More than a decade since his death, the spectre of Tony Wilson — Manchester and Salford’s most famous cultural magnate — continues to loom over both banks of the River Irwell. It was Wilson who, in a characteristic outburst of civic chauvinism, once said that while Manchester had given the world the Communist Manifesto, suffragism, modern trade unionism, and even the computer, the best London had managed was Chas & Dave.

Tongue-in-cheek though it was, Wilson’s remark encapsulated something about the spirit of these twin cities: not just a provincial prickliness, but a great pride in their cultural pedigree and radical political heritage. But towards the end of his life Wilson must have felt some quiet ambivalence about his own legacy. The Haçienda, which had helped usher in acid house and the Madchester era, was levelled in 2002 to make way for expensive flats; a demonstration of how the nostalgia industry surrounding Factory Records became bound up with Manchester’s post-industrial rebranding as a lodestar of neoliberalism, ‘open for business’ to any passing property developers looking to make a quick buck.