magaluf 2011’. There’s the girls-only villa holiday, peppered with arguments, gossiping and bitchiness. There’s the family holiday of grandparents being dragged along to provide free babysit-ting so the parents can go out on an evening, pretending that they don’t have three children, early morning bottle feeds and nappy changes in their lives.

Holidays for Bradfordians were much different a couple of centuries ago to what they are today. Holidays were unknown to the working class until the end of the 19th century. The ridiculous amount of working hours they had to do meant that free time was scarce. In the 19th century, skilled and semi skilled workers did on average 55 – 60 hours per week, while those working in the transport, domestic and retail sector did

between 80 and 90 hours per week up until 1914. This was when working conditions were unrestricted, unchallenged and at the mercy of the overseers, bosses and owners. The country’s moral compass kicked in from time to time as Factory Acts were introduced in an attempt to improve working conditions.

The 1847 Factory Act introduced a ten hour working day for female and child workers in textile mills. This was prompted by the successful Ten Hours Movement led by Richard Oastler, a Leeds born abolitionist, who was encouraged to pursue the cause by a Bradfordian worsted manufacturer called John Wood. In 1850, the ten hour working day was extended to include male textile workers and it was decided that work would end on Saturday at 2pm. This half day holiday did not leave much time for weekend getaways, but it lead to a rise in the biggest pastimes in England – football and drinking. It wasn’t until 1871 when the Bank Holiday was introduced that gave the working class the opportunity to escape the ‘dark Satanic mills’ (as described by William Blake), overcrowded and polluted towns and head to the coast for some much needed fresh air. The days officially christened as Bank Holidays were Easter Monday, Whit Monday (a movable day in May or June which was dependent on when Easter fell), the first Monday in August and Boxing Day.

Some workers arranged their own day trips, often taking all the family with them, while some friendly business owners arranged them for the workers. Other organisations set up excursion clubs where a small amount of the workers wage went into

a kitty to pay for Bank Holiday excursions to the seaside. Railway companies were keen to jump on this bandwagon and offered reduced fares or special offers on trains heading to seaside resorts. The expansion of the railway system in the 19th century meant that Bradfordians had a choice as to which seaside resort they could go to. Some chose Scarborough and Blackpool while many fled to Morecambe as a railway system had linked Bradford, Skipton and Keighley to it since 1850. This Mecca for Bradfordians became known as Bradford-Upon-the-Sea and Bradford-Super-Mare due to the amount of Bradford factory workers who flocked there and factory owners who lived there. For many Bradfordians, born and bred in the back-to-back houses, alleyways and mills, it was the first time they had seen the sea, smelt the salty air or rubbed their feet in the sand. Morecambe bay, with the hazy meeting of the sea and sky at the horizon and the sound of seagulls, would have been a very different sight to the skyline of Bradford, full of factory roofs and chimneys breathing out black smoke. This tradition lasted until the mid 20th century, when Morecambe as a seaside resort began to decline as did the textile industry in Bradford.

But Bradford hasn’t forgotten its past with Morecambe; it still holds a place in Bradford’s heart. Today, grandparents drag their grandchildren around Morecambe, clinging onto the nostalgia of their factory days and sea side trips. Days of when the seaside meant a folding chair and fish and chip supper, not roller coasters, arcades and drunken stag/hen parties.

Are We There Yet?Back from her summer holi-days Lauren Padgett talks about holiday week of old.

The summer has definitely drawn its last breath. The heavy rain, strong winds, dark dawnings, cold evenings and the fact that Tesco is selling Christmas stock already are sure signs that autumn is here. Those of us who either A) aren’t rich enough, or B) aren’t posh enough to go away skiing or on a cruise at Christmas will be obsessively checking travel websites for package holidays, late deals and cheap flights to fit in one last holiday of the year.

We have so much choice today for holidays. There is the sight-seeing holiday across Europe (twenty two countries in three days, to quote Dirty Dancing) full of history, art, culture and in my case vomiting next to Trevi fountain in Rome. There’s the boys’ holiday consisting of the mantra “what happens on tour, stays on tour” and T-shirts reading ‘Boys on Tour, Magaluf 2011’. There’s the girls-only villa holiday, peppered with arguments, gossiping and bitchiness. There’s the family holiday of grandparents being dragged along to provide free babysit-ting so the parents can go out on an evening, pretending that they don’t have three children, early morning bottle feeds and nappy changes in their lives.

Holidays for Bradfordians were much different a couple of centuries ago to what they are today. Holidays were unknown to the working class until the end of the 19th century. The ridiculous amount of working hours they had to do meant that free time was scarce. In the 19th century, skilled and semi skilled workers did on average 55 – 60 hours per week, while those working in the transport, domestic and retail sector did

between 80 and 90 hours per week up until 1914. This was when working conditions were unrestricted, unchallenged and at the mercy of the overseers, bosses and owners. The country’s moral compass kicked in from time to time as Factory Acts were introduced in an attempt to improve working conditions.

The 1847 Factory Act introduced a ten hour working day for female and child workers in textile mills. This was prompted by the successful Ten Hours Movement led by Richard Oastler, a Leeds born abolitionist, who was encouraged to pursue the cause by a Bradfordian worsted manufacturer called John Wood. In 1850, the ten hour working day was extended to include male textile workers and it was decided that work would end on Saturday at 2pm. This half day holiday did not leave much time for weekend getaways, but it lead to a rise in the biggest pastimes in England – football and drinking. It wasn’t until 1871 when the Bank Holiday was introduced that gave the working class the opportunity to escape the ‘dark Satanic mills’ (as described by William Blake), overcrowded and polluted towns and head to the coast for some much needed fresh air. The days officially christened as Bank Holidays were Easter Monday, Whit Monday (a movable day in May or June which was dependent on when Easter fell), the first Monday in August and Boxing Day.

Some workers arranged their own day trips, often taking all the family with them, while some friendly business owners arranged them for the workers. Other organisations set up excursion clubs where a small amount of the workers wage went into

a kitty to pay for Bank Holiday excursions to the seaside. Railway companies were keen to jump on this bandwagon and offered reduced fares or special offers on trains heading to seaside resorts. The expansion of the railway system in the 19th century meant that Bradfordians had a choice as to which seaside resort they could go to. Some chose Scarborough and Blackpool while many fled to Morecambe as a railway system had linked Bradford, Skipton and Keighley to it since 1850. This Mecca for Bradfordians became known as Bradford-Upon-the-Sea and Bradford-Super-Mare due to the amount of Bradford factory workers who flocked there and factory owners who lived there. For many Bradfordians, born and bred in the back-to-back houses, alleyways and mills, it was the first time they had seen the sea, smelt the salty air or rubbed their feet in the sand. Morecambe bay, with the hazy meeting of the sea and sky at the horizon and the sound of seagulls, would have been a very different sight to the skyline of Bradford, full of factory roofs and chimneys breathing out black smoke. This tradition lasted until the mid 20th century, when Morecambe as a seaside resort began to decline as did the textile industry in Bradford.

But Bradford hasn’t forgotten its past with Morecambe; it still holds a place in Bradford’s heart. Today, grandparents drag their grandchildren around Morecambe, clinging onto the nostalgia of their factory days and sea side trips. Days of when the seaside meant a folding chair and fish and chip supper, not roller coasters, arcades and drunken stag/hen parties.

Damn it’s hard to answer the question I’ve posed! Previous readers of this section (there’s been four other chapters starting in No Hands Issue 5. If you didn’t get a paper copy, where were you on the night?,then go to http://issuu.com/nohands for lovely back issues on t’ web); yes previous readers might recall the questions: What happened to Subculture? Richard Brass

notes on subculture

The glorious subcultures of decades gone by are at an end. Those amazing images of Mods and Rockers congregating and battling on the beaches in the 1960s are an age gone by. The shock and moral outrage that greeted Punk in the 1970s seems almost quaint now. Re-echoing Boy George’s recent comments about the early 80s, “we don’t have that sort of gorgeous youth culture anymore.” The New Romantics, along with the myriad of other subcultural groups that arose, shone brightly perhaps briefly, and then faded away. But again why? There are many many reasons for this and I don’t pretend to have all the answers but I’ll do my best to point out a few of the factors.

By the end of the 1980s a new wave of music had exploded in our clubs that would change the nature of popular music and clubbing in the UK irrevocably. Acid house in 1988 was a perfect subcultural moment, it had the look (sort of), the music, the drugs, the moral outrage. Not since Punk in 1976 had a wave of youth culture managed to shock the core of “decent” society, with a bewildered media desperately trying to get a handle on what it all meant. In 1988 The Sun went from pronouncing Acid House as “cool and groovy” whilst running an acid smiley tee shirt offer, to headlines such as “10,000 Drug Crazed Youths!” Acid House music even found itself banned from Radio 1! But there were major differences to this new wave of subculture that were to have lasting and profound effects.

Firstly the music’s construction was almost entirely outside traditional music production techniques, bypassing traditional musicians, producers and large studios. Music production was being democratised, a diy approach that held parallels with a Punk ethos. Many producers shunned the notion of a celebrity limelight, not wanting or not able to be packaged as leading faces of a musical movement which mutated and proliferated at a rapid rate as the equipment used to create electronic dance music became more widely available. Without “faces”, without recognised figureheads of a scene, the commercial driving force to package it and market it to an eager public was slower. There were no Sex Pistols, no Who, no Small Faces, no Clash, no Gene Vincent, no Specials.... initially the scene was essentially faceless from a marketing perspective.

Secondly the drug of choice was different. Ecstasy broke down boundaries, created widespread bonhomie, desexualised dancing and clubbing (to some extent), the music and losing oneself in it was more important. Equally important was losing oneself in a crowd of likeminded people, shaking hands, making friends for the night, closeness and contact without suspicion, without posing, without opposition. No sharpness, no needle, no edge, no confrontation.... United by a synergy of drugs and music, style and individuality lost its importance. It would be ridiculous to claim that any of this was a universal truth though and in fact by the turn of the decade and the early 90s style would again be put on the menu with strict door policies designed to keep out the perceived white gloved vicks vaporub raver, and try draw in the uber cool and the sartorially elegant clubber. Getting in past the door policies of clubs like Back to Basics and Vague in Leeds was a challenge in itself.

The 1990s I sort of see as the last battleground for subculture. As the millennium approached it was harder and harder for any new scene to keep a hold of its identity before being co-opted by the mainstream and homogenised in the marketplace. Case in point: Skaters. There was a good little skate scene in Bradford, with Winnie and G (rest in peace G), opening a skate shop called Wisdom in town. The Skater look borrowed from a mix of styles, surf wear and hip hop, loose urban apparel, hardwearing combat style trousers, x-large tshirts, trainers designed for durability whilst skating. The music was a mixture of Punk, Straight-Edge Hardcore and Hip Hop. Skating was a chance to tear up the urban environment whilst sticking one finger up at authority. The clothing, whilst mirroring hip hop styles, definitely had its own look and was very swiftly seized upon by the mainstream. It wasn’t long before Airwalk and Vans could be found stocked in mainstream stores or even Grattan catalogue. Living in Manchester in 1996 and a frequent visitor to Chris Hamer’s (ace BMXer Chris was) skate shop Sheep, I noticed some of the local skaters had tried to fight back with their own tshirts spelling out their defiance “If You Don’t Skate, Don’t Wear Our Clothes!”

The conclusion to the conclusion, honestly, next month.

“Who’s the Dumbass, is it him or me?”I think this after my first time playing a WiiThe him in question is a nine-year-old boyWho’s just demolished me on the toy

He’s thrashed me at tennis and air hockeyExposing my game-play mediocrityDefeated, dejected as I hear him gloatI start to think: “You little scroat

“What’s the use of a console being strapped to your hand?“And playing these games in this virtual-land“When I was a boy, I played them for real“There was no computer middle-man as part of the deal

“And people call playing these Wii’s exercise?“Are they trying to pull the wool over my eyes?“There’s no running, burning air in your lungs“No heart pounding as you go for that lunge”

So I blurt out to my young rival: “Your Wii is no good!“It’s just not like playing outside like a boy of your age should!”But he looked from me to the lounge window-glassAnd I could tell he was thinking: “It’s starting to rain, you Dumbass!”

DUMBASSSteve Pass aka the Car Park Poet

A Take On Bradford Films 4 The Meaning of Life

Known by some as Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life and by others as the Python’s least funny moment The Meaning of Life seemed to represent a creative low for the iconoclast troupe.

Having used New Pudsey Station and Valley Parade for location in the series the Python’s returned to Bradford to use Cartwright Hall, Lister Park and The Ilkley Moors in one of the movie’s brightest moments.

Michael Palin’s gruff Yorkshire explains to his wife - Terry Jones of course - that the Catholic church will not allow contraception by medium of song with a massive choir of his own offspring. The song Every Sperm Is Sacred is near vintage Python.

Near but not quite. Much of the smartness of previous Python has been lost to crudities. There is no Philosopher’s Football match

and far too much Mr Creosote. Indeed it is the response by the engorged Creosote when he refuses a “Waff-her thin” mint which sums up the problem with the film. “Fuck off” is the retort, showing the lack of constraints film brought.

But without a witty comeback Python becomes ordinary. Death arrives at the end of the film to take the cast away and with it seems to go the Python’s career.

L E O NPlaysPOP

Mining a similar seam are the first two songs on the latest split release on the wonderful Dufflecoat Records. Pop At Summer hail from Bandung, Indonesia and are one of the strongest bands from the amazingly fertile indiepop scene over there. Once again beautiful girl vocals are to the fore, this time Anne Inggriani delivers the sweetest melodies in a soft breathy voice reminiscent of the best catchy Swedish indiepop. The second of the two songs is a girl/boy duet and features just the right amount of smashing jangly guitar.

Meanwhile Young Michelin, who describe themselves as a French dreamgaze punk band, join them on the split. The songs are softer than the punky sound of their Cloudberry EP in 2010. They sing in French which I love, I have to say, although my French is not good enough to work out what they’re singing about. That said the songs carry enough weight without the need to start consulting a French dictionary. ‘Elle et Moi’ (even I know what that means) has an insistent guitar riff repeated under the vocals in both jangle and fuzz tones. Nice. Lastly, ‘Helas’ (Alas) finishes things off perfectly. More catchy guitar melodies are coupled with a spot of melodica here and there. My favourite Dufflecoat split so far.

By way of a complete contrast to all that sweet jangly pop, Evans The Death come along and blow your bleedin ears off with an altogether darker sound. Singer Katherine has previously delivered the hard to beat couplet “I’m afraid of getting a job, I’m afraid of Snoop Doggy Dogg” on their appearance on a Cloudberry EP last year. This time they crank it up on a 7” on Fortuna Pop. 'Threads' starts with a squall of My Bloody Valentine feedback and the theme carries throughout the song, plenty of tremolo arm action here, whilst Katherine shudders “You put the fear of god into me”- the song being a reflection on having watched the classic apocalyptic documentary of the same name. The flipside is even better, ‘I’m So Unclean’ starting with a thundering bass and pounding drums, it clocks in at only 2m20s, but I don’t think I’ve heard a more exhilarating song this year. More cracking lines abound, I’ll leave you with this gem from what seems to be a sort of joyful paen to lovelorn obsession - “My dressing gown is my choice of apparel for the season”. Good stuff, listen out for these in my set at this months No Hands. More pop next month!

Summer Singles Round UpFirst up is Chicago’s Tiny Fireflies, featuring Lisle and Kristine who are also two fifths of Very Truly Yours. Their latest release is a 3” CD EP on Little Treasure and the four songs are lush, atmospheric little beauties. All echoey guitars, programmed beats and simple synths, topped off by Kristine’s ever so pretty voice. The music has a Cocteau Twins air to it, but the vocals are more Stina Nordenstam than Liz Fraser. The stand out song for me is ‘So Sad To Say Goodbye’, the guitar on the chorus gave me proper shivers down my back when I saw them live earlier this summer. It’s the most upbeat of the four songs here and has a New Order-ish feel to the bass. Lovely stuff.

Bradford’s Golden Boy returns from Brighton to enlighten with astute, funny anti-folk.http://www.myspace.com/artcomesfirst

Garfunkle and Simon

Leeds lads doing big noise rock like Jesus Lizard. Big faves at this year’s Leeds fest.http://blacklisters.co.uk/

Blacklisters

Live Bands Upstairs

Free Entry with Donations for bands

This Obscene Baby Auction & No Hands are Independent Local DIY Collectives of enthusiastic music fans who do this for love not money. Neither make any profit from these events.

Please respect the fact it costs for PA, bands, printing, riders and people to glue it all together and make it work for you to enjoy!

F I N D N O H A N D S O N F A C E B O O Kcabinpressure.co.ukLAYOUT BY

THE NEXT

NO HANDSFRIDAY 28th OCTOBER

POLISH CLUB, EDMUND STREET BRADFORD BD5 0BH

UPSTAIRS// Bands and Loud Music DJsPLAYING THE STUFF TO JUMP AROUND, DANCE AND GO NUTS TO WITH NEW TUNES AND

OLD FAVOURITES. SOME PUNK, SOME PIXIES, SOME CLASSIC FLOOR FILLERS

DOWNSTAIRS// DJs, Chilling Out & ChattingPLAYING THE BACK DROP TO YOUR CATCH UP CONVERSATIONS WITH SOME INDIEPOP, A

BIT OF SHOEGAZE, CLASSIC CUTS OF RARE SOUL AND OTHER CHOICE TUNES

8pm Doors // 2am Close BANDS FINISH IN TMIE FOR THE LAST TRAINS TO LEEDS AND HALIFAX

(but you’ll never want to leave)

Bradford's least pretentious indie disco, No Hands, happily

coincides with the festival's final weekend.

Specially selected live music and bands curated by OBA promise to deliver on both sonic and visual fronts, and the No Hands DJs play a broad selection of music for dancers and chatterers alike.

FREE, with donations for bandsNo booking required

WAYS OF LOOKING FINAL FRIDAYNEXT NO HANDS - 28th OCTOBER 2011

THE POLISH CLUB, BRADFORD