Television Personalities

The two weeks of hysterical coughing fits and general absence of fun I have endured at the hands of a nasty cough infection has not come to an end, but rather I have chosen to ignore my sickly lungs and creep out of self imposed germ hibernation anyway, even if I do wake up with chest pains after every sweet night of debauchery and delicious cigarette. Yesterday I went to see one of my all time favourite bands. Their entire back catalogue inspires me with a beautiful nostalgia for a life that I perhaps would've lead for a bit longer if I'd not packed my bags and left home as soon as I'd turned eighteen. The tongue-in cheek, childish, private joke mentality of the Television Personalities lyrics, and the whimsical, low-fi content to songs like Silly Girl and Magnificent Dreams (all-time fave) cause me lumps in the throat and relation on a level comparative to the sweetest childhood memories. Boredom, dreams, teenage aspiration and pretension are all themes in their early works, whilst the longer Dan Treacy battles through life, the deeper and darker the sentiments have become, culminating on Friday night into one of the most moving, shambolic performances I have ever witnessed.

Sat cross legged on the floor of Klondyke Social Club, one of those many hidden gems of an ex-working men's club that Manchester has tucked away in every obscure residential suburb, the gig was surreally perfect in relation to its setting. With flowery, ancient wallpaper, the general atmos of a village hall and the tragi-comic twirling of homemade Christmas decorations still half-heartedly attached to the ceiling, that seemed an allegory for the entire desolate set up, Dan Treacy's critical under appreciation and generally vulnerable mental state. The ridiculous twee-ness of the painfully small, twenty strong audience was made up entirely of cute, cardigan wearing couples and their hip babies, and members of the previous bands that had played. Between "Doris and the Jumpers" using a typewriter for percussion, and Womb's twee beyond belief ironing-board keyboard stand, it was a refreshing twist and my heart lept when I heard Dan Treacy's charmingly unstable mutterings from the corner of the room as he prepared for his own two man set.

Grumbling about not being able to play unless somebody bought him a drink, Treacy had the aura of a local public transport celebrity magnified into genuine indie icon. The kind who have a right to occupy that regal throne acquired on the back seat of the bus or metro carriage, with a can of tenants super, digressing tales to all who will listen,  and have forgotten more than we shall ever know. Except this man has done it in the same room as Nico and Kurt Cobain. With the audience helping him out with long forgotten song names and half the lyrics to his own songs long eroded by years of excess, Dan's terrifying, hilarious and moving banter plunged from awkward, painful homages to a dead girlfriend, complaints on the standards of Mancunian drug dealers, and having "more crack on his cornflakes" than Liam Gallager.

The intensity of the set was exacerbated by the sparse crowd, which enabled Dan to launch fierce diatribes at anyone who dared to get up to leave for a cigarette or the toilet, or weren't paying full attention to his art. "You look bored.", "I can see your knickers", "Elton John had a baby. He dropped it, so he bought a new one." where among the best lines of the night, along with the echoes of hits half remembered and half played between the two guitars. I spent the night completely inspired and enthralled, unable to avert my attention away from the fantastical, magic presence of the not-yet-man, not-yet-icon in the room. There was also a magnificent feeling of terror that was aroused when Dan Treacy gave me the eye, and made a direct comment about wanting my babies within minutes of stepping on the non-existent stage. I was tempted to try talk to my hero afterwards, but I imagine like most of the audience, was conscience of potentially being able to inspire anger or tears quite easily in this fragile man if the right respect wasn't carefully gaged and portrayed to him. All in all, the night was magic, tragic and best summed up through Dan himself. Carry on dreaming, please.