Revisiting Nico’s strange years in Manchester
Within the pages of his memoir, I Wanna Be Yours, the poet John Cooper Clarke reflects on the perpetual allure of Nico and her enigmatic glam, remarking on her unparalleled power to captivate any space she entered. “Even if it was for one night only at a Holiday Inn,” he said, “[Nico] would convert the most anonymous accommodation into Nico World.”
Strange, you might think, that an international rockstar found herself in the dregs of 1980s Manchester. Prior to lending her haunting vocals to The Velvet Underground, Nico had already achieved a notable level of acclaim. Relocating from Paris to New York, she boldly abandoned her thriving modelling career in pursuit of a musical path. Her involvement in The Velvet Underground’s groundbreaking debut album, produced by the iconic Andy Warhol, marked a pivotal moment in her artistic journey. Subsequently, she embarked on a transformative solo venture, undergoing a striking metamorphosis both visually and musically, aligning herself with a fresh creative direction she had chosen to explore.
After her fifth studio album, Drama of Exile, Nico found herself in the city of Manchester, a place she would call home for the best part of seven years. She first met James Young, who would become her piano player between 1981-86, when she turned up on his doorstep with her manager, Alan Wise. Young recalls this initial strange encounter, saying: “Out of nowhere, there was this German lady on my doorstep with an old friend, Alan Wise. Before I knew it, Nico was taking over my flat. First, she colonised the bathroom, and once she’d ‘freshened up’, she took over the kitchen, as she wanted to make lentil soup. She carried a bag of dried lentils with her, like a nomad.”
The “freshening up” that Young referred to was Nico finding a space where she could take heroin. Her addiction to the drug was at an all-time high at this point and wouldn’t be slowing any time soon, something that Clarke also discusses in I Wanna Be Yours: “[she had] a quantity of heroin from the Neapolitan Mob. She said it was fabulous, and she wasn’t given to effusive claims.”
Nico’s life during her time in Manchester mirrored the daily struggle of many caught in the grips of heroin addiction – constantly seeking the next fix or endeavouring to acquire the means to indulge. She often referred to herself as reclusive, residing in places adorned with blood-splattered walls, remnants of syringe mishaps, which she shared with fellow local musicians and users like Clarke.
In some instances, Niico subsisted solely on a diet of custard and took pride in enduring extended periods without bathing. Young perceives this phase of apparent decay not merely as a squalid decline and the unravelling of her talent but rather as an extension of Nico’s reinvented persona. It all made for some notably unproductive years, so she relied on touring to make fast money to fuel her addiction, but it wasn’t quite as easy as that.
Often, it would be a guessing game around whether she would turn up or perform quite to the standard required of her. Nigel Bagley, Nico’s promoter, once recalled: “We were booking artists for the Rafters nightclub in Manchester in 1981 when I got a call from an agency telling me that Nico was in a pub in London, was a mess and was borrowing money off everyone. The person said: ‘You can book her, but I’ve no idea if she will turn up.'”
However, despite the messy antics and self-destructive tendencies, Nico’s legacy is also one sprinkled with gold dust. Her voice, for example, was once described as like “a body falling through a window”, and her lyrics are dark and chilling in a way that makes your skin tingle. Band member Graham Dowdall remembered her as someone who was refreshingly easy to work with: “I remember playing with her, and the mic was broken, but Nico started to sing acoustically. Every hair on my body stood up”.
Adding: “Her voice was huge and resonant with all the weight she carried. She also taught me instantly to deviate anything; she was a trooper – no mic, no problem.”
Regardless of the prevailing opinion, Nico’s time in Manchester remains etched in the recollections of those who crossed paths with her. While her years there are often associated with drug addiction, there exists a tapestry of vivid introspective memories during that period. Clarke’s reminiscences portray her as a mystical figure, one whose presence was irresistible. It seems that Manchester harmonised with her rose-tinted perspective, perhaps serving as a reflection of her own inner world. According to guitarist Martin Bramah, she might have been drawn to the raw, Joy Division-esque subculture of the city during that era, yet her true fascination stemmed from the romantic allure of its architectural surroundings.
Nico’s legacy has largely become entwined with the dual narrative of music and drugs, with the Manchester years often being reduced to an empty and discarded chapter in her life. However, it was precisely within those fleeting moments that she left a imprints on influential figures. Seeking to detach herself from the girl-next-door image she had embraced during her tenure with The Velvet Underground, she embarked on a transformative journey, dyeing her hair dark and exploring diverse artistic styles. Manchester emerged as her profound creative haven, regardless of any perceived lack of productivity. Without that experience, who knows what would have become Nico’s lasting legacy.
