God bless Tony Wilson: How Mr Manchester helped us all to love our city

Anthony H. Wilson, or simply Tony to most, was not just a broadcaster, music mogul, or businessman. He was a force of nature who reshaped Manchester’s image from post-industrial gloom into a city bursting with culture, creativity, and confidence. To many, he was Mr Manchester, a title he earned not by birthright but by sheer belief in what the city could become.

To get a true sense of the man behind the legend, we spoke to people who really knew him: his son Oliver Wilson, broadcaster Terry Christian, singer and artist Rowetta Osa Idah, and veteran journalist Ray King. Their stories paint a picture of someone whose impact was as personal as it was cultural.

Who was Tony Wilson and why is he called Mr Manchester?

Born in Salford and educated at a Catholic grammar school, Tony went on to study English at Cambridge before returning to the North West with a fierce sense of purpose. He joined Granada Television as a reporter and soon became a familiar face across the region.

To young Mancunians like Terry Christian, he was more than just the man off the telly. “Suddenly, there’s this madly enthusiastic bloke showcasing The Buzzcocks, Sex Pistols and Joy Division, telling us that where we lived was beyond cool. He opened a window to another world.”

Tony once said, “Whatever you do, don’t grow up and become a bore.” He lived by that, challenging people to think differently and embrace culture. Christian recalled, “He wasn’t telling me what to think, but challenging how I thought and making it cool to know stuff. I’d watch and think ‘posh twat,’ then tune in again, fascinated.”

What was Factory Records and why did it matter?

Tony helped launch Factory Records, the label behind Joy Division, New Order, and Happy Mondays. It was defined by risk, creativity, and independence. Wilson famously signed bands without contracts, insisting musicians should own their work.

He once said, “You can’t have an art scene without an artists’ community, and you can’t have a music scene without clubs.”

Out of Factory came the Haçienda nightclub, which became the heartbeat of the Madchester movement. Financially turbulent, it was still a cultural triumph. Tony’s blend of vision and chaos fuelled it all.

Terry Christian recalled calling Tony for advice during his time on The Word. “He’d always answer, even if the advice wasn’t always usable. But he was approachable, willing, and erupting with ideas.”

“He was what Manchester needed – a figurehead and a target. Hated, adored, never ignored.”

What was Tony Wilson’s vision beyond music?

Tony didn’t stop with music. Inspired by New York, he championed city-centre living, encouraging redevelopment of mills and warehouses into homes. Scepticism turned to success as that idea helped reshape Manchester’s urban fabric.

Terry Christian pointed to the branding legacy Tony left behind. “The bar Dry was originally meant to be Dry and Hungry. They scrapped the food but kept the name. That kicked off a trend of bars with one-word names: Blu, Common, Cord, Trof. All from Tony’s vision.”

He even imagined a self-governing ‘Granadaland’ for the North, and proposed a North West flag designed by Peter Saville, echoing the Peterloo Massacre.

Was Tony Wilson involved in politics?

In the early 2000s, Tony left Granada Reports to campaign for an elected regional government. Along with Steve Coogan, Shaun Ryder and Sir Alex Ferguson, he formed The Necessary Group.

The idea faced resistance. Manchester’s politicians preferred a city-region structure. During a heated public debate, Graham Stringer MP nearly came to blows with John Prescott. The public rejected the North East referendum, and Tony’s vision didn’t come to pass.

But the city-region model did emerge later with the 2017 election of Greater Manchester’s first mayor, Andy Burnham. Tony was ahead of his time again.

He believed the North should think for itself and act for itself. As he said, “Manchester’s always had an edge. It’s a proper city.”

His son, Oliver Wilson, believes this political legacy is often overlooked. “People remember the music and the showmanship,” he said, “but not enough credit goes to what he did for Northern devolution.” Tony’s push for regional self-determination, including co-founding The Necessary Group and championing a new North West flag, was all part of his deep-rooted belief in the region’s potential. “Many people get credit for pushing devolution,” Oliver added, “but my dad doesn’t, and he should. That vision is now reality, and it’s made a difference.”

Still, his foray into politics wasn’t without its quirks. In early 2004, he rang journalist Ray King to share what he described as a brilliant idea. Over a thali lunch at Shimla Pinks, he revealed a makeshift design for a North West flag – just the top-left quarter of the English flag – proudly created by Peter Saville. He saw it as a bold symbol of regional pride, even drawing a connection to the banners seized during the Peterloo Massacre. Yet the flag never took off, appearing only once in a photo by Aidan O’Rourke before being quietly shelved after the North East referendum failed by a landslide.

Tony’s belief in the cause remained sincere, though some saw his political optimism as naïve. Ray King described a kind of earnest intensity that clashed with Tony’s public image – mischievous, flamboyant, even pompous. Oliver echoes that contrast. “People saw him as this comic figure, especially after 24 Hour Party People, but the version I knew was more introspective – deeply thoughtful, serious, and always working.”

Oliver, aka Oli, recalled nights as a child where his dad would stay up writing letters, speeches and ideas, barely sleeping, constantly absorbed in his work. “He was far more studious and intense than most people realise.”

This more private, driven side of Tony has come into sharper focus with the discovery of personal letters and documents in the Tony Wilson Archive, some recently exhibited at the Smolensky Gallery. Among them: handwritten notes from bands, correspondence with the police during The Haçienda’s troubled years, and even letters from Morrissey, unexpected, given the perceived frostiness between them.

These documents, Oliver says, show the full sweep of Factory’s story: its early ambition, the heady risks, and the brutal crash that followed. They reveal not just the legend, but the lived experience behind Manchester’s music revolution. As Oli puts it, “It’s the whole truth, not just the myth.”

What was Tony Wilson like in person?

Tony could be opinionated and chaotic, but also generous, engaged and endlessly curious. He had time for people and passion for conversation.

Rowetta keeps a picture of him above her bed. “It’s comical but iconic. It inspires me every day as he inspired me when he was alive.” She recalled a powerful memory: a day spent co-hosting an anti-racism event at Heaton Park with Ice-T. “He didn’t know half the bands so I introduced them. Then I made him speak about racism, which he did beautifully. Later, chaos broke out and we got locked in a caravan together. It was the best day ever.”

To many, he came across as loud, theatrical and full of bravado—a perception that stuck, especially after 24 Hour Party People. But his son Oliver Wilson paints a more layered picture.

“People see him as this jovial, almost comic character,” Oliver said. “And yes, he loved making people laugh. But the person I knew was almost the opposite.”

At home, Tony was quieter, more intense. “He was deeply thoughtful, always processing things. As a kid, I remember him staying up all night writing speeches, letters, constantly working on new ideas. He barely slept. He was much more studious than people realise.”

Oliver’s memories reveal the serious side behind the showman—the side that wrote manifestos at 3am and agonised over every idea. It’s this contrast, between public myth and private depth, that defines much of Tony’s legacy.

Recent discoveries in the Tony Wilson Archive have further fleshed out this lesser-seen side. Alongside early letters full of hope and ambition, there are notes from bands, correspondence with police about The Haçienda, even letters from Morrissey—proof of a relationship few expected. “There’s so much more beneath the surface,” said Oliver. “The archives show the real highs and lows of Factory, and the toll it all took.”

How did Tony Wilson help reshape Manchester?

Tony’s vision is in Manchester’s bricks, bars and buzz. He didn’t just inspire movements, he predicted them.

He influenced developers like Tom Bloxham at Urban Splash, who brought his ideas on loft living to life. Christian said, “You talk about city-centre living and how it feeds culture. That was Tony’s idea. Just ask Tom.”

Wilson inspired more than property. He changed how the city thought about itself. The I Love Manchester brand is a direct descendant of Tony’s infectious civic pride. It celebrates the culture, creativity and confidence he championed.

His branding genius shaped the city’s modern feel. And he sparked new pride in what Manchester could be. As Rowetta said, “He was part of our home and heritage. We’ll never forget him.”

How has Tony Wilson’s legacy influenced Manchester today?

More than a dozen years since his death, his legacy looms large. Terry Christian said, “There’s still a Wilson-sized hole in Manchester, and it’s hard to imagine when there will be a time when there isn’t.”

He and his creative circle – Rob Gretton, Alan Erasmus, and Martin Hannett – planted seeds that still grow.

The I Love Manchester brand captures the essence of what Tony taught the city: to love itself. As Ray King put it, “No PR firm on earth could have done what Tony did.”

When Wilson died in 2007, tributes poured in. Christian added, “Is there a kid today who doesn’t learn Wonderwall first on guitar? That’s the impact of Tony’s Manchester.”

Tony said, “Some people get rich, some people get famous, and some people change the world. I’d like to think I did the latter.”

And he did.