In the City, Manchester
Across the road is the Free Trade Hall, but there's no flowers in the dustbin here. I spent much of the convention watching the likes of these spandex clad cock-rock revisionists, 'cause at least it was real. In other venues there was a depressing catalogue of bands so young their balls haven't dropped, who seem to have no more ambition than to be the next Keane or Embrace. But I did like:
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