The Man Whose Web Expanded: Network Dynamics in Manchester's Post/punk Music Scene 1976-1980

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Poetics 37 (2009) 24–49

www.elsevier.com/locate/poetic
The man whose web expanded: Network dynamics

in Manchester’s post/punk music scene 1976–1980
Nick Crossley *
University of Manchester, School of Social Sciences, Oxford Road, Manchester,
Manchester M13 9PL, United Kingdom
Available online 19 December 2008
Abstract
The Manchester (UK) music scene has been extremely important in the development of independent and
alternative music within Europe. As such it has been the topic of two major films. It is commonly held that
the Manchester scene ‘took off’ in the late 1970s. This paper observes that its ‘take off’ was facilitated by
the formation of a network between a critical mass of key social actors. The aim of the paper is to
demonstrate this process of network formation and to seek to contribute to its explanation by identifying the
key mechanisms (of network formation) involved.
The paper uses formal social network analysis to map the network in question and to demonstrate its
growth. It uses a more straightforward historical–sociological approach, which is qualitative and archival in
nature, to identify the salient mechanisms. The paper adds an interesting and important case study to the
existing literature on music scenes and also suggests a novel way for both advancing research on music scenes
and further extending the use of social network analysis (and network analytic concepts) in relation to the arts.
Finally, it makes an important empirical contribution to the newly emerging area of ‘network dynamics’.
# 2008 Elsevier B.V. All rights reserved.
The title of this paper plays on that of a song by Manchester (UK) post-punk band, the Fall.1
This is appropriate because the ‘Man’ in my title is Manchester and its expanding web is the
network of key actors involved in the city’s punk/post-punk music scene between 1976 and 1980,
a scene which involved the Fall (on scenes see Bennett, 2004; Bennett and Peterson, 2004;
O’Connor, 2002; Finnegan, 1989; Straw, 1991; Shank, 1994). Manchester has been an important
source of (popular) musical innovation over the last 30 years. Its music scene has been the
focus of two feature films, 24 Hour Party People and Control, and numerous documentaries.
* Tel.: +44 161 275 2517.

E-mail address: nick.crossley@manchester.ac.uk.
1
‘The Man Whose Head Expanded’ by the Fall, released on Rough Trade records (RT133) in June 1983. Writing
credits: Hanley, Scanlon, Smith, Minder Music Ltd.
0304-422X/$ – see front matter # 2008 Elsevier B.V. All rights reserved.
doi:10.1016/j.poetic.2008.10.002
N. Crossley / Poetics 37 (2009) 24–49 25
From Joy Division/New Order and the Fall, through the Smiths, the Happy Mondays and the
Stone Roses, to Simply Red, Oasis and Badly Drawn Boy, its bands and artists, not to mention the
internationally renowned Haçienda night club, have marked the city out as a place where
‘alternative’ music both originates and thrives.
It is widely acknowledged that the Manchester scene took off in the late 70s, and it is my
contention that this ‘take off’ consisted in the formation of a network between a ‘critical mass’
(see below) of key actors who, collectively, began to make things happen in the city. My analysis
demonstrates this process of network formation and identifies the ‘mechanisms’ (see below) that
shaped it. It is an investigation of network formation.
This investigation makes an important contribution to our understanding of a particular music
scene but it has a wider significance too. It demonstrates how the concept of networks and the
techniques of social network analysis can contribute to our empirical understanding of music
scenes in general and, indeed, our empirical understanding of cultural production and cultural
movements more widely. In doing so, moreover, it both develops an insight which remains
undeveloped in Becker’s (1982) concept of ‘art worlds’ and challenges Bourdieu’s critique and
rejection of network analysis in his conception of cultural fields (see below). In addition, at a
methodological level I seek to demonstrate how we can weave together the (largely quantitative)
techniques of social network analysis (Scott, 2000; Wasserman and Faust, 1994; Carrington
et al., 2005) with a more qualitative, archival based approach and thereby achieve a more
comprehensive grasp upon network dynamics.
I take as the starting point for my analysis the 4th of June 1976, when the (London-based) Sex
Pistols played their first Manchester gig at the city’s Lesser Free Trade Hall. This is appropriate
because it is widely claimed that this gig was the spark that (re)ignited Manchester’s music scene.
Mancunian music journalist, Paul Morley, speaks for many commentators when he claims that:
I’ve often done it for practice: join the line from the Sex Pistols all the way up to Mr Scruff
and Badly Drawn Boy. Everything that happens is still a fall out of the Sex Pistols coming
to the Lesser Free Trade Hall. There’s no doubt about it – all the way through Joy Division
to the Stone Roses, from the Fall to the Happy Mondays, all the way through the
dance stuff, anything mad that happened at the Haçienda, you can draw it all back to that
little explosion at the Lesser Free Trade Hall. It’s not hard at all. (Morley cited in
Nolan, 2006, 15)
I address a narrower strip of history than Morley refers to here. And I submit, as I am sure he
would, that many factors have shaped the trajectory of the Manchester scene in addition to the
Pistols’ gig. But what follows is, in some part, an attempt to explore this claim that the gig served
as a catalyst for the future development of the scene qua network.
I end my analysis at the 18th May 1980, when Joy Division singer, Ian Curtis, tragically
committed suicide. I take this as my cut off because it was a turning point for many Manchester
musicians. It shocked those who knew Curtis and occasioned a change of direction amongst
many influential actors connected to him. Given the influence of these actors within the network,
their change of direction was a catalyst for wider changes and effectively marked the end of
an era.
The paper begins with a number of short sections which address important background issues.
Specifically, I (1) consider why networks are important in the analysis of music scenes; (2)
discuss the relevance of network analysis to the competing notions of musical ‘worlds’ (Becker,
1982) and ‘fields’ (Bourdieu, 1993); (3) identify mechanisms of network formation as my key
analytic focus; and (4) discuss the merits of bringing qualitative insights into the quantitative
26 N. Crossley / Poetics 37 (2009) 24–49
domain of network analysis, as later sections of the paper do. Having dealt with these
preliminaries, I (5) introduce my data and methods; (6) present evidence to suggest that a network
of key protagonists took shape in Manchester between 1976 and 1980; and then (7) identify and
analyse the mechanisms involved in this process of network formation.
1. Why networks matter
Music scenes, whether local or national, presuppose the existence of a ‘critical mass’ of
participants. This is not the place to discuss the complexities of the theory of critical mass or my
own assessment of it (see Schelling, 2006; Oliver and Marwell, 1988; Oliver et al., 1985; Marwell
et al., 1988; Gould, 1993; Kim and Bearman, 1997; Crossley, 2007, 2008a). It must suffice to say
that scenes are forms of collective action which are more likely to emerge and be recognised as
such when the size of the collective involved rises (albeit perhaps up to a point whereupon further
growth is counter-productive). Size is important because collective action involves ‘costs’
(broadly defined) which may prove prohibitive if they cannot be sufficiently distributed and
because the required work may exceed that possible for a small group. Moreover, claims to
credibility and legitimacy often invoke size (would we be prepared to call a single band with
three fans a ‘scene’?). It is not possible to be precise about the population size threshold values at
which a scene becomes feasible and recognisable as such, at least not unless we accept some
rather artificial simplifications. I have noted elsewhere, however, that the original punk scene in
London was sparked by the interactions of 46 key actors (Crossley, 2008b), and, in the analysis
that follows, I have identified 129 core actors in the Manchester scene. In both cases the mass
involved was sufficient to absorb the costs of generating a scene, complete the necessary work
and generate the impression that something significant was happening.
Though necessary for the generation of a scene, mass alone is not sufficient. Cultural
production requires a pooling and organisation of resources and enthusiasm which can only occur
when actors are connected. Actors with the relevant talents and resources must find one another
and connect. In addition, channels of communication are necessary if actions are to be combined
and coordinated constructively, and if ideas, innovations, narratives and collective identities are
to be disseminated. Furthermore, pioneers require channels through which to recruit likely
participants, and participants must be in a position to influence one another if the conventions of a
recognisable style are to emerge. A critical mass, in other words, must be networked to be
effective. One hundred people pursuing their projects independently do not constitute a scene.
They must interact and influence one another. Networks coordinate a critical mass and facilitate
the mobilisation of resources such that events happen. Collective action requires a critical
network rather than a critical mass.
The significance of networks in relation to collective action has been discussed at some
length in the social movements literature (Crossley, 2007). It has been noted, for example, that
the black civil rights movement in the USA took shape within the context of black churches and
colleges, drawing upon the existing networks involved therein and borrowing the organisational
structure of those networks (McAdam, 1982; Morris, 1984). Likewise, there is very clear
evidence of the role of pre-existing neighbourhood networks in the mobilisation that led to the
Paris Commune (Gould, 1991, 1995). Moreover, when movements have begun to take shape
pre-existing networks can play an important role in recruitment, with those involved drawing
their further contacts into the movement (Snow et al., 1980). It is my contention that we should
expect to find similar mechanisms and effects in other forms of collective action, including
music scenes.
In addition, as the social capital literature indicates, connection can generate various emergent
properties which add value to actors’ efforts and constitute a resource for at least some of those
actors (Coleman, 1990; Halpern, 2005). Norms of reciprocity can emerge, for example, which
help new bands to take off. Thus Buzzcocks were given a helping hand in their early days by the
Sex Pistols’ manager, Malcom McLaren. And Buzzcocks, in turn, sought to help other, especially
local bands. They met frequently with future members of Joy Division, for example, offering
advice, arranging a support slot and even giving them their first band name (Stiff Kittens) (Nolan,
2007, 38). When Joy Division had the opportunity to do likewise for others (e.g. Section 25 and
Crispy Ambulance) they did (Nolan, 2007, 38). And these two bands reciprocated when their
singers each stood in for Ian Curtis on an occasion when he was unwell and unable to perform a
whole (Joy Division) set (Nolan, 2007, 38). Buzzcocks were similarly supportive of the Fall,
inviting them to be their support act on many occasions (Ford, 2003). Such cooperation clearly
helped both the scene and individual bands within it to develop. It is just one example of the way
in which networks and their emergent properties (trust, norms of reciprocity, etc.) transform and
enhance conditions of action.
Networks have different structures, however. Not everybody within a network is connected to
everybody else (at least not always) and the pattern of who connects to whom can be of
significance too, both in relation to the whole and to the actors involved. Different network
configurations can have different effects and different positions in a network generate different
opportunities and constraints for the actor(s) involved. I have demonstrated this elsewhere,
myself, in relation to the network of early London punk (Crossley, 2008b) and it is more widely
demonstrated in many studies (Burt, 1992, 2005; Fernandez and McAdam, 1988).
Of course there are conflicts and power imbalances too, and there is disconnection and
isolation. Relative isolation from a network, for example, can result in a lack of access to the
resources necessary to form a band and/or in resentment against those perceived to be better
connected. It can also result in musical innovation, however, either because the actors involved
are subject to less pressure to conform or because they fail to properly acquire the artistic
conventions of the wider network to which they are (poorly) connected, a process explored
empirically by Cerulo (1984). Isolation is a network position with its own effects and a proper
analysis of networks will attend to it.
2. Conceptualising social structure: networks, resources and conventions
In order to remain clear in my position and concise in its exposition I have focused my analysis
rather narrowly on certain aspects of networks, their structure and dynamics. In more general
terms, however, I suggest that networks form one dimension, albeit perhaps the most important
dimension, of a wider, three-dimensional structure within which cultural production should be
analysed. The other two dimensions comprise resources, or more specifically the distribution of
resources, which generate power2 in the context of exchange and asymmetrical interdependence;
and conventions, a concept which embraces shared techniques, habits and rules/norms.
There is an established tradition within social science which treats networks or at least
‘network structure’ as equivalent to ‘social structure’ (Radcliffe-Brown, 1952; Nadel, 1957;
Wellman and Berkowitz, 1997). To talk of social structure, within this tradition, is to refer to
networks. I am sympathetic to this view. Networks clearly manifest a structure and structural
2
Resources are not a form of power in themselves but when actors become dependent upon one another for resources
power relations take shape.
properties. Moreover, they generate both constraints and opportunities for those involved in
them. Actors’ opportunities are affected by who they are connected to, not connected to, by
interdependence and the balances of power it generates (Elias, 1978) and by wider patterns of
connection within the networks they belong to. However, if social life and action manifest a
structure, as I believe they do, this is not only in virtue of patterns of connection but also because
of the effect of both conventions and resource distributions. The distribution of resources within a
population is itself a structure, as the various images of stratification theory, from ‘pyramids’,
through ‘strata’ to ‘social distance’, all suggest (Bottero, 2005). Furthermore, distributions of
resources structure social life insofar as they generate a distribution of ‘life chances’ and
opportunities for action more generally (Bottero, 2005). Likewise, conventions bestow structure
insofar as they entail durable and shared patterns of (inter)action, encompassing what actors do
and/or how they do it. What we do in specific contexts and how we do it is patterned by
conventions and, as such, manifests a structure.
The three dimensions of structure interlock in the context of social interaction. Networks are,
in effect, networks of interactions. The relations of which they are composed are made and
remade by way of interaction. Likewise resources are exchanged and move through networks by
way of interactions. Indeed the interactions which constitute the relations that comprise any given
network may consist simply of exchanges of specific resources. And conventions take shape
within interaction, are negotiated within it, shape it, become reshaped within it and diffuse by
means of it. Networks, resources and conventions are not discrete structures then but rather
interlocking aspects of a single structure, centred upon social interaction.
This emphasis upon interaction should indicate, moreover, that structures are necessarily
dynamic and always ‘in-process’. Although it is important not to overstate the degree of change
and flux in social life and to recognise the durability, across time, of the various patterns we
designate (because they are durable) as ‘structure’, structures necessarily unfold through time,
with the interactions in which they manifest. These interactions, though never identical across
iterations and always negotiated, tend to reproduce structure in broad outline but small changes
are endemic and large changes are always possible.
This way of conceptualising structure resonates with two key approaches in cultural
sociology: Becker’s (1982) Art Worlds approach which, though he resists systematic or reductive
formulation, centres upon networks, resources and conventions; and Bourdieu’s (1993) ‘field’
model, which is offered as a relational approach and centres both upon the distribution of
resources, or perhaps rather than the distribution of actors within a social space defined by the
volume and composition of their resources (capital), and upon the structuring effect of ‘habitus’. I
have been inspired and influenced by both of these approaches but there are important differences
from them in the approach I am pursuing.
Becker makes extensive reference to ‘networks’ in Art Worlds but never develops the concept
beyond claiming that art worlds are networks. There is little sense in his work of why it matters
that actors in an art world are networked nor of the structural properties of networks and their
significance. He does not explore the processes by which networks form or the mechanisms
involved. I aim to correct this in my own conception, even if, in this paper, that comes at the
expense of a proper analysis of the other facets focused upon by Becker: namely, resources and
conventions.
Bourdieu does not so much downplay networks as critique the notion for focusing upon
‘actualised’ relations and interactions (e.g. Bourdieu and Wacquant, 1992, 113). Although his
ethnographic work is often sensitive to particularities and patterns of interaction he is critical, in
his theoretical formulations, of work which focuses exclusively upon observable relations and
interactions. Such work, he argues, ignores underlying and more important structures – of the
social distribution of tastes, for example – that only become apparent in the broader statistical
analyses presented in such works as Distinction and Homo Academicus (Bourdieu, 1984, 1986).
He levels this critique at, amongst others, Weber (Bourdieu and Wacquant, 1992, 113), Becker
(Bourdieu, 1993, 34–35) and social network analysis (see de Nooy, 2003). Moreover, he is
critical of the foundational status afforded to interaction in these works. Where Weber et al. look
to interaction, almost as a prime mover, to explain the social world from the ‘bottom up’,
Bourdieu stresses that interaction is always already situated within a distribution of resources and
habituated social conventions and is therefore necessarily shaped, constrained and enabled by
these structures. There is, so to speak, a ‘top down’ pressure acting upon interaction. Moreover,
this pressure is not always accessible to studies which observe concrete social interaction. A
study of interaction within art museums is ill placed to identify groups who are poorly
represented within this space, for example, and therefore to explore the mechanisms by which
they are excluded and its significance.
I have no objections to Bourdieu’s conception of social structure, at least none relevant to the
discussion here, and I share many of his concerns (see Crossley, 2008c). I have already indicated
that I believe ‘capital’ or resources to be important and I also believe that Bourdieu’s method of
mapping social space in terms of it, by means of multiple correspondence analysis, is important. I
agree with de Nooy (2003) that Bourdieu’s field mappings are compatible with and
complementary to methods of network analysis. And I agree that the concept of the habitus
is a useful tool for exploring the ‘conventions’ referred to above and that Bourdieu has done more
than anyone else to develop this tool (see Crossley, 2001). My call for a three-dimensional
approach to structure, outlined above, is precisely a recognition of these properties of social
worlds and might even be deemed a ‘Bourdieusian critique’ of those strands of network analysis
which pay insufficient attention to resources and conventions.
Interaction and networks are no less important, however, both on account of their own
properties (discussed in the main body of this paper) and their significance in relation to resources
and habitus. The value of resources, for example, is in large part ‘exchange value’ and exchange
is a form of interaction. As noted above, resources are mobilised by way of exchange in networks
and a large part of their sociological significance derives from this. Patronage relations in the arts
are an obvious and relevant example of this (Bourdieu, 1993). Likewise, habitus are shared
because and to the extent that they are both generated through collective (networked) action and
disseminated within networks. The transmission and reproduction of aesthetic dispositions
within families, discussed in The Love of Art, is an illustration of the latter, whilst the
investigation of the emergence of specific aesthetic values within particular artistic circles, in The
Field of Cultural Production, illustrates the former (Bourdieu et al., 1990; Bourdieu, 1993).
As both of these examples and the aforementioned ethnographic works exemplify, Bourdieu is
alert to this in his research practice, but he does tend to disavow it in his more theoretical
formulations and he is also critical (in these formulations) of attempts to formally map and
measure network structures and properties using the techniques of social network analysis. My
contention, by contrast, is that we need to recognise, in theory, the significance of networks and
interactions that Bourdieu sometimes concedes in his research practice (if only because the
concepts are so useful in practice). Furthermore, we should appropriate the tools of social
network analysis as a means of modelling this dimension of social structure and recognise it as a
complement to the models that Bourdieu constructs by way of multiple correspondence analysis.
The two techniques do not offer conflicting accounts of social structure. They each offer a snap
shot of a different dimension of that (always evolving and dynamic) structure.
Moreover, we must recognise both ‘top down’ and ‘bottom up’ influence. Interactions,
relations and networks are shaped, constrained and enabled by resource distributions and
established conventions but not entirely. They generate a (relatively autonomous) dynamism and
structure of their own. Moreover, this dynamism is in some cases sufficient to challenge and/or
transform, intentionally and knowingly or not, existing resource distributions and conventions.
The punk and post-punk developments considered in this paper, which posed a challenge to both
the dominance of major record labels and the aesthetic and organisational conventions of ‘the
music business’, illustrate this. Of course these changes then become constraints (etc.) on future
interaction but that is the point. Indeed, what I am calling here ‘top down’ and ‘bottom up’ might
better be conceived temporally in terms of ‘the past’ weighing down upon ‘the present’, which in
turn becomes ‘past’ and so on.
Of course one cannot do everything in one paper. This paper is focused specifically upon
network dynamics and my primary objective is both to explore these dynamics and to illustrate
their importance and interest. The other dimensions of structure can only be alluded to, and only
where most relevant. However, I hope that the paper is not blind to the significance of resources
and conventions (habitus). It is offered as an analysis of one dimension of what is explicitly
acknowledged to be a three-dimensional structure.
3. Mechanisms of network formation
Networks might figure in an analysis of cultural production in at least one of two ways. We can
use networks as a basis from which to explain certain of the properties or dynamics of a scene or
we can seek to explain the emergence of networks themselves; how it is that key actors in a given
scene came into contact, generating the connections that, in turn, generated the scene. My focus
here is upon this second question: how do the networks constitutive of local scenes emerge?
My approach to this question centres upon the concept of ‘mechanisms’. Elster (2007) defines
mechanisms as ‘frequently occurring and easily recognisable patterns that are triggered under
generally unknown conditions or with indeterminate consequences. They allow us to explain but
not to predict’ (Elster, 2007, 36, his emphasis). As a concept, mechanisms focus our attention
upon how it is that Y leads to Z. It looks beyond the correlation of variables or events, generally
invoked to demonstrate causation, in order to make that correlation intelligible. However, it is
generally used retrospectively and with full recognition that events could have taken a different
turn. Indeed Elster (2007), drawing upon various contradictory proverbs to illustrate his case,
suggests that pairs of mechanisms may operate in opposing ways: e.g. we say that ‘opposites
attract’ but also that ‘birds of a feather flock together’. His point is that both are possible,
demonstrably so, and that we cannot always know which will apply but that we do recognise both
patterns in our analyses, on occasion, and that focusing upon them can help us to explain
correlations in our data: e.g. ‘this is happening because similarity generates attraction sometimes
and it does so because . . .’. The point is not to predict what will happen in a situation but rather to
identify sequences of actions and events which frequently recur in social life, making an impact,
and to render them intelligible. I would only add that sometimes contradictory mechanisms may
operate within the same situation.
Much of the early work on mechanisms was couched in ‘rational action’ and thus
methodologically individualistic terms (see Elster, 2007; Hedström and Swedberg, 1998).
However, recent by work by Tilly (2002, 2006; McAdam et al., 2001), amongst others, has both
freed the notion of its ‘rational action’ connotations and sought out ‘relational mechanisms’; that
is, sequences of interactions and events conditional upon given interaction dynamics and/or
network figurations. My focus here is upon mechanisms which generate relationships and
networks. Many of them, I submit, are irreducible to the properties of individuals qua monads
and, as such, are relational. However, they also arguably presuppose certain (psychological)
tendencies on behalf of individuals and are not, as such, incompatible with or opposed to a notion
of individual level mechanisms.
4. Quantity and quality
A comprehensive grasp of social networks requires the combination of qualitative and

quantitative approaches. There have been enormous advances in formal, quantitative approaches
in recent years, which have extended the approach, deepened it, made it more rigorous and also,
by means of good software, made it widely accessible. As noted earlier, however, networks are
rooted in social interaction. And social interaction is messy and complicated in ways not always
amenable to mathematical models. For this reason there has been a notable call in recent years for
a more qualitative focus in network analysis, to match and complement quantitative approaches
(Emirbayer and Goodwin, 1994; Mische and White, 1998; Mische, 2003; Knox et al., 2006;
Edwards and Crossley, 2009/forthcoming). This point needs to be unpacked.
When, in network analysis, we connect two nodes with a number in a matrix or a connecting
line (edge) on a graph, we simplify. And the pursuit of greater mathematical sophistication
often involves the adoption of further simplifying assumptions which everybody recognises as
such. The price is often worth paying, as we learn a great deal by doing this, but only if we
remain alert to the simplifying character of our assumptions and strike a balance between
models which build upon them and more empirically open studies which explore the complexity
that they mask.
In an area relevant to this paper, for example, simulation techniques have afforded fascinating
insights into processes of network formation and transformation, testing the predictions of their
models against empirical (sometimes longitudinal) data on real networks (e.g. Burk et al., 2007;
Barabási, 2003). The results are impressive and often persuasive. However, they are insufficient.
All simulation studies are dogged by the problem that similar outcomes may be generated by
different means and, indeed, by the acknowledged fact that they rest upon simplifying
assumptions which are too simple to be empirically sustained. At best simulation work allows us
to conclude that ‘it is plausible that it happened something like this’. That is not bad for social
science, given the material we are analysing, but at least some of the limitations can be addressed
by more qualitatively focused empirical work which, by means of direct observation, archival
analysis and/or open-ended interviewing, seeks both to ascertain what was actually happening
between the fixed points of a longitudinal comparison that induced the observed changes (i.e.
what mechanisms were in play) and also to unpick and explore those mechanisms, investigating
the empirical complexity that simplifying assumptions bracket out.
In this paper I offer something akin to this. I use quantitative methods to map a real, empirical
network at two distinct points in time. I then seek, by means of an exploration of secondary and
archival sources, to explain what was going on between these two points of time; what
mechanisms came into play that explain the changes observed. In doing this, moreover, I engage
with the available literature on mechanisms of network formation, including some from the more
quantitative literature. This is not intended as a qualitative account ‘versus’ a quantitative
account. It is intended, rather, as a demonstration of how, in some cases, qualitative (historical)
work might further elaborate and test modellers’ claims regarding the underlying mechanisms of
given network dynamics.
5. Data and methods
The data for the analysis has been drawn from: (1) authoritative histories of Manchester music
and the wider post/punk scene (Haslam, 2000; Lee, 2002; Reynolds, 2005; Savage, 2005); (2)
biographies and autobiographies of key protagonists and bands (Curtis, 1995; Ford, 2003;
Middles, 1985, 1993; Nolan, 2006, 2007; Ott, 2006; Sharp, 2007; Wilson, 2002); and (3) many
on-line resources.3 By trawling these accounts and cross-checking between them it has been
possible to derive a list of the agents who were centrally involved in the Manchester post/punk
scene during 1976–1980. Although some accounts cast their net more widely than others there is
a high level of agreement regarding key players between different accounts. In addition, again by
means of trawling and cross-checking, I have been able to derive a reliable picture of the
relationships between these protagonists.
Importantly, the actors I have identified are not all musicians. Following Becker’s (1982) lead,
I have looked beyond musicians to include influential producers, sleeve designers, record label
bosses and others. This is appropriate because the non-musicians included acquired important
reputations in their own right within the Manchester scene and are credited with creating many of
the distinctive sounds and images associated with it. The designs of Peter Saville and the
production work of Martin Hannett, for example, are both widely celebrated and integral to the
Manchester (or at least Manchester’s Factory4) ‘brand’.
Non-musicians were also important, as we will see, in connecting bands and thereby
generating a networked scene. As noted above, a scene involves connection between a critical
mass of actors who play different roles within it. Non-musicians can be important not only for the
official roles that they play but also because they tend to work with a range of artists, generating
links between them and often bringing them into contact.
Some definitions of networks in the sociological literature include as nodes such non-human
actors as pieces of technology (Latour, 2005). And some stretch networks back through time,
such that, for example, users of an instrument are linked, perhaps through hundreds of years, to
those who invented it (Latour, 2005). Such conceptions of networks can be interesting and
important. I have opted for a narrower definition of networks in this paper, however, focusing
only upon human actors who were contemporary with one another. I do this because my chief
interest is in the way that human actors ‘hook up’ and initiate collective actions.
Another potential contender for node status is the corporate actor; a record company, for
example. Corporate actors are certainly represented in this paper but in the decomposed form of
their key human representatives. Thus the key figures involved in the Factory, Rabid and TJM
record labels, as well as numerous fanzine collectives, are included. I have opted for this
reduction for three reasons. Firstly, these labels and fanzines were small, independent endeavours
3
Especially (all last consulted 28 January 2008): http://members.aol.com/lwtua/joydiv.html, http://joydivision.
homestead.com/, http://www.lwtua.free-online.co.uk/shadowplay/joyd.html, http://www.slaughterandthedogs.co.uk/,
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slaughter_&_The_Dogs, http://www.damagedgoods.co.uk/slaughterandthedogs/index.html,
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Nosebleeds, http://www.punk77.co.uk/groups/nosebleedsinterview.html, http://www.
punk77.co.uk/groups/nosebleeds.html, http://www.hiljaiset.sci.fi/punknet/nosebl_e.html, http://www.martinhannett.co.uk/,
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rob_Gretton, http://www.enkiri.com/joy/associates/r_gretton.html, http://www.jrh31.ukon-
line. co.uk/Rob_Gretton.html, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tony_Wilson, http://www.factoryrecords.net/, http://
www.cerysmaticfactory.info/, http://www.btinternet.com/comme6/saville/, http://www.visi.com/fall/, http://www.
thefall.info/.
4
That is, the very influential cluster of bands and other actors which took shape around Factory Records and, to a lesser
extent, ‘the Factory’ nightclub.
which effectively came together in the process that I am describing. As corporate entities they
were an effect of network formation and cannot be presupposed in my account of that process.
Secondly, these corporate entities were only loosely organised and are better regarded as
cohesive clusters within the overall network comprising the scene rather than as ‘black boxed’
and irreducible actors in their own right. Finally, the actors involved in fanzines and record labels
were often involved, independently, in a host of other projects too, such that it makes sense to
focus upon them as individuals.
Of course bigger corporate entities, such as the major London record companies, became
active in the scene with time. I have excluded them, however, because I am interested in the
organic, local developments in Manchester. I do not deny that ‘London money’ found its way into
the scene through, for example, the conduit of successful bands. But I think that the best way to
handle this is to cut the network at a geographical boundary and recognise that some actors within
that boundary were well-resourced as a result of relations outside of it which remain unexplored
here. Similarly, I accept that the corporate actors of the media world played an important role in
raising the profile of certain bands, with significant effect. But again, given that we must draw
boundaries somewhere, I have elected to cut these actors out, whilst factoring in that some bands
enjoyed a much higher profile than others.
It is important to add, by way of background, both that much of what happened in Manchester
was fiercely and self-consciously ‘regional’ – many believed that Manchester could and should
resist the lure of the capital – and that Manchester was heavily involved in the boom in
independent record labels that spread across the UK in the early 1980s. It is widely held, for
example, that Buzzcock’s first record, the Spiral Scratch EP, released on their own, New
Hormones label, was the spark which initiated the abovementioned boom (Reynolds, 2005;
Savage, 2005). This independent ethos insulated the Manchester scene from London-based
corporate actors to some extent.
Given that many of the musicians in my network often played on the same bill as one another and
that all of the actors involved attended many local gigs additional to those they were directly
involved in, the likelihood is that most of my actors were acquainted with one another to some
degree by 1980. At the level of weak ties it is probably true to say that everyone knew everyone else.
I have only recorded a relationship between actors, however, in cases where either: (1) they enjoyed
a professional relationship (i.e. exchanging services of some sort) or (2) they are known to have had
a strong friendship. Thus, for example, actors who played in the same band at some point in time are
counted as related where those who bumped into one another at gigs are not. This is a
methodological necessity because strong ties are much easier to identify and verify within the
archive. It is relatively easy to determine who worked with whom. Similarly, good friendships tend
to be documented sufficiently often to give me confidence that my data are valid and robust. Casual
acquaintance is more nebulous, however, and there is good reason to believe that it is underreported.
My strong-tie focus also has the advantage that we know the ties recorded to be meaningful and
influential upon the actors involved. Vaguely knowing another person is not likely to influence one’s
conduct but being involved in a professional or stronger friendship relation probably will.
Much of my analysis of these networks, as indicated above, draws upon the techniques and
measures of formal social network analysis. I will explain the relevant concepts/measures of this
approach as they arise rather than offering a lengthy exposition here (see Scott, 2000; Wasserman
and Faust, 1994; Carrington et al., 2005). Suffice it to say that social network analysis utilises a
variety of mathematical techniques to derive sociologically significant ways of describing and
measuring the structure of networks; networks being defined as sets of nodes (technically
‘vertices’), some or all of which are linked to one another. In this case, to reiterate, all vertices are
Plate 1. The Manchester scene.
human actors who played a significant role in the Manchester music scene between June 1976
and May 1980. The (free-to-download5) Pajek software package has been used for all
computations and diagrams (on Pajek see de Nooy et al., 2005).
6. The network structure of Manchester music 1976–1980
Plate 1 maps all relationships and all actors identified in the abovementioned archival trawl. It
is a snapshot of Manchester’s ‘alternative’ music network as of May 1980. This network, which
forms a single component and bears at least some similarity to a wheel figuration,6 centred as it is
upon a number of key hubs, comprises 129 nodes (vertices) and 700 connections between them
(edges). The proportion of actual to possible connections (density) is 0.0848 and the shortest path
between the two most distant vertices (diameter) involves 6 intermediary relations (degrees).
Vertices are sized in accordance with their number of direct connecting links (also ‘degree’) and
are coloured in accordance with their predominant role: black vertices are musicians, grey
vertices are (local) journalists and white vertices are non-musicians other than journalists. Note,
however, that these distinctions are rough as many of the non-musicians tried their hand as
musicians at some point (sometimes successfully) and at least some of the musicians also played
non-musical roles. I have classified people here according to what they are best known for.
Plate 1 is important and useful for giving us a comprehensive picture of the network. In order
to explore the formation of the network, however, it is useful to have at least two snapshots,
5
Pajek is a free to download software package. To download it visit <http://vlado.fmf.uni-lj.si/pub/networks/pajek/>.
6
I have moved some of the vertices around the graph space to accentuate this wheel-like figuration. I have only been
able to do so, however, because the pattern of relations facilitates this arrangement.
Plate 2. The Manchester scene in early 1976.
containing the same actors at different points in time. This was impossible to do for all actors
involved in Plate 1 as I have been unable to date all of the relationships involved. Sufficient
information was available on the relationships between a sub-set of 63 of these actors, however, and
these are represented in Plates 2 and 3, respectively. Plate 2 represents all relationships between the
relevant actors in June 1976, on the eve of the Sex Pistols first gig in Manchester. Plate 3 represents
all relationships between the same set of actors in May 1980, at the time of Ian Curtis’ death.
The differences between these sub-graphs clearly indicate a process of network formation.
Plate 2 involves 28 components, only 3 of which involve more than three vertices. There are 17
isolates, 5 dyads and 3 triads. Plate 3, by contrast, comprises a single component. In addition,
density grows between the two points from 0.049 in 1976 to 0.177 in 1980, as the number of
relations jumps (considerably) from 96 to 346.
Note that Plate 2 does not represent a fragmented scene or network. Rather it represents the
level of connection between actors who would only later collectively produce a scene. The
network we are interested in did not exist in 1976 and we are not interested in the vertices/actors
in Plate 2 because of anything they were doing in June 1976. We are interested in them because of
what they went on to do in the 4 years after June 1976. Measuring their network properties as of
June 1976 is only meaningful and legitimate insofar as it provides us with a baseline against
which to explore the process of network formation in which they subsequently became involved.
Note also that new ties are easier to identify than dissolved ties. Published accounts more often
describe relationship formation than relationship dissolution. Unless actors have a spectacular
break up any loss of contact between them is unremarkable and hence not remarked upon. Unless
we use very strict criteria for identifying relations and have very good data which allows us to use
those criteria consistently, we will tend to accumulate new ties in our data without ever having
sufficient reason to remove ties. Density will inevitably grow.
Plate 3. The Manchester scene in 1980.
I do not believe that the growth in density between Plates 2 and 3 is a mere artefact of method,
however. I have good reason to believe that the ties identified were not broken across the period of
study. If actors continue to participate within a scene over a period of time, as all of the actors in
the network represented in Plates 2 and 3 did, then they will continue to ‘bump into’ one another
and renew their relationships. Unless and until actors cease to participate in the sites of
interaction where they will routinely meet, accidentally or otherwise, their relationships will be
kept active. For this reason I believe that the growth of network density charted between Plates 2
and 3 reflects a real trend. Relations identified in Plate 2 remained active in the period studied
because the actors involved remained involved in activities which brought them together.
Moreover, although actors may lose contact or cease exchanging with and influencing one
another they do not thereby cease to be related to one another. Relationships can become latent
but this does not mean that they are broken or dissolved, not least because they may be relatively
easily re-activated should the need or circumstance arrive. We have all been e-mailed or phoned
out of the blue by old acquaintances whose newly acquired interests ‘made me think of you’. In
some respects ties remain until death (and in others beyond death) because a shared history and
the habitual intersubjective bond that it generates cannot be undone. The clock cannot be turned
back. Furthermore, given that we are not literally in the presence of those we are tied to all of the
time, all relationships are, to some degree, subject to a continual process of re- and deactivation.
Ties may change by becoming latent but they are not strictly broken.
Even a dramatic ‘bust up’ is only a change in the value (positive to negative) or emotional
structure of a relationship, and negative relations can be just as influential upon an actor as
positive relations. Furthermore, change, like re-activation, is a matter of degree: all relationships
are constantly in-process and subject to subtle transformations effected within the interactions
which (re)activate and (re)generate them.
Whilst we must acknowledge that Plate 3 may contain a small number of relationships which,
if they had not become latent may at least have become less significant, therefore, we have good
reason to assume that the actors involved remained related on some level. With this said we can
turn to our key question: how did this network form?
7. The Sex Pistols in Manchester
As noted above, journalistic and participant accounts of the Manchester scene often point to the
Sex Pistols first gig in Manchester as the spark from which all else followed. Many myths surround
this gig and a joke: namely, that if everybody who says that they were there actually was the Pistols
would have filled the local football stadium when, in fact, only 28 tickets were sold in advance
(Nolan, 2007, 32) and estimates of attendance range between 40 and 100 (Nolan, 2006). Needless to
say, there is a great deal of argument about who was there at this foundational moment.
Part of the reason for the confusion is that the Sex Pistols played Manchester’s Lesser Free
Trade Hall twice in close succession in 1976: 4th June and 20th July. And they played Manchester
twice again in December of that year, at the Electric Circus. The 4th June gig was the Pistols’ first
foray outside of London and their notoriety was only weeks old even at the time of the fourth gig,
springing as it did from a now legendary television interview on 1st of December 1976. It is
conceivable that anybody attending any of the first four gigs might have believed it was the first.
Both of the Free Trade Hall gigs were organised by two students from the Bolton Institute of
Technology: Howard Trafford (who became Howard Devoto) and Peter McNeish (who became
Pete Shelley). Shelley had previously played in bands in the Manchester area and he and Devoto
had attempted, but failed, to put together a band modelled on the same US bands that inspired the
Pistols; chiefly the Velvet Underground and the Stooges. Flicking through the New Musical
Express (NME), one of the key national music papers of the time, they read a review of a band
who played Stooges’ covers, sounded like the Stooges and claimed ‘we’re not into music . . .
We’re into chaos’ (cited in Nolan, 2006, 27). They had to know more. Consequently Devoto, who
had the loan of a car for the weekend, rang a friend of his with digs in London (Richard Boon) to
inform him that he and Shelley were coming to London and would be staying with him. They
phoned the NME for more information; went to London; tracked down the shop owned by the
Pistols’ manager, Malcom McLaren; learned that the Pistols were playing twice that weekend;
saw them both times and told McLaren they would like to arrange for the Pistols to play in
Manchester. McLaren agreed that if they could find a venue he would bring the Sex Pistols.
The first gig, as noted above, had a low attendance. It is generally agreed, however, that the
crowd contained many would-be notables. In addition to Devoto and Shelley, who very quickly
formed Buzzcocks, with Richard Boon as their manager and first record label boss, the list
included: Bernard Sumner and Peter Hook, later of Joy Division/New Order; Mark E Smith and
other future members of The Fall; Morrissey, who would play briefly with the Nosebleeds and
Slaughter and the Dogs (in both cases with Billy Duffy, later of both Theatre of Hate and the Cult)
before forming the Smiths; Paul Morley, who was to become the NME’s ‘man in Manchester’;
Tony Wilson, who would co-found Factory Records and both the Factory and Haçienda
nightclubs; Martin Hannett, who would also become a director of Factory and famously produce
many of the Manchester bands; and local punk celebrity, John the Postman, later famed for taking
to the stage uninvited at punk gigs and giving impromptu a cappella renditions of ‘Louie Louie’
(amongst other songs).
This collision of soon-to-be stars was not entirely random. Many of the above were keen
music enthusiasts who, like Devoto and Shelley, read the right magazines. And, like Devoto and
Shelley, they were sufficiently ‘into’ the newly emerging American scene that the Pistols were
being linked with that they wanted to see this band play. Morrissey, for example, was president of
the UK fan club of the New York Dolls, who the Pistols’ manager had briefly been involved with
and to whom the Pistols were being compared. Shortly after the gig Morrissey wrote a letter to the
NME giving his verdict on the comparison and generally welcoming the growth of a ‘New York’
sound in the UK. John the Postman had been inspired by the same article as Shelley and Devoto:
‘It said that they played a version of ‘No Fun’ by the Stooges and [. . .] [I] thought I’ve got to
check this out’ (cited in Lee, 2002, 126). Likewise the future first line up of the Fall, who went
along together as a group of friends:
We’d heard about them already through the music press, just as a group that did Stooges’
cover versions. There was a photo of a guy with short hair and I was wondering what these
‘skinheads’ were doing covering Stooges’ songs, I wasn’t really into the idea. I went along
thinking I could heckle or something but I was really bowled over. I got my hair cut soon
after, I could see that something was happening (Martin Bramah, cited in Ford, 2003, 16)
Very few connections were formed that night. Devoto and Shelley met their future (Buzzcocks)
bassist/guitarist, Steve Diggle. They strengthened their ties with the Pistols. And they became
identified by some members of the audience as the ‘movers and shakers’ of an emerging
Manchester punk scene (a perception reinforced by the fact that Buzzcocks supported the Pistols
at the second Free Trade Hall gig). But beyond that there is little indication of connections being
made. The main effect of the gig was to kick start the audience both into forming bands – in
addition to Buzzcocks, the formative members of both Joy Division and the Fall began rehearsing
soon afterwards – and into mobilising their friends to attend the next Pistols gig, which Devoto
and Shelley also arranged, and which attracted much larger crowds:
I’ve no idea of the time difference between the first and the second show but I just get the
feeling that we’d all run around and said ‘You’ve got to come, you’ve got to come . . .’ (Paul
Morley, cited in Nolan, 2006, 72)
I was evangelical about it, honestly. I told everybody about that band, everybody I
encountered, about the Sex Pistols. (Ian Moss, cited in Nolan, 2006, 72)
Maybe it’s only in a small city that you can have that kind of communication, that can take
you from thirty-five people on June 4th to several hundred on July 20th. The word goes out,
the word spreads. (Tony Wilson, cited in Nolan, 2006, 71)
The second gig had a similarly powerful effect upon its (much larger) audience; energising
them, recruiting them to the punk sub-culture and inspiring them to ‘spread the word’. It even led
to the conversion of two of Manchester’s key glam rock bands: Slaughter and the Dogs, who
supported the Pistols at the second gig (along with Buzzcocks) and Wild Ram, who were friends
with Slaughter and acted as roadies for them at the Pistols gig. Their involvement in a fight at the
Pistols gig and a comment it provoked from an observer7 prompted Wild Ram to change their
name. They became Ed Banger and the Nosebleeds, a key band on the Manchester punk scene.
7
‘You’re a right bloody mob aren’t you, headbanger here and him with a nosebleed’ – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
the_nosebleeds.
Thus the ‘virus’ of punk began to spread through the networks of young music enthusiasts in
Manchester.
8. Mechanisms of network formation
This ‘collective effervescence’ (Durkheim, 1915) generated a critical mass of self-identified

punks. And it inspired some amongst them to organise events which brought this mass into
contact, thereby generating a network which, in turn, facilitated more elaborate and resource
intensive projects. The DIY ethic of punk encouraged the idea that anybody could become
involved. And this extended beyond the idea that one could be in a band to the idea that one could
manage and produce bands, organise and promote gigs, and publish fanzines. Devoto and
Shelley, for example, through organising the Pistols gigs, had become promoters. Similarly,
Richard Boon became the manager of their band (Buzzcocks) and began to run ‘new wave nights’
at local clubs, inspiring many others to do the same. In addition he, Shelley and Devoto founded
the first independent punk label (New Hormones), releasing Buzzcocks’ ‘Spiral Scratch’ in
February 1977. Elsewhere Tony Wilson set about putting the Sex Pistols on his TV show, So it
Goes (their first TV appearance). He would subsequently put most of the key punk bands of the
era on television and then, bereft when his series was axed, join with others to open a new club
where post-punk bands could play (the Factory), followed by a record label (Factory) and then
another club (the Haçienda). Finally, many budding journalists set up fanzines which listed and
reviewed these events, bringing them to the attention of a wider constituency: e.g. Shy Talk, City
Fun, Out There and Manchester Reigns.
The effect of all of this activity was to mobilise a number of different but complementary
mechanisms of network formation. In what follows I will identify and discuss the most central of
these.
8.1. Foci
Punk nights and venues were particularly important to the process of network formation
because they were time-spaces in which many of the key actors in the network first met and
forged ties. In the context of the Squat, Rafters, the Ranch, the Factory, the Electric Circus and
the Manchester Musicians Collective, amongst others, a network of would-be musicians,
promoters, producers and journalists began to hook up. Thus, Tony Wilson met his long time
collaborator, Martin Hannett, at a Slaughter and the Dogs gig. He met another long-term partner,
Peter Saville, at a Patti Smith gig, and he met yet another partner, Rob Gretton, who would go on
to manage Joy Division, at a ‘battle of the bands’ competition at Rafters night club, where Gretton
was the DJ and where Joy Division, who Wilson was mesmerised by after this point, were
competing on the night.
Gretton, in turn, had met Joy Division (then called Warsaw) after seeing them play in a local
club, as he had two other bands that he was involved with: Slaughter and the Dogs and Ed Banger
and the Nosebleeds. Gretton had become involved with Slaughter and Ed Banger, in part, after
running a band night at the Oaks pub (where he was DJ), with his friend Vini Faal, who went on to
manage Ed Banger and the Nosebleeds. He was also friends, having met on the terraces at
Manchester City Football Club, with Ray Rossi, manager of Slaughter of the Dogs. When Rossi
was imprisoned Gretton briefly took over management of Slaughter (whose fanzine, Manchester
Reigns, he already ran) and put up £200 of his own money to help finance their first single,
‘Cranked Up Really High’.
We can theorise this process, of which there are many other examples, by reference to what
Feld (1981, 1982) has called ‘foci’. The reason that individuals with shared interests seem often
to know one another, Feld notes, is that their shared interests draw them to the same places and
events, where they are more likely to meet and, given their shared interest, to form bonds. This
can happen on a very basic level: e.g. smokers in an organisation are more likely to know one
another because they bump into one another ‘behind the bike sheds’ when having a crafty
cigarette. It applies on a grander scale too, however, as in our case, when punk events and venues
draw together those actors within a geographical area who share an interest in punk. A punk
network formed because punk venues and events bought punks into contact.
Furthermore, foci are integral to the maintenance of ties because people keep ‘bumping into’
one another for as long as they attend the same venues and events. Indeed foci can be integral to
the very ‘doing’ of particular sorts of relationship8: e.g. some relationships might be built entirely
around ‘going to gigs together’. Note here that ties are inextricably linked with time-spaces and
with forms of social practice.
8.2. Mediated foci
These mechanisms need not operate exclusively at a face-to-face level. Actors who want to
reach beyond the limits of their ‘feelers’ within a network can advertise in the music press or local
record shops. Many members of the small audience who turned up to the first Sex Pistols gig, for
example, did so because they had heard of the Pistols’ reputation via the NME and, indeed, had
read in the local paper that they were coming to Manchester. Likewise, though they had met and
spoken to him at gigs, Peter Hook and Bernard Sumner recruited Ian Curtis to the band that would
become Joy Division by way of an advert in the local Virgin record shop.
Such advertising involves an element of ‘broadcasting’, with messages being sent out to a
large number of unknown recipients. It is still selective, however, and resembles the process
whereby foci bring people together. Indeed adverts in a record shop or music magazine might be
deemed ‘mediated foci’; a sub-cultural ‘dead drop’ for those sufficiently interested and
knowledgeable to make the ‘pick up’. The process of recruitment by these means is much more
self-conscious than one in which, for example, future band mates happen to meet whilst
squabbling at a gig, but many aspects of its structure are the same. Likeminded actors find one
another by way of their mutual involvement in a ‘space’ of shared interest and, as a consequence,
increase their chances of meeting. Very few people from the national population as a whole check
the ads in record shops or music magazines and those who do constitute a self-selecting pool of
enthusiasts. They are akin to a small crowd at an esoteric gig and, as the Ian Curtis example
suggests, are probably the same people who attend such gigs.
8.3. The Granovetter effect
When any two actors meet and form a connection this increases the likelihood that those to
whom each is connected will do likewise. Their connection is mechanism which brings
previously unconnected actors into contact. Tony Wilson, for example, introduced Rob Gretton
to two of the other main players in the Factory collective, Alan Erasmus and Peter Saville. And
Gretton brokered connections between the Factory collective, Joy Division and their entourage,
8
Thank you to participants at the seminar I gave on this work at Lancaster University and to Alison Hui in particular for
helping to draw this out.
the posse around Slaughter and the Dogs and Ed Banger and the Nosebleeds, and the members of
Panik, another band he was managing at the time. Big chunks of the network became connected
when Wilson and Gretton met in Rafters, had a drink together and forged a relationship. There are
many such examples in the history of the Manchester scene and they are important because they
fuse whole components within a network, increasing density in an exponential manner.
I refer to this mechanism as ‘the Granovetter effect’, signalling its resonance with the
important work of Granovetter (1973). Although Granovetter is celebrated for his arguments
regarding of ‘the strength of weak ties’, these arguments rest upon earlier arguments regarding
redundancy in strong ties and, more importantly, the tendency for friends of friends to become
friends. These arguments have been important both in small world debates and in discussions of
transitivity within network triads (Watts, 1999, 2004; Wasserman and Faust, 2004). Although
there are conditions under which ‘friends of friends’ do not become friends and may even become
antagonistic (Crossley, 2008d), in the absence of extenuating circumstances the Granovetter
effect constitutes an important mechanism of network formation and there is clear evidence of it
in our case study. Wilson’s friends became Gretton’s; Gretton’s became Wilson’s; and many other
dyads played a similarly generative role.
8.4. Reputation
When networks have begun to take shape around certain foci their formation can be further
advanced by the mechanism of ‘reputation’—a mechanism which can only emerge in the context of
existing network ties. Venues, for example, acquire a reputation which spreads through networks,
drawing more people to them and thereby increasing the likelihood and rate at which actors with a
shared interest meet. In virtue of its reputation a venue becomes a more effective focus.
Biographical and historical accounts of the Manchester scene are replete with references to
such places as The Ranch, which became known as the place to be for those ‘in the know’ (on
being ‘in the know’ see Thornton, 1995). Likewise, news of forthcoming events spreads within
networks, attracting suitably attuned actors to them. This is what we see, for example, in the
audience growth between the first and second Sex Pistols gigs: the second gig was much better
attended than the first even though the Sex Pistols remained relatively unknown, nationally,
because their reputation had spread by world of mouth in Manchester. And, of course, well-
attended events/venues, which attract a good crowd, tend to acquire a good reputation. The
presence of large enthusiastic crowds creates the ‘buzz’ which is the basis of the reputation which
draws the crowd. And the bigger the crowd, the more people to start and spread the reputation.
Thus foci and reputations can be mutually reinforcing mechanisms of network formation.
Completing this tangle of mutual reinforcement, the networks that are generated by foci have
further effects which, in turn, facilitate the organisation and maintenance of focal venues and
events. As people connect, for example, more bands are formed. This allows for more band
nights, which generates more opportunities for contacts to form. Likewise, connection breeds
trust, in some cases, which facilitates the pooling of resources and thus more adventurous
projects. This is especially important in independent music scenes where formal contracts and
other legal enforcement mechanisms, at least at this time, were seldom found.
8.5. Preferential attachment
Reputations may attach to people as well as places, leading to those people becoming targeted
by others who seek to connect to them. Thus, Tony Wilson, who was presenting a local television
music show before punk came to Manchester, was sent a free ticket to the first Sex Pistols gig by
Howard Devoto and also a cassette recording of the band. He had earlier been written to by a 14-
year-old Morrissey, who had sent him the sleeve of a New York Dolls record and asked him for
‘more bands like this’ on his show (Wilson, 2002, 22).
This mechanism, whereby certain vertices disproportionately attract attempts at connection,
can operate within the focus mechanism. Thus Peter Saville, an arts student at Manchester
Polytechnic, targeted Wilson after spotting him at a Patti Smith gig. They arranged to meet
subsequently and Saville became both a partner in Factory Records and the designer of some of
the most famous record sleeves of the era. Likewise Rob Gretton and the members of Joy
Division ‘knobbled’ Wilson when they first saw him in Rafters. He was the man to talk to and so
they did. Ian Curtis’ legendary opening line –‘You fucking cunt’ – and subsequent criticism of
Wilson for not putting Joy Division on the television was not exactly textbook, as networking
strategies go, but Wilson became a devoted Joy Division patron and he did put them on his show
at the next available opportunity (Wilson, 2002).
Wilson’s TV work no doubt made him a special case but other ‘stars’, including Richard Boon
(manager of Buzzcocks and of New Hormones records) and Martin Hannett (producer, musician,
co-director of both the Factory and Rabid record labels), were subject to similar approaches. In
particular they were sent tapes by bands looking to be adopted by them. And in many cases, even
if full adoption was not possible, they lent a hand—a process which increased their ‘degree’
within the network.
This process, whereby those who enjoy a good reputation within a network become a target for
others seeking to make connections and thus become hubs (a process which further bolsters their
reputation and thus becomes self-perpetuating to a point) has been subject to some level of
theorisation in the literature. In particular, Barabási (2003) has done simulation work involving a
‘preferential attachment’ mechanism whereby vertices with a high degree secure a higher
proportion of the connections formed as new nodes join a network. He argues that this
mechanism explains the many examples of hub-centred or ‘scale free networks’ that he and
others have identified within both the social and natural worlds; that is, networks in which a small
number of nodes enjoy a very high degree, whilst a large number enjoy a relatively low degree, in
the manner of a ‘power law’ distribution.
Power law distributions are notoriously difficult to verify and even to define. Barabási’s own
examples have been contested (Watts, 2004, p. 112). However, if we run with the basic idea he
proposes, namely that for key measures of network centrality9 a majority of vertices will have
low scores whilst a minority score highly, then the network represented in Plate 1 supports his
claim. There are hubs (distinguishable by their vertex size) and, as Plates 4 and 5 illustrate, the
distributions of both degree and betweenness manifest a majority-low, minority-high pattern.
This supports a conception of preferential attachment. However, I am not convinced that
Barabási captures the dynamics of preferential attachment involved here.
His claim that ‘the rich get richer’ refers to a vertex’s degree. Those already rich in
connections become richer still in virtue of this fact. Although he tacitly draws upon the idea of
reputation here he fails to distinguish it from degree. I believe that the two can vary
independently of one another and that it is reputation that really makes the difference. A
relatively poorly connected actor can acquire a good reputation (e.g. by doing good work for a
well-connected other) and thus build up a high degree from a low starting point. Conversely, a
9
Social network analysis offers differs measures for assessing how central individual nodes are to a network. See
Wasserman and Faust (1994) or Scott (2000).
Plate 4. Degree distribution for Plate 1.
well-connected actor can acquire a bad reputation which prevents further growth and (if bonds
are of a breakable kind) reduces their degree. The well-connected can become less so in virtue of
a poor reputation.
Reputation and degree are related and because reputation is a network level property we are
still in the realm of network effects here in any case. But they are not identical because the spread
of any given actor’s reputation is not necessarily dependent upon their own degree and because
Plate 5. Betweeness distribution for Plate 1.

reputations can be bad as well as good and are not necessarily good in the case of the well-
connected (even if bad reputations generally have the effect of reducing degree).
It is not simply reputations, at least in the ‘celebrity’ sense, which attract connections, however.
Reputations are generally ‘for’ something and it is often what they are ‘for’ that counts in
preferential attachment. Although fame can increase subjective attractiveness and some actors may
seek connection with celebrities in order to bask in their reflected glory, actors can become popular
because their reputation signals their possession of resources (including abilities) which other
actors want. Tony Wilson was not a target of multiple attempts at connection because he was
‘famous’. He was targeted because his influence within the (local) media world made him the
gatekeeper to a means of publicity which young bands and promoters craved. It was not his own
fame that mattered, so much as the fact that he could make others famous, or at least help them on
their way. Of course he had to be well-known as a gatekeeper to the media in order to attract attempts
at connection. His reputation was important. But only because it was ‘for’ something useful.
Two other examples will help to illustrate this point. Martin Hannett became very well
connected in the Manchester network and enjoyed the reputation amongst some, including Tony
Wilson, of a ‘genius’. Hannett played a number of roles in Manchester’s music scene over the
period being discussed here, including co-owner of the two main ‘alternative’ record labels in
Manchester (Factory and Rabid). He is best known, however, as the producer who played a key
role in creating the sound of such central bands as Joy Division and Durutti Column. He was in
demand and sought out well before he achieved his ‘fame’, however, on account of his know-
how. When Buzzcocks were looking to record Spiral Scratch they looked to Hannett because he
was the only person they knew who knew how to make records independently and ‘was the only
person we knew who called himself a record producer’ (Devoto cited in Lee, 2002, 146). It was
for the same reason that Slaughter and the Dogs sought him out to produce their first single,
which was released on the Rabid label that Hannett had established with Tosh Ryan.
Of course Hannett was known to both bands and this was essential but he was not a ‘star’. He
was known to Devoto, initially, because the latter worked briefly with the New Manchester
Review, a local arts journal whose offices were in the same building as Music Force, a multi-
tasking musicians collective which Hannett and Ryan were running in the mid 1970s. Moreover,
Music Force arranged certain of the early Buzzcocks and Slaughter and the Dogs gigs, an
arrangement which solidified Hannett’s relationship with both bands. Hannett was known in local
musical circles and he had to be in order to be approached but he was not famous and was not
sought out simply because he was known. He was sought out because he was useful. Hannett was
a resource.
Another example is T.J. Davidson. Davidson started up his own record label, TJM, signing the
Frantic Elevators, a short-lived punk band fronted by Mick Hucknall (later of Simply Red),
amongst others. More importantly, however, he owned rehearsal rooms (immortalised as the
setting for the video of Joy Division’s ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’) which most of the key
Manchester bands used at some time during the period covered in this paper: e.g. Joy Division,
the Fall, Slaughter and the Dogs, The Frantic Elevators, the Inadequates (an all girl punk band
featuring Gillian Gilbert, who would later play in New Order) and Victim (whose drummer, Mike
Joyce, later joined Morrissey in the Smiths). It would be difficult to portray Davidson as a
glamorous or celebrity figure in the Manchester scene but he was important because he had
rehearsal rooms, a scarce resource which many bands in the growing scene were in need of.
Davidson is a major hub in the network because of this. His resource made him attractive.
We should also note that Davidson’s rehearsal space, because many bands used it, was another
focus where musicians got to know one another. Relations were not always good. Peter Hook, for
example, recalls that Slaughter and the Dogs regularly stole or hid Joy Division’s equipment
whilst the two bands were using Davidson’s. But connections were made there. Having met the
Fall when their own band, the Sirens, were playing at Davidson’s, for example, Marc Riley, Craig
Scanlon and Steve Hanley first became roadies for the Fall and later joined the band as full
members (Ford, 2003).
The process whereby resource-holders acquire reputations which, in turn, translate into
connections can be seen in Plate 3 and, more especially, Plate 1. Note in both cases a number of
large white vertices towards the centre of the graph. The colour of these vertices indicates that
they are non-musicians and non-journalists. Their size, relative to others, indicates their high
degree. And their central position, whilst we must take care in attributing significance to it,
indicates how they bridge different parts of the network. In all cases these are actors in possession
of scarce resources, whether production skills, management skills, rehearsal rooms or simply
cash. Of course not all non-musician/non-journalists achieve this position. Like musicians they
vary along a large continuum with respect to their success. But in some cases they do become
structurally important within the scene, when considered as a network.
Preferential attachment is an important mechanism, therefore, but it is not adequately captured
by the notion that vertices with a high degree attract a disproportionate number of new
connections within an evolving network simply because they have a high degree, or indeed
because they have a good reputation. In social networks, at least, there is a lot more going on.
Note that this mechanism of preferential attachment does not simply help to explain the fact of
network formation but also goes some way, as Barabási claims, to explaining the structure of a
network. When mechanisms of preferential attachment come into play networks become more
centralised and hubs tend to emerge. In ‘network domains’ where some actors hold scarce
resources that others need, such as music scenes, it is likely to be these resource rich actors who
are targeted for attachment and who therefore become the hubs (on ‘network domains’ see
Mische and White, 1998).
9. Mechanisms of selection and exclusion
Another striking feature of the 1980 network is its racial and gender profile. To my knowledge
only two members of the network represented in Plate 1 are black (when Manchester is and was
an ethnically diverse city) and only 7 were women. Class is usually flagged as the key to
understanding punk’s voice but, as Laing (1985) shows, whilst punks sang about class the key
actors by no means manifest a homogenous class background and, in fact, their class mix was not
much different from the earlier ‘middle class rockers’ whom they despised. I have no systematic
data for Manchester but what I do know supports this mixed picture. It is difficult to make a case
that class shaped punk in Manchester, at least in its early stages, except perhaps in the sense that it
served as a rhetorical resource. Gender and race, by contrast, were significant. This suggests that
certain mechanisms of selection were also in play in the process of network formation we are
examining.
It is difficult to say much about race without doing more research but it is possible that the foci
which generated punk networks were ‘coded’ as white spaces or otherwise affected by the
mechanisms of ‘differential association’ (Bottero, 2005) that tend to sustain distinct ethnic
networks and identities. Certainly some of the spaces (e.g. the Ranch) were coded as
‘homosexual’ (and thus more risqué for heterosexuals) and some (e.g. the Electric Circus in
Collyhurst) were in areas of the city deemed ‘rough’. These codings emerge clearly in the
archive. Perhaps they were also coded as ‘no go’ amongst minority ethnic groups or perhaps the
different context of association of other ethnic groups generated tastes for different musical
styles, such as reggae. Having said that, hybrid crossovers of punk and reggae were emerging
elsewhere in the UK at this time, as social mixing between black and white youths increased. And
the Factory, a key punk club in Manchester, was located in the premises of the Russell Club, a
West Indian club. If members of Manchester’s West Indian community stayed away from the
Russell Club it was only on Factory nights. Without more data I cannot push this point further but
there is clearly an issue to explore here.
The gender situation is different. Women were at key venues and events but accounts of their
involvement suggest that, for the most part, the roles which they were able to take up were
relatively limited. Accounts of ‘girlfriends’, ‘wives’, ‘groupies’ and affairs abound but with only
a few exceptions accounts of female musicians or of women as ‘movers and shakers’ on the scene
are relatively sparse. Very few women make it into my set of vertices because very few are
identified as ‘key actors’ in most accounts. Moreover, all of those who are were also somebody’s
‘girlfriend’. Thus Linder Mulvey, a local star who both designed record covers for Buzzcocks and
Magazine and formed her own highly acclaimed band, Ludus, had a relationship with Howard
Devoto (of both Buzzcocks and Magazine) and then with Ian Devine, who joined her in Ludus.
And Gillian Gilbert, who played live with Joy Division on one occasion and became a regular
member of New Order, was going out with and then married to Steven Morris (of Joy Division/
New Order). Finally, at least three female members of (the ever changing line up of) The Fall had
relationships with singer Mark E. Smith.
As with race, I do not have the space or data to address this issue properly. My basic
observations echo important and detailed work on the exclusion or marginalisation of women
within scenes by both Cohen (1991) and Reddington (2007) and suggest a need to examine
mechanisms of exclusion and subordination within the wider process of network formation.
Network formation is not simply a process of bringing people together but equally of
distinguishing, in this case on the basis of gender status, who has access to a range of statuses and
connections within the emerging web. I can only flag this as an issue for further examination,
citing the work of Cohen and Reddington as important sources upon which to build.
10. Conclusion
The Sex Pistols first gig in Manchester and the three further gigs which followed in close
succession had an electrifying effect on young music enthusiasts in the city. The Pistols’ music
and attitude resonated with aesthetic dispositions and impulses that were already taking shape in
Manchester but which, at that point, lacked the facilitative network structure necessary for their
full development and expression. Whereas the key actors in the London punk scene were mostly
connected by a network prior to the birth of punk the actors of the Manchester scene were not
(Crossley, 2008b). For a scene to develop in Manchester a critical mass of what would become
key actors had to become connected. In this paper I have attempted to identify certain key
mechanisms which were involved in the formation of this network and I have tied these
mechanisms to the collective effervescence ignited by the Pistols gig. The key (and interacting)
mechanisms identified were: foci, the Granovetter effect, reputation and preferential attachment.
Excitement about punk inspired (previously inexperienced) cultural entrepreneurs to organise
events. These events formed a ‘focus’ for network formation. Interested actors attended the
events, met one another and hooked up. And as networks formed the social capital which they
generated allowed ever more ambitious projects to take shape, which created further occasions
for network formation and so on.
Within this emerging network venues, events, bands and individuals acquired reputations, a
process amplified by an emergence of fanzine media which was itself sparked and facilitated by
the growth of the network and its activities. Reputations helped both to steer would-be punks to
appropriate focal venues and events and, where reputations reflected control over significant
resources, triggered a process of ‘preferential attachment’ which, in turn, allowed some actors to
become network hubs.
Not everybody became connected, however, and in particular the network of key players
involves very few female or black actors. I have not been able to explore this in any detail but it
points to the importance of considering mechanisms of selection and exclusion in the process of
network formation. More work is required on this issue. We need to know not only why and how
networks form between specific actors in specific contexts but also why and how, between other
actors, they do not.
Two further mechanisms have also been addressed in the paper, albeit less directly:
selection and influence. Analysts addressing behavioural regularities in the networks they are
examining are prone to ask if such regularities are a cause or an effect of the networks in which
they are found. Do birds of a feather flock together or do the flock encourage, promote and/or
enforce homogeneity? In our case there is an element of both. Punk networks formed because
actors already interested in punk converged upon the same foci, where they met and formed
ties (selection). Equally, however, as the quotations from attendees at the first Pistols gig
indicate, those inspired by punk attempted to draw their friends into the scene and transmit
their own enthusiasm and identification (influence). There was more going on within this
process of network formation than selection and influence, however. ‘Selection’ and
‘influence’ both imply that punk culture was in some sense a fixed entity. It was not. The
‘punks’ in Manchester’s network were, by way of their interactions, refashioning the cultural
materials that had arrived in the city via the Sex Pistols and creating something of their own; a
distinct ‘post-punk’ scene for which the city would become renown (Reynolds, 2005; Savage,
2005). It was not just networks that were taking shape but rather new sub-cultural forms. One
is reminded here of Mische and White’s (1998) work on ‘network domains’, a concept which
refuses to abstract networks from their broader socio-cultural milieu (or indeed culture from
networks).
Finally, at a methodological level the paper has attempted to integrate certain of the measures,
methods and insights of quantitative network analysis with a more qualitative, archival approach.
Where a purely quantitative approach might have attempted to explain the process of network
formation outlined here by way of agent-based models and simulations, this paper has attempted
to look to the historical record itself for witness accounts of what was going on. At least some of
what was found (e.g. preferential attachment) might have been hypothesised in an agent-based
model but it is not clear that all of the mechanisms discussed in this paper could be satisfactorily
simulated and, in any case, a qualitative examination has allowed us to explore and unpick
mechanisms, and the simplifying assumptions sometimes attached to them. Moreover, it has
allowed us to verify to certain extent that those mechanisms were in operation. The point here is
not that qualitative analysis is any way superior but rather that it has complementary strengths
and weaknesses to a more quantitative approach which can and should be harnessed in a more
comprehensive approach to the analysis of networks.
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Nick Crossley is a professor and currently head of sociology in the School of Social Sciences at the University of
Manchester, UK. He has written widely on issues relating to social movements, human embodiment and social theory, and
has more recently begun publishing on social networks. He is currently writing a book on ‘relational sociology’ in addition
to a series of papers on the networks of the UK’s post-punk music scene between 1976 and 1980 (this paper being the
second in that series).

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Poetics 37 (2009) 24–49

The man whose web expanded: Network dynamics

Available online 19 December 2008

* Tel.: +44 161 275 2517.

1. Why networks matter

2. Conceptualising social structure: networks, resources and conventions

3. Mechanisms of network formation

4. Quantity and quality

A comprehensive grasp of social networks requires the combination of qualitative and

5. Data and methods

Plate 1. The Manchester scene.

6. The network structure of Manchester music 1976–1980

Plate 2. The Manchester scene in early 1976.

Plate 3. The Manchester scene in 1980.

7. The Sex Pistols in Manchester

8. Mechanisms of network formation

This ‘collective effervescence’ (Durkheim, 1915) generated a critical mass of self-identified

8.2. Mediated foci

8.3. The Granovetter effect

8.5. Preferential attachment

Plate 4. Degree distribution for Plate 1.

Plate 5. Betweeness distribution for Plate 1.

9. Mechanisms of selection and exclusion

Barabási, A.-L., 2003. Linked. Plume, New York.

Becker, H., 1982. Art Worlds. University of California Press, Berkeley.

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