1991 01 19 Electronic Hacienda NME Review

ELECTRONIC KICK HAC!

ELECTRONIC

MANCHESTER HACIENDA

“WE FOUGHT the law and we won” smirks Barney and the Hacienda heaves a sigh of relief which erupts into an almighty cheer. Tonight is a time for uneasy celebration, the free tickets are stamped with the word ‘Thanksgiving’, there’s glasses of champagne on the door and once more the floor is ram-jammed with party people. After months of biting their nails, the Hacienda can smile again and
relax.

On certain occasions Manchester feels like it has to be Madchester, and there is a mass gathering of the clan. Gone are the days when pop stars should be heard but not seen and tonight you can’t move more than three people without tripping over an Inspiral. The music mafia are out in force, from old partisans to fresh young blood, celebrating the Hacienda's resurrection.

The Hacienda, once an empty abattoir that no one knew what to do with and more recently host to
a scary phenomenon called ‘dance music', has been snatched from the jaws of commercial death. Hounded as a den of iniquity by the local constabulary, the Hacienda has fought a bitter battle to clear its name, won a six month reprieve and is back to its old cocky self.

The queues are back with a vengeance, people are jostling for air and the atmosphere is tingling with a natural high that no amount of artificial stimulants could emulate. The good vibrations aren’t just confined to the dancefloor, there’s an air of anticipation buzzing from ear to ear with the worst kept secret in town.

Conversations for the past week have been opened with the line “Don’t tell anyone I told you but...” and when Neil Tennant walks on stage, the rumour is confirmed. Electronic are making their UK debut at the Hacienda. The Pet Shop Boy, characteristically clad in his flasher’s mac, sheds his dry
persona and hogs the microphone for an enthusiastic appraisal of “probably the best nightclub in the world”, before Barney saunters into the limelight and steals the show.

The Hacienda is not necessarily the most flattering stage for Electronic to make their UK debut, but then Electronic probably owe their life to the Hacienda dancefloor. This isn’t a vehicle for bloated self-indulgence or over-active egos and if there were any doubts as to the validity of Electronic, they’re swept away with 40 minutes of customised dance music and carefully crafted chords.

Electronic are not The Traveling Wilburys for the under-30s, any fool could have guessed that. Flushed with lush melodies, driven by adrenalin rushes, and iced with Barney’s nursery rhyme lyrics and plaintive vocals, Electronic maintain a peculiar balance between the synthetic and the sensual.

There’s more to Electronic than the sugar-coated simplicity of ‘Getting Away With It’. In fact, they omit their only single in pursuit of more uptempo pleasures and unfamiliar titles which immediately warm the audience, who obediently throw their hands up in the air.

“They sound like the bloody Farm,” snorts Nathan McGough, but then he manages the Happy
Mondays so what does he know?

Swinging their hips to adrenalin driven beats, Electronic boast a sound that’s taken New Order nearly a decade to perfect. “It’s weird seeing a proper group at the Hacienda,” mutters a girl to my left, damp patches blotting her Lyrca catsuit. “You know what I mean, hearing and seeing music that
makes you go weak at the knees.” Quite.

The Sumner/Marr collaboration seems like the most natural union in the world, and topped off with
keyboard contributions from Andy Robinson and nimble percussion from ACR’s Donald Johnson, this motley crew of Mancunian stalwarts casually shrug off their past personas. Barney is having the time of his life, the ghost of the surly, reluctant performer exercised by buoyant enthusiasm. Licks,
lyrics and breaks are punctuated with elated whoops and whistles as Barney cavorts round the
stage like he’s never had the space to move freely before. Johnny Marr, who has long since sold his soul to dance music, neatly destroys the legacy of a bygone era with every gorgeous crashing chord.

I guess if we get down to nit-picking, then Electronic have done themselves no favours confining themselves to such a small stage, there’s a degree of sophistication inherent in their music which is lost through the inadequate PA. But then tonight is more about gestures than professionalism and for that Electronic are welcomed home like prodigal sons. The cloud of gloom and despondency which
hung over the Hacienda has been lifted and equilibrium has been restored.

Mandi James