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Opinion

The Strokes at Co-op Live, Manchester – actually very hard to explain

First time the Manchester crowd has ever been described as 'tough'

Daisy Jackson Daisy Jackson - 26th October 2026

Manchester has waited a long, long time for this – The Strokes back on stage in our city.

I’ve been a fan of the band for as long as I can remember, but have never managed to catch them live, partly because they’ve left it TWENTY YEARS between shows here.

But back they are, with an enormous gig at the Co-op Live on their Reality Awaits tour.

The Strokes are known as one of the most solid indie bands of the 2000s, going triple platinum with their debut album Is This It and releasing massive anthems like Last Nite, Reptilia, and Someday.

They’re also known as a bit of an unpredictable live act – some will say they’re one of the best on the circuit, others will say they’re disappointing, and it really can depend on the night.

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What they’re not known for is their audience interaction, so when frontman Julian Casablancas tries to have a bit of a chat with the audience, we all sort of stare blankly back at him. He’s speaking to us? What do we do?

“Wow, tough crowd,” he says, which is the first time I’ve ever heard anyone describe a Manchester audience as tough.

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Then he turns back to drummer Fabrizio Moretti and says: “This is f*cking hideous, let’s play some songs.”

The setlist seems to get a shake-up every couple of shows, which is a nice surprise for us – and apparently also Julian, who regularly pops over to ask his bandmates what’s up next.

It doesn’t really matter that he’s not done his homework, because the second that drum kicks in, along with the impeccable guitar work of Valensi, Fraiture and Hammond Jr., he snaps into action.

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It’s impressive that their songs still have such singalong quality when Casablancas enunciates like a man with a dislocated jaw. For certain songs he’s so incoherent that if you weren’t a fan you’d walk in this room and wonder what the f*ck was going on.

But then, that’s sort of why us The Strokes fans love them so much. There’s a calamitous beauty to the work they put out and it’s so fun to belt out some words, even if they’re not the right ones.

I was hoping that seeing it live would sell that divisive new album, Reality Awaits, to me, but it didn’t. It’s too autotuney, too languid, and too often the victim of everyone’s toilet breaks.

Their earlier tracks still land best in a live setting, especially Reptilia, an absolute juggernaut in their back catalogue.

Rollercoaster set and tricky crowd interactions aside, we all had a great time – I’m just not sure I could say the same about Julian Casablancas.

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Featured image: The Manc Group

Opinion

Hans Zimmer at Co-op Live, Manchester – movie magic brought to life

Lonnie Bowes Lonnie Bowes World of Hans Zimmer — A New Dimension

What do Batman, Kung Fu Panda, and Captain Jack Sparrow all have in common? Music by Hans Zimmer, of course.

I must admit it’s an odd sight seeing 20,000 people seated in the Co-op Live. Manchester is no stranger to a big night out, but this is a different beast entirely. No mosh pits, no flying pints, no one on anyone’s shoulders. Just a full orchestra, a choir, and a wall of screens.

At the centre of it all is conductor Matt Dunkley, steering the Odessa Orchestra & Friends through some of the most recognisable music ever put to film. Zimmer appears on the big screens between pieces to introduce the music and the stories behind it. I was disappointed that Hans didn’t make an appearance but let me tell you this performance was no less impressive.

And in no time at all the gloves came off. Batman is, quite simply, incredible. All menace and muscle, strings sawing away like something is about to go very wrong, brass and percussion hitting so hard you feel it in your ribcage before you hear it.

Gladiator pulls things the other way. Where Batman pins you to your seat, this one lifts you out of it in a big way. Lets face it, if you are some what of a self respecting movie head, you’ll have seen Gladiator and know first hand how ‘Now we are free’ can command your mood. Well imagine that in person.

If the orchestra is the engine, the Nairobi Chamber Chorus is the heart. When their voices rise for The Lion King, it stops being a concert and becomes something closer to gospel.

Hans Zimmer at Co-op Live
Hans Zimmer at Co-op Live
Hans Zimmer at Co-op Live. Credit: The Manc Group

Because beneath the scale and the spectacle, there’s something more intentional at play. These pieces of music are part of people’s lives. We are talking first trips to the cinema, films watched with parents, soundtracks that got someone through a rough year.

And then there’s Interstellar. ‘No Time for Caution’ creates it own suspense. The organ churns, the tempo tightens like a ticking clock, you genuinely find yourself gripping the armrest as if you’re the one trying to dock a spinning spacecraft.

Time, from Inception, is the other side of that coin when it comes to what it emotes during the performance. It’s slow, it’s patient and it’s moving. It builds from almost nothing, layer on layer.

After all that, there’s only one way to send people home. Pirates of the Caribbean closes the night at full tilt. You think everything is drawing to end, Matt Dunkley has already guided you to the apex of nights performance, but no. Hans Zimmer flashes on to the screen one more time and alluded that’s we aren’t at the finish line just yet. Strings galloping, the whole orchestra going hell for leather. Heads nodding, feet stamping, grins everywhere.

Epic, emotional and beautifully played. This wasn’t just a concert it was a reminder: that a piece of music can take you somewhere else entirely, and that you don’t need a single lyric to make thousands of strangers feel the exact same thing at the exact same time.

Hats off to every musician on that stage. You absolutely smashed it.

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Featured image: The Manc Group

Opinion

Is Madchester Still Mad? Or Has Everyone Gone Mad? 

Ellie Price Ellie Price

Walk through Manchester city centre and ask yourself: can you still feel that sense of community? You know the one… that famous Manchester spirit everyone’s mum, dad and Bob’s uncle seems to rave about. 

When you wander through the Northern Quarter, are you taking in the independent shops, cafés and bars that gave the area its character? Or are you grabbing a picture in the latest trendy, edgy, painfully expensive garms that have just pushed you another 50 quid into your overdraft? 

Let’s face it. Madchester is still mad, just not in the way it used to be. 

“This is Manchester. We do things differently here.” 

Do we really? 

There’s a rat race unfolding across the city that nobody seems particularly keen to acknowledge. Manchester’s identity was forged through its working-class roots, becoming the world’s first industrial city and a powerhouse of the Industrial Revolution. Even the worker bee, now plastered across murals, tote bags, T-shirts and the walls of every other ‘trendy’ spot, represents the graft, industry and collective spirit that shaped this city. 

But somewhere between celebrating that identity and selling it, have we forgotten what it actually means? 

Manchester loves to celebrate its musical past, and rightly so. The Haçienda opened in 1982 and became one of the defining venues of the city’s club culture. But after closing in 1997, it was eventually demolished and apartments were built on the site – apartments that still carry the Haçienda name. 

Then came places like Sankeys. Opening as Sankeys Soap in Ancoats in 1994, the former soap factory became another major part of Manchester’s underground club culture, particularly for house and techno. Its Manchester venue eventually closed in 2017 after the Beehive Mill was sold to developers for apartments. 

And now another generation of Manchester venues is having to think about what happens when nightlife and residential development meet. 

Stage & Radio, a grassroots venue on Port Street in the Northern Quarter, is currently raising concerns over plans for 126 flats proposed just metres from its doors. The venue supports emerging artists, DJs, promoters, musicians and community projects, but fears new residents could lead to future noise complaints, licensing restrictions and pressure on the venue.

Manchester City Council has insisted Stage & Radio is not under threat, arguing that the Agent of Change principle places responsibility on the new development to protect the existing venue. 

But the fact that the conversation is happening at all feels strangely familiar. 

Music venues helped build Manchester’s reputation as one of the world’s great music cities, while another glass-fronted block of flats seems to appear every other week, feeding into the glossy Manchester city-living dream. 

Luxury apartments, rooftop bars and a lifestyle increasingly designed to be looked at rather than lived in. 

Peter Hook once said of Manchester: “While it’s gentrified on the outside, it still holds and beats a very rough heart.” 

That was more than a decade ago and I wonder if he’d still say the same today. 

Even something as Mancunian as going for a quick pint after work doesn’t feel quite so simple anymore. Before you know it, a few drinks have swallowed a decent chunk of a day’s wages. And before anyone starts, I’m talking about the living wage. 

Speaking of raves, when was the last time you actually lost yourself in one? 

Dancing, sweating, staring into your mates’ eyes as the BPM rattles through your body. Or are you reaching for your phone, capturing the exact moment you’d already anticipated posting later, proof that “you was living in the moment”? 

There are people who love Manchester and people who pose Manchester. 

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People who want to contribute to its culture, and people who simply want to consume the version of it they’ve been sold. 

“The new London,” people joke. Well, Andy Burnham’s bringing Number 10 up North now, so maybe the punchline isn’t as ridiculous as it once sounded. 

When are we going to admit that Madchester is still mad, but perhaps for entirely different reasons? 

It shouldn’t take a major incident or a tragic passing for Manchester to remember what community feels like. Nor should our identities within the city be reduced to whichever side of town we happen to drink in. 

“Oh, I’m Deansgate.” 

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“Oh, I’m Northern Quarter.”

When did Manchester get its own Berlin Wall? 

There’s only one divide acceptable in this city, and that’s red and blue on derby day. 

Yet somehow, I can walk through the city I was born in and still feel like an imposter simply because I don’t quite fit the version of Manchester being sold back to me. 

But it would be unfair to pretend everything has disappeared. 

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People still dance. People still create. People still bond. People still love this city fiercely. Behind the glass towers, expensive pints and Instagram stories, there are still people fighting to preserve the very things that made Manchester worth shouting about in the first place. 

So perhaps the question isn’t whether Manchester still has a community. 

It’s whether that community is still authentic, or whether we’ve become so obsessed with recreating the mythology of Madchester that we’ve forgotten how to create a culture of our own. 

“This is Manchester. We do things differently here.” 

Maybe we still do. 

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Maybe Madchester is still mad. 

But in a city increasingly conscious of how it looks to the rest of the world, there’s one question worth asking: 

Are we living Manchester, or are we just performing it?

Featured image: Konrad Nowacki on Unsplash

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