Behind the Scenes: Black Bee Soul Club

It's already been a year since Manchester City Council's planning committee gave a gang of bulldozers the go-ahead to tear down the site of a true Mancunian institution, the Twisted Wheel, condemning its physical presence in the city to little more than a retro stamp on future knock off t-shirts and coffee mugs. Yes, it will undoubtedly live long in the memory of the aging fanatics who frequented the Sunday sessions towards the end, but, for the youngsters out there, the sweaty basement magic of an uptempo Northern nighter had never seemed more distant.

Step in Sam McEwen and Paul Bailey. Tucked away down a dingy back alley just off Stevenson Square, their Black Bee Soul Club has been staking a claim to being the prevailing hive of Manchester's young soul scene for the past 18 months or so. "The legacy of the Twisted Wheel is undeniable, but it's not necessarily what we're about," McEwen explains. "We're a couple of guys in our mid 20s who want to cater to a younger audience. It's all well and good going to nights up and down the country where you get to hear how great the old-timers were back in the 60s and 70s, but we noticed that a lot of clubs in the Northwest were playing a lot of the same stuff each time. To us, that got boring pretty quickly.

"Quite a few of the nights around play a bit slower because of the older following; we're all about the high energy, uptempo dancers. Play fast, play loud and dance yer arse off. Stuff like Sho ’Bout To Drive Me Wild by Al Robinson, or She Made A Mistake by Connie Austin. They're regular spins."

The pair decided on Kraak Gallery as their new home after quite a bit of scouting around. The most important foundation for any budding soul night is a wooden floor, which, according to McEwen, is harder to find in Manchester than you might think. "That's unless you want to go for a characterless wedding venue type," he confirms, "but yeah, there's barely anywhere. We fell in love with Kraak straight away. It's got that nice, gritty vibe and we liked the fact that it's not right on the high street. You have to do a bit of work to find us."

McEwen is also quick to point out that rarity and price will never be determining factors as to what makes a track worthy of getting a spin at their gaff. Harking back, the ego of certain DJs drew strength from sheer obscurity. Pedigree was judged by how many copies were knocking about or how few units a record sold – such factors, in fact, often ranked just as highly as an artist's ability, instrumentation and the sound of the record itself.

"You can go from playing a couple of 45s that cost £6 for the pair to a £300 record, and it has no effect on hearing it for the first time and knowing whether it's a belter or not," he says. "You shouldn't just play something for the sake of rarity. A lot of tracks are overlooked because they aren't considered rare or original, but just because something is in a certain price bracket doesn't make it any good. Once you put a value on something people will react to that. They get drawn to it. A friend of mine has spent close to a grand on one record. I'm much more attracted to the cheaper end of the spectrum!" he laughs.

Since its birth back in 2012, Black Bee has swiftly gathered a loyal following. This includes former Wheel jockey Brian '45' Phillips, who ended up playing a guest set a few months back. "It's surreal playing alongside some of the original DJs because, when you're up there, you're on a level playing field," says McEwen. "There is no ego. You play a set, then go join the dancefloor and you soon realise that everybody is the same. Brian had been coming down for a few months before we even knew who he was! It goes to show that the DJ should never think of himself or herself as the star attraction; the people who made the music will always be the real stars."

Of course, one of the more romantic elements of the Northern soul scene was that the vast majority of recording musicians would never come to know the impact that they were making 5,000 miles across the pond. Apart from a few select big names like Edwin Starr or Jr. Walker, there were no icons; instead, it was the distant struggle of every undiscovered Motown reject that unintentionally inspired a humble slice of English culture. Thanks to clubs like Black Bee, that slice still has somewhere to go when it gets dark. Better start practising those backdrops.