Our New Skyscraper

Think of an English city, and what is the first image that comes into your head?  Chances are you will picture its most iconic structure, silhouetted against the skyline.  It is hard to think of London without thinking of Big Ben, or of Liverpool without picturing the equally majestic waterfront Liver Buildings.  And even those who know nothing else about my home city of Newcastle will be able readily to bring to mind the Tyne Bridge arching over the river towards Gateshead. 

These iconic images are more than ubiquitous postcard adornments.  Over time, they come to serve as a sort of shorthand for the city's historical and cultural significance.  If Big Ben reminds us of the capital's place at the heart of government, the Liver Buildings recall the vast wealth Liverpool was able to acquire on the back of its status as a major port.  The Tyne Bridge, meanwhile, serves as a constant reminder of Newcastle's proud engineering heritage. 

But what of Manchester? My adopted city has no single iconic landmark, as a brief perusal of the postcards on sale at any downtown newstand will demonstrate.  Not that there is any shortage of choice; images on sale include the Gothic Town Hall, the newly-built Urbis museum, and a tram passing the circular early 20th Century Central Library- as well as an out-of-town contender, the curiously-shaped Hollins University Campus at Fallowfield, colloquially known as 'The Toast Rack'.  But none of these images dominates.  This lack of a single iconic structure may be presented as a weakness by those wishing to challenge the city's otherwise sound claim to the title 'Capital of the North'. 

Certainly the City Fathers seem to think so, to judge by the frenzied programme of urban reinvention they have presided over during the ten years I have lived in Manchester.  As well as the spectacular ,ski-slope-shaped Urbis development (which forms the centrepiece of the post-IRA-bombing renewal of the area in front of Victoria Station), this last hectic decade has seen the major overhaul of Piccadilly train station, the conversion of most of Castlefield from disused canalside warehouses to exclusive high-rise apartment blocks, and the construction of the state-of-the-art Commonwealth Stadium.

The pace of change in the central area is so fast, indeed, that after a while you just don't notice the proliferation of cranes and the constant hammering of pneumatic drills.  Neither is it safe to stand around too long admiring the changing cityscape, as a friend of mine found out when he awoke from a short daydream on the corner of Oxford Road and Whitworth Street to find that a fourteen-storey apartment block, complete with gymnasium, had been erected on the bridge of his nose.  So it is perhaps no surprise that I didn't notice our newest and tallest city-centre skyscraper at all- until my mate Skipsey pointed it out to me from his balcony, four miles south in suburban Withington. 

'See that thing?', he asked, pointing to a far-off block of grey concrete peeking out from between the trees.  'That's going to be the tallest building in Manchester, once it's finished'.  I had no idea what he was on about, even when he explained that the construction was taking place just two minutes' walk away from my city centre workplace.  So the next day I determined to take a closer look.

Of course as soon as I started looking for our new skyscraper I couldn't miss it.  The nearly-finished tower was not quite visible from Levenshulme station, but it loomed onto the horizon just past West Point, and continued to leap out from behind buildings as the 8:21 for Piccadilly rattled through the inner-city districts of Longsight and Ardwick.  Once in town the monster hid for a while as I took a short cut down the Rochdale Canal towards Castlefield- only to re-emerge glowering down at me from just behind Deansgate Locks.  Braving the giant's wrath, and the hammering of 1000 pneumatic drills, I cut through a back lane to find myself standing right at its foot. 

I craned my neck and gazed straight up the near face- then walked round and gazed again from a few different angles.  I am therefore in a position to reveal exclusively that our new skyscraper is very, very tall- and it's not even finished yet.  If the City Fathers have been looking for a single landmark to dominated the Manchester skyline then there is no doubt they will have succeeded, once the £150 million construction project is complete.

So it's big enough, all right- but what is it actually for?  Well according to the Manchester Evening News the 47-storey building will house a 5-star Hilton Hotel, apartments with asking prices ranging from just £100 000 up to £2.5 million for the top-floor penthouse, and something called a 'Sky Bar' on the 23rd floor.  There will be views as far as the Blackpool Tower (which will be dwarfed by the new 157m high construction) and Snowdonia.  Chief Architect Ian Simpson has promised 'a spectacular and beautiful addition to the Manchester Skyline'.

Well the artist's impressions look striking enough- and the locals' comments attached to the Manchester Evening News Story are broadly enthusiastic.  But what will the Hilton Tower (if that is indeed what we are going to be calling it) say about Manchester and the shared identity of the Mancunians?  Can a Five-Star hotel and residential complex (even one with a 'sky bar' attached) make the same kind of iconic cultural statement as the famous landmarks of cities such as London, Liverpool and Newcastle?

Perhaps it can, given time.  After all, in the final analysis Big Ben is just a great big clock, the Liver Buildings some rather plush offices, and the Tyne Bridge the best way of getting across to Gateshead without getting your shirt wet.   Probably when they were all first built the local populace remained defiantly underwhelmed by these presumptious newcomers to the city skyline.  But they grew to love them- even to accept them as part of their respective collective identities.  So on balance, I think I will give this genial-enough looking Mancunian giant more time to find its place in my heart.  Now that I have noticed it is there, it seems the least I can do.

Comments

[abby]

What an unnerving tale. It starts with a cappuccino bar and a European plaza and some innocent tram cars and ends in this, eh? At least in the middle ages they built monuments to god instead of commerce, allowing for a bit of madness and zeal in their architects.

Here in New York we are having to contend with the firghteningly named "Freedom Tower" with all its metaphorical US-imperialist/phallic overtones and so forth. I thought Manchester had too much self esteem for such capers. I think there should be a competing monument designed and executed by the floppy fringed sensitive jingly jangly types. Perhaps a giant pink ball of fluff in the Piccadilly Gardens. I would like a postcard of that.

Oh, and I am glad you thought to include the beautiful blue Tyne bridge in your story!

[looby]

2.5 million to be able to see Blackpool?

[jonathan]

Blackpool, Liverpool, probably Hartlepool on a clear day. Cheap at half the price. Meanwhile I've just spent lunchtime casting our new skyscraper the occasional sideways, skywards glance from my favourite canalside bench. I can't say it's winning me over with its charms yet but I suppose there is time- maybe I've just got to find its best side.

A competing tower for those of a more sensitive disposition would be a fine thing indeed though. Instead of a phallic shining pylon on the top it could have a giant lollipop, or maybe just a floppy fringe lolloping over the sides and obscuring the view out of the 40th floor penthouse windows. Come the indiepop revolution we will reappropriate the site of classic jangly disco 'The Venue' (which has been converted, scandalously, into yet more designer flats) and make these very adjustments. Oh yes we will!

[abby]

I believe that during Prague's velvet revolution they did something similar -- demolishing a giant and sombre head of Lenin (or was it Stalin?) that stood at the end of one of the city's prime boulevards and replacing it with a giant and silly metronome that symbolically marks time for the new jangly post-revolutionary era.