By Mike Mannix | Iconic Underground Magazine

Photography Craig Dewse

This feature will be also be published in the upcoming print issue

If Manchester has a spiritual frequency, it’s tuned somewhere between an 808 kick and a choir in full voice. That’s exactly where Mancunian DJ and cultural mainstay Jay Wearden and producer-promoter powerhouse Rosie Romero chose to set their dial for Cathedral Rave: an audacious, sold‑out orchestral club night staged inside Manchester Cathedral.

The idea sounds like myth — a rave under vaulted Gothic arches — but this is Manchester: where working-class ingenuity meets romantic defiance, and where the city’s social history is stitched into its stone.

Together, Jay and Rosie have made a habit of turning improbable buildings into living dance monuments: first with a small-scale orchestral experiment at Guerrilla, then the sweeping civic splendour of Victoria Baths, then the sacred stillness of The Monastery — each time joining what Jay calls ‘the social history to the architectural history.’

Cathedral Rave was their boldest expression yet: a 14‑piece live orchestra arranged around Jay’s bespoke 50‑minute mashup, iconic Manchester voices — Rowetta and MC Tunes — and a crowd so raucously reverent that by the end half of them were on stage. This is the full story — the laughter, the logistics, the studio alchemy and the goosebump moments — told in the room with Mike, Rosie and Jay.

 

The Spark: From Monastery to Cathedral

The Cathedral wasn’t a whim. It was the next inevitable escalation after their epic event at The Monastery. The moment the last echo faded in Gorton, Rosie picked up the phone, booked a meeting, and set her sights on the city’s medieval heart.

Mike Mannix: Was the Cathedral always the target, after The Monastery?

Rosie Romero: Oh, we fucking had a dream, Mike and it manifested. We’d done Guerrilla with the orchestra — too small. Victoria Baths had the civic romance, The Monastery had the soul. After that I said to Jay: the Cathedral. He looked at me like I’d suggested a gig in Westminster Abbey.

Jay Wearden: Because

it’s not just a building

— it’s a place of worship. There’s a Dean, appointed by the King. Different league of permissions, risk, responsibility.

Rosie Romero: A million meetings — literally. Director, council, diocese, the Dean. We wrote proposals, safety plans, community benefits. But I could see it already: lights on the organ pipes, an orchestra under the rose window, the crowd like a living choir.

Mike Mannix: So the vision came first, the permission after.

Rosie Romero: Always. Dream it, then do it.

Jay Wearden: That’s Manchester. And it’s what we always said: join the social history to the architectural history — weddings, christenings, childhood memories — then

let club culture re‑animate the space. It’s all energy

 

Ethos: The Leveller

If there’s a single idea that explains Hippos and the Cathedral Rave, it’s the Leveller — Jay and Rosie’s belief that a good night erases status. Milkman or lawyer, old‑school head or first‑timer: once the bass hits, everyone is the same height.

Rosie Romero: We don’t do dress codes. Come as you are. Be who you want. Everyone behaves, because everyone belongs. By the end — half the Cathedral was on stage with us. Where else can you do that?

Jay Wearden: Hippos is different from a standard club show. In a cathedral you worship art — the moment on the floor where you forget yourself. It’s primal, like dancing round a fire. In our bones.

Designing the Divine: Turning Stone Into Sound

The brief Jay wrote for himself was paradoxical: make an orchestra feel like a DJ set, not a concert. Keep the weight and the wallop of club music, but let the instruments breathe in the space. No dead air, no neat song‑by‑song handclaps — just continuity.

Jay Wearden: I didn’t want namby‑pamby drums or twiddly bits. I wanted weighty, thick, bassy — a proper set, but with brass and strings that could lift it.

Mike Mannix: So you scored a DJ set for a chamber of stone?

Jay Wearden: Exactly. It starts with a 50‑minute mashup: overlays, acapellas, vocals riding other instrumentals. Then with Tim Crooks and John Craig

we rebuilt everything from the ground up

Rosie Romero: Every single beat, every line — argued over. The snare nearly started a war. But the standard had to be ruthless.

Even the tickets carried the concept. Jay ordered thick, handmade stock — Italian paper — and embossed a gold Hippos seal onto each piece.

Jay Wearden: I hand‑stamped every single ticket. Connection matters. If your first touch point is tactile and personal, you arrive already part of the family.

Rosie Romero: And I delivered loads by hand. That’s the difference.

It’s work — but it’s love

Studio Alchemy: Eight Months, Fourteen Players, Zero Compromise

What reads like romance was, in practice, eight months of uncompromising studio graft. Jay’s mashup became a musical blueprint; Tim Crooks converted its sinew into staves; John Craig steered production; and every decision was guided by Jay’s insistence that the dance DNA survive intact.

Mike Mannix: Did you really deconstruct every single track?

Jay Wearden: Every one. Some parts stayed sacred — that snare, that bass tone. Tim had sheet music for everything. The trick was: keep the club ethos, but let the orchestra announce itself.

You should still feel the sub in your sternum

Mike Mannix: How big was the orchestra?

Rosie Romero: Fourteen in the end — brass and strings, plus an incredible pianist. Everything written. No improvisation.

Jay Wearden: Because the continuity mattered. In most crossover shows, you get a start/stop, applause, reset. We wanted flow — the DJ arc.

The first rehearsal with vocalists delivered the omen they needed. Two minutes into Rowetta’s take, the room changed temperature.

Rosie Romero: We had goosebumps everywhere. Then MC Tunes came in with that gravel and swagger, and we just looked at each other — this is why we did it.

Jay Wearden: This was overlapping, interlocking. A living mix. She adapted in a heartbeat.

The Build & The Barriers: Sacred Timetables, Secular Headaches

The day itself was a logistical gauntlet. The Cathedral hosted three services — morning, lunchtime and just before doors — meaning the team had to vanish during worship, then reappear and sprint. The night before, another event ate into setup. You don’t drill into medieval stone; you negotiate with it.

Rosie Romero: We weren’t allowed inside for the services. We’d just get momentum and then — out! Then the curfew: every hour after 11pm talk about telephone numbers.

Jay Wearden: Every cable run was a puzzle around heritage fabric. It’s like playing Tetris with God watching.

Rosie Romero: Bars left and right, stage up, orchestra risers, rehearsal windows shrinking by the minute. We lived, ate and breathed the Cathedral. Morning after I missed it like mad.

 

Doors Open: ‘Stairs to Heaven’ and a Million‑Pound Organ

By late afternoon the medieval quarter felt carnivalesque — sunshine on stone, 17th‑century pubs buzzing, strangers milling in the squares. For half the crowd, it was their first step inside the Cathedral; for all of them, it was their first time hearing it roar.

Jay Wearden: The building is the star. Beautiful stained glass, a vaulted Gothic ceiling —

you feel the centuries as soon as you breathe in

Rosie Romero: People walking up those steps — I called them the stairs to heaven — and you hear the crowd and the orchestra from outside. Folks were begging to get in, waving cash at security. We keep it tight to protect the vibe and the building.

Mike Mannix: And that organ backdrop…

Jay Wearden: A million‑pound organ, flanked by huge Gothic columns. When the lights hit it, the whole space looked unreal.

 

The Drop: Silence — Then Detonation

After a vintage opening set from Mark Archer, the room fell to pin‑drop stillness. Then Jay’s mix and the orchestra detonated together — brass punching against the stone, strings airborne, sub‑bass rising like a tide. Tunes’ voice prowled the frequencies; Rowetta’s boom seemed to come up through the flagstones.

Rosie Romero: It was magic.

The windows felt like they were singing back

Jay Wearden: Not a gig — a communion. By the end, the stage was a democracy of joy. That’s the Leveller in action.

 

Manchester Through & Through: Voices, Lineage, and Legacy

Two voices anchored the city’s DNA to the night. MC Tunes — 808 State alumnus whose rasp famously appears on Fatboy Slim’s ‘Gangster Trippin’ — threaded ad‑libs and call‑and‑response with surgical restraint. And Rowetta, Manchester’s soul siren, turned melody into testimony.

Jay Wearden: Tunes is one of the best MCs in the country. He accentuates the music, never bulldozes it. Clever as you like.

Rosie Romero: He’s family. Turns up early, asks if we need a hand. No ego. Then he goes on and blows the roof off.

Mike Mannix: And Rowetta?

Rosie Romero: She did a promo video for us without even being asked. On the night — unreal. Her boom starts in her feet. I’ll never forget it.

Mike Mannix: And you had the don Mark Archer [Altern8]

Jay Wearden: We’ve know him and Nicky quite a long time. We’ve never always been able to get Marks availability to fit in with what we were doing date -wise and everything cos our dates sometimes clashed. We always like to fit in the people for the gig as well. And he fitted in perfectly with this gig and what he played, he was brilliant.

Rosie Romero: Nicky was stood there. She went, ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this Rosie,’ and neither could I he was amazing.

They were blown away with the place and atmosphere, and he plays all over the world

Jay Wearden: It was worship — for art, for life. The bass echoed through stone.

Rosie Romero: People outside were begging security to let them in — throwing money! You could hear it streets away.

Jay Wearden: By the end, half the crowd were on stage with us. That’s the leveller —

everyones equal under the stained glass

Rosie Romero: We don’t separate ourselves — it’s their night as much as ours.

Legacy ran through the lineup too. The warm‑up DJ, Aaron, caught the bug because his dad Dean was a Hippos lifer. For Aaron, Cathedral Rave was a full‑circle moment; his grandad stood in the crowd to watch three generations share one timeline.

Rosie Romero: That’s the magic. Three generations, one dancefloor. I told his dad — whenever you’re struggling, think of that night.

Jay Wearden: It’s not a revival — it’s a reflection.

We use the past to energise the present. and push progress

Crowd, City, Symbiosis

Step back and the picture sharpens: a medieval city core, a sun‑bright evening, a cathedral full of friends‑of‑friends‑of‑friends — curated not to exclude, but to protect a shared ethic. No phones-in-the-air fatigue here; people were present. The building asked for respect. The music demanded release. The crowd gave both.

Mike Mannix: You two kept saying this wasn’t about money.

Jay Wearden: The Cathedral has everyone queuing up to use it. We had to prove worth — ethically, culturally. They need over a million a year just to keep lights on; we needed to show care as well as excitement.

Rosie Romero: We’re honest about risk — money and time. People keep coming back; we owe them honesty and craft. That’s why we never phone it in — not the tickets, not the videos, not the music.

 

Afterglow: Processing the Impossible

When the last cheer dissolved into incense‑tinged air, Rosie and Jay stood in the empty nave and finally let themselves feel it. The smoke hung; the rig hummed down; the organ loomed like a satisfied witness. Outside, the medieval quarter exhaled into night.

Mike Mannix: How did it hit you afterwards?

Rosie Romero: I cried. Then laughed. Then

I missed it straight away

Jay Wearden: It’s hard to admit you’re making history when you’re inside it. But standing there after — yeah. It felt bigger than us.

 

Philosophy: Faith, Frequency, and the Leveller

Strip back the production and the paperwork and the philosophy remains beautifully simple: do it for the right reasons; respect the place and the people; trust that love offered returns as love received. That ethic flowed from ticket to timpani, from conductor’s baton to security briefing.

Rosie Romero: If you put love out, you get love back.

Jay Wearden: If it excites us, it’ll excite everyone else. That’s our compass. Keep it progressive, keep it human.

Mike Mannix: You two are creating history — present tense.

Jay Wearden: Hard to say it, easier to live it.

Rosie Romero: We just want to make people happy. Give them their dreams.

Mike Mannix: History and hedonism, joined at the hip. Whats next?

Rosie Romero: And we’ll do it again, June next year Cathedral 2026!

Jay Wearden: See you on the stairs to heaven!

As the lights dimmed and the final bassline dissolved into the cathedral’s echo, you could feel it — that sacred, collective exhale that only happens when something bigger than music takes over. For Jay and Rosie, Cathedral Rave wasn’t just a show; it was a love letter to a city that still believes in magic, unity, and the power of a beat to heal. In that space where faith met frequency, strangers became family, the past shook hands with the present, and the city’s heartbeat synced once again beneath stained glass and smoke.

And when the crowd finally spilled out into the cool Manchester night, buzzing and breathless, it was clear that this wasn’t an ending — it was a resurrection. The blueprint’s been written in light, brass, and sweat, and Jay and Rosie are already sketching the next chapter.

Cathedral Rave reads now like a parable in sub and brass: a city’s memory sung through stone, a crowd made equal, a pair of true believers tying the threads. It wasn’t spectacle for spectacle’s sake; it was community made audible. Faith met frequency — the room answered back

in this city, faith never fades — it just finds a louder sound system”