Sheffield's Mexican Music Scene

The Payroll Union at Club 60 – a cellar retrofitted into a private venue and recording studio

“I’m pretty sure you’re missing your country right now,” laughs Andrew the lab technician as he sips tea from a disposable cup. We are parked in a rented car in Effingham Road, Sheffield and it smells like a metal tent full of wet anoraks. Which I guess it sort of exactly what it is.

I gaze at my English breakfast-to-go and nod. It reminds me of a torta cubana – it’s definitely just as greasy. Once the rain stops, we pick up our gear and cross a Bailey bridge over the River Don to sample water and sediments. It’s actually much cleaner than it used to be, not “bright yellow with some chemical or other” as George Orwell so charmingly described it.

There are some striking sights around the river, the nearest is a derelict building bought by the lead singer of Bromheads and turned into a studio called Crystal Ship. Just like Crystal Ship, many studios and rehearsal spaces around here were once part of the Steel industry, rooted in the city’s history.

Look, it’s not like anyone ever thought there was only rain and chip fat in Sheffield. This place is home to a world-class music scene; evident as decade after decade an artist from “up North” breaks out. Joe Cocker, Def Leppard, The Human League, Pulp, Arctic Monkeys… the list kind of speaks for itself. As a Mexican and music fan, it strikes me that Sheffield and Mexico have more in common than an overly greasy breakfast. Music in Mexico is a key component of our rich and nuanced culture, and while Juan de los Palotes might think that El Tri or Caifanes are the be-all and end-all of Rock, there’s so much more to discover.

River Don, Hillsborough

Unfortunately, passion isn’t the only similarity – mythical venues are closing down in both cities. Case in point The Grapes and The Boardwalk in Sheffield and Rockotitlán, the pinnacle of many an Aztec rocker’s aspiration. Unfortunately Rockotitlán turned into a “pay to play" venue that quickly disappeared, the term 'Battle of the Bands' brings back bad memories from the ones I witnessed back home, where prizes were seldom delivered. Pay to play gigs stunted the Mexican scene for a while (it’s still recovering).

Still, these two cities have keenly adapted to the new climate; Sheffield’s Tye Die Tapes and their chaotic but fun venue-cum-recording studio-cum-place to be is a great example of a successful underground start-up. The will to adapt made G2 Studios set up shop in an old farm. This defiant independent spirit is true of a whole bunch of Mexican musicians too; just add a computer, a cheap mixing board and instruments in a bedroom soundproofed with Bachoco egg cartons.

We are now in the Salmon Pastures, a quiet part of what is called The Five Weir Walk. You do get an odd whiff from the recycling company that’s set up shop here. Even if the water looks ok, there’s some fly tipping and discarded takeaway tray. Measuring here will take time and gives a few moments of zen. Back home, the CNTE, one of the unions of teachers, has been striking since early September. It has gotten violent, with alleged provocateurs kicking off things around. Reminds me of the strikes over here and how sometimes it only takes one bellend to ruin it all.

TyeDie Tapes HQ playing at the top floor of an old Machine Knives factory

Tempers are flaring in both countries and the name of the game seems to be privatisation. An oil industry in dire straits for my country, a cornerstone of social security for the United Kingdom. For a moment, I fear Alex Jones might be right with all his New World malarkey. Then I remember how he sounds like Yosemite Sam and just stick the trowel in a silty part of the river bank.

After a good wash with deionised water, I shake dry the trowel while looking at a discarded newspaper. Boris Johnson’s mug adorns it, with his recent admission of not knowing how much a pint of milk costs. Weirdly enough, the current president of Mexico, Enrique Peña Nieto, has been the object of ridicule for not knowing the price of a kilo of tortillas. The question now is: do we really get the politicians we deserve or do we universally revile politicians for being out of touch with the blue collar/prole section of their population.

Politicians confuse me. I’ve never fell under their smoke and mirrors. Tommy Robinson seems to be living in a world of his own, surrounded by sycophants that will zealously defend his declarations. On that other side of the Atlantic and in a political party that resembles nothing the EDL, Andrés Manuel López Obrador has the fiercest supporters (at least in social media). Two polarising characters, each with an agenda that rubs a big part of the population wrong. Online debates always end up in ad hominem insults and angry comments sections, but the issues, like race and social equality, seem to be left unresolved, trampled over bickering blog tirades and tweets.

Our last sediment sample is taken under a bridge near Meadowhall, where shopping trolleys slowly rust away in the depths. As I measure dissolved oxygen in the sample, Andrew mentions a local restaurant that sells burritos. For all their great efforts, they haven’t quite nailed it. I guess we don’t have as much in common as I thought. Great music’s one thing, but a bad burrito? That’s unforgiveable.

Previously:

Mexican Food Explosion

From the Streets of Mexico City

Mexology Music: Mexico City's Electronic Underground