Manchester’s Hulme Loonies Throw the UK’s Most Anarchic Parties

Today, the skies above Manchester, England are full of steel and glass. In a ring around the city center, totemic skyscrapers signal the worst kind of gentrification; dismal A-road living for those who can afford ‘luxury’ flats but not the community to go with it. Yet while smooth-brained developers tout the area’s subcultural history as a selling point while simultaneously bulldozing it to smithereens, there is at least one Mancunian enclave where the dream of living a different kind of life continues to weave a feral magic.

Hulme was once home to the biggest (and many have said worst) housing estate in Europe, the sprawling panopticon of Hulme Crescents. The story is a familiar one as far as Brutalist housing projects go: it was meant to be a utopia, but that went horribly wrong, and the artists, addicts, squatters, and freaks moved in when the local council lost the will and the money to turn it around. Hulme Crescents was designed to house 13,000 people, and at some stage or other provided rent-free homes to members of The Smiths, The Stone Roses, Simply Red, A Guy Called Gerald, A Certain Ratio and—weirdly—Nico from the Velvet Underground.

The estate was demolished in 1995, yet the anarchic spirit of its dilapidated, cockroach-infested heyday lives on in a large, hard partying community of radicals that call Hulme home. Documenting all that in an astonishing ongoing photo project is Anni Kay, a twenty-something student who lived in Bolton as a child but moved into her dad’s flat in Hulme when he passed away. As teens in the 1980s and 90s, Kay’s punk rocker parents were mainstays on the estate. In a sense, her presence there feels like the extension of some kind of legacy.

In the first instalment of a new collaboration with our nightlife connoisseur friends at Tough Luck UK, VICE spoke to Kay about a community that is defying all the arrayed forces of tedium the world has to offer simply by continuing to exist.

VICE: Whereabouts in Hulme do you live?
Anni Kay, Hulme Loonies: On the Redbricks Estate, just near Hulme Arch Bridge. It’s one of the few housing estates that’s lasted through all the big changes that have happened here. 

Hulme has a rich history with squatting and alternative living. What’s it like now? Has that countercultural atmosphere always persisted? 
Yes, although it’s changed a bit over time. It used to be all the punks that just kind of hung around for years, but now there’s more of an electronic music culture, because a lot of the locals are the kids of the punks who lived and squatted here during the 1970s and 80s.

When did you start the Hulme Loonies Instagram? I tried going right back to the start myself but I was scrolling for a very long time.
In 2018, I think it was, on the way to Glastonbury because I was bored.

It’s odd: looking at your photos it often feels like looking at photos taken 20 years ago. They show this way of living that is out of step with a world that’s been increasingly homogenized.
That’s literally what inspired me to take the pictures. It is that feeling, pretty much. I lived in Bolton with my mum when I was a kid and I’d come here at weekends. In Bolton, I never fit in, but coming here I immediately felt at home. 

Does your family have a history of living this way?
My parents were punks in Manchester during the 90s, and my dad was obsessed with the Crescents. My mum moved away because she couldn’t hack it any more; it’s a bit of a wild lifestyle. But when my dad died, I think his love of them came to me. 

I was gonna ask, actually, how much reverence you have for that previous era, versus how much you’re keen for it to be your own thing, to live in the here and now?
I think the balance is beautiful because even the older people still living this way in Hulme want to be part of the community. You can go to all these events and parties and you’ll find a range of anyone and everyone who is or who has ever been a part of Hulme, the elders and the youngers, people bringing their kids… It’s like a big family area and a party area at the same time. It all links together; it’s so beautiful… sorry, it makes me smile every time.

What does a typical weekend look like in Hulme?
All the squat parties and raves that we do are ‘everyone for everyone,’ so the whole community comes down. They do get mad, the fire parties especially ‘cos, you know, there’s no health and safety or anything. Sometimes we do daft stuff, but it’s worth it for the photos. If you look back, you can be like, ‘Bloody hell, why was we doing that?!’ But it’s all part of it; you can be getting pissed with a 60-year-old and a 22-year-old, bonding around a fire pit in the center of town. 

Where do the fire pit parties happen?
It used to be in Hulme Park; we had this area that we dug out and made in memory of quite a few people who passed away. Before that, we had another park, but it got bulldozed and had apartments built on it, so we moved it over. But then they’ve just got rid of that place too, so we’re trying to work with the council to find a way to have a fire pit within the community. Obviously, asking for a fire pit through the council is not gonna really bode well. 

Is there an ethos that unites the people in your photographs?
I’d say the main one is ‘We’re From Hulme and We Don’t Pay,’ which is a piece of graffiti that was photographed by Richard Davis in the 80s. That or ‘Hulme Is Where the Heart Is.’

And what are the politics, broadly speaking?
Very anarchist and left-leaning. It’s very political, underground squat politics. 

What kind of music gets played at the parties?
It fully depends on the time of night and who’s at the fires or the parties. It can range from old soul, Aretha Franklin, to Crass, to donk. There’s a lot of techno going about. And jungle. Everyone loves fucking jungle. 

Do you get much hassle off the council or police?
When I first moved here, they didn’t really like me because I had loads of parties and I was a bit much, but now I’ve calmed down. They like some elements of what we do—the family stuff, you know. We’ve done film screenings, and exhibitions, and art shows in the park; they like that. They just don’t like the parties and the loudness, but it all comes as one.

If they can’t handle you at your open-air community cinema, they don’t deserve you at your fire pit drum and bass rave.
Exactly.

Every community has its own folklore, those semi-mythical tales that get passed around and form the basis of how a group understands itself. What are those stories for Hulme?
One of our neighbors put all the walls through in his house, and turned one of the flats into one big room so he could have massive parties in there.

How many parties did he fit in before he got kicked out?
A fair few. He kept it quiet for ages without anyone knowing. When they did find out, he just said, ‘Right, fuck it then, we’ll just have a load more parties till you kick me out.’

If you could change three things overnight to make the UK a more utopian place, what would they be?
More anarchism, DIY music, and fires. I feel like you could solve world peace around a fire pit. 

Do you get hassle off people in the street for the way you dress?
I used to when I lived in Bolton, but so did my mum growing up and she was just like, ‘It’s all part of it. If you want to do it, do it.’ I first moved into Hulme officially when my dad passed away, and everyone, no matter how old they were, looked after me. To be able to go back now and document these people makes me a bit more complete. It’s like seeing my own little therapist, especially with my dad and everything, I’m just happy to be part of the ecosystem. 

It feels like you’re kind of carrying the torch for the same lifestyle that your dad lived and the things he believed in.
That’s what I’m trying to be.

Follow Hulme Loonies on Instagram @hulmeloonies1

Find more of Anni’s work below.

Follow Hulme Loonies on Instagram @hulmeloonies1