Preaching to the Converted

Greetings, gentle readers. You have my most heartfelt apologies for transforming this ostensibly eclectic series of abstruse ruminations into a cavalcade of footie ramblings. I shall try and diversify the topics of discussion further by shifting my attention to music. Since the football season in England ends in two weeks, the sea-change was due anyway, though perhaps not in the true Shakespearean sense "into something rich and strange." And so onward into discussions not of things rich, but of things Richey. Richey James Edwards was the guitarist and co-lyricist of The Manic Street Preachers until his disappearance in 1995. Prior to his departure, the band were renowned as a Welsh indie punk bank that had just begun to make major commercial inroads. In the years since he vanished, the remaining three members of the band - Sean Moore, James Dean Bradfield, and Nicky Wire (Jones) - evolved and developed musically and aesthetically into a completely different manifestation of themselves. However, they still rankle at the notion that a part of their success is due to the mythology of their missing childhood friend and colleague, and their most recent album, characterised as "elegaic pop", deals with their own sorrow and the challenge of escaping the past. If you don't own a copy of "Lifeblood", I would suggest giving it a listen. I've listened to the Manics for years, and there are references to them strewn throughout my meandering monologues. Several things contributed to my growing fascination with the band: - Their penchant for hyper-literate intellectual references was combined with an almost bizarrely diverse variety of musical styles, making it challenging to listen to them. Their academic analysis of biographical, historical, and political knowledge combined with an astute understanding and contempt for (post-) modern society to create songs that are not only angry and scornful, but with an educated perspective. Their iconoclastic lyrics tear down a lot of the aedifices that have been constructed to shield people from critical thought or personal responsibility. - Their image has changed in the seventeen years since they first formed the group, but has always been provocative and interesting. Just as Brian Epstein spoke of his first meeting with the Beatles, and commented that he was struck most forcefully by their personalities and charm, the Manics in the late 80's dressed and acted in a way consistent with conveying a political and cultural message. Richey, alternatively flamboyant and sullen, tended to become the focus of media attention, though his personality quirks and flaws were soon afterward to overshadow his accomplishments as a writer and performer. - In classical mythological terms, the Manics have been the Cassandras of popular culture. Consider 9-11 and the events that followed the Bush administration going ballistic on Iraq, Afghanistan, and whomever else they felt like bombing. One can imagine the conversation: (Bush: "Let's attack there." [points at globe] Advisor: "There? But sir, that's Sweden..." Bush: "I have it on good authority that there is an Al-Qaeda headquarters there." Advisor: "Sir, that's the headquarters of IKEA, not Al-Qaeda.") The Manics had already addressed the issue of American culture pervading the global community, and the backlashes some cultures and religions would experience in trying to curtail that influence. Months and even years before some elements of the global community let their hatred of America boil over from passive resentment to violent assault, the Manics were singing songs like "IFWHITEAMERICATOLDTHETRUTHFORONEDAYITSWORLDWOULDFALLAPART", "Freedom of Speech Won't Feed My Children", "Baby Elian", "Democracy Coma", and "Motorcycle Emptiness". Interesting to consider how Americans would respond to these lyrics from "Repeat (Stars and Stripes)": "Useless generations / Dumb flag scum" following the love festival the American public had with their flag after the World Trade Centre attack. Particularly since the song was released in 1992. - Related to their insightful critiques of international politics is their frank and blunt confrontation of deeply rooted personal problems. Issues such as anorexia, bulemia, self-harm and mutilation, depression, substance abuse and suicide are all briliantly swept across a musical canvas of bleak isolation and alienation. No other band was quite so honest or authentic in their treatment of these issues, which was another contibutory factor in their transition from indie club band to cult heroes amongst disaffected youth in Great Britain. - The lads are good people. Nicky Wire is an eloquent exponent of social change and political reform as well as poetic exploration of truth and the human condition, in addition to being a phenomenal source of media-friendly quotables. Not that he's friendly toward the media, but he often expounds some very controversial opinions and attitudes - and those sell papers and get ratings. And they played at the concert for the Hillsborough Family Support Group at Anfield on 15th April, 1999. That puts them in my good books for life. - Finally, the sheer breadth of their musical spectrum is awe-inspiring. From the gut-busting screaming hard-guitar punk on the album "Generation Terrorists" to the soft acoustics of "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" and "Bright Eyes", they play the lot. If I've observed these various different avenues of tremendous appeals, one is tempted to question why the North American exposure of this phenomenal group is as limited as it is. There are three albums currently floating around out there in distribution: "Lipstick Traces - A Secret History of Manic Street Preachers", "Forever Delayed - Manic Street Preachers Greatest Hits", and "Lifeblood". Can anyone just find one of these albums down the corner store? Most likely not, if you're living in Canada or the United States. Through diligent effort, these albums have been found in the New World, but the fact remains that there is no effort made at promotion, touring, advertising, radio-play, or any of those other typical marketing strategies aimed at selling products or expanding consumer interest. Are MSP just too much of a political correctness liability for a North American record label? Let's rewind back to 1995. Nicky, Richey, Sean and James had been signed by Columbia Records for three years at that point, and had popped out three increasingly bleak albums, culminating in the release of the album "The Holy Bible" in August of 1994. They had agreed to do the title track of the film "Judge Dredd" starring Sylvester Stallone, and were poised to conquer the North American market. "Holy Bible" was already becoming a cult classic amongst the punk underground cognoscenti, and the Manics had already done what later groups and artists such as Marilyn Manson would later copy - the androgynous stage performances, the scathing criticisms of the society that birthed them, and a wide variety of original songs. Again, they had established that they could slam out punk tunes, but they were also using string sections and woodwinds for songs like "Dead Trees and Traffic Islands."
That was when Richey disappeared from the scene and entered rock 'n' roll mythology. His car was found, out of petrol and with a dead battery, near a bridge over the river Severn renowned for suicides. He had previously been hospitalised for his anorexia and self-harming behaviour, most alarmingly demonstrated when, at the beginning of an interview with Steve Lamacq, he was asked if the band were for real. He promptly drew out a razor blade and carved "4 real" into his arm. He was rushed to hospital, where he politely declined treatment until others in more serious medical need were addressed first. Following the announcement that Richey was in fact suffering from a number of anxiety disorders, the fan mail bag swelled with letters from listeners (predominantly female) who were experiencing similar nervous problems.
Richey was declared officially dead by the British government after no traces of him were found and after five years of waiting. The possibility that he might still be floating around anonymously somewhere hangs over the band to this day. It's been ten years of grief and trauma, but every interview and every public appearance they make has some form of reference to their missing comrade. "Lifeblood" is their most erudite effort to date expressing the draining, damning conditions under which they've laboured since Richey left. Of course, it's also a grander metaphor expressing any sort of regret and the persistence of memory, but Richey's spirit is clearly manifested throughout the album. I'm reminded of the film "Scorchers", where a father tells his daughter that her mother is still with them. "I love her too much for her to be gone all the way," he drawls in a Cajun accent. Similarly, it's tough to listen to songs like "Judge Yr'self", "Nobody Loved You", and "Cardiff Afterlife" without thinking of Richey.
To be brutally honest, the band has become better musically in his absence. Nicky still laces the lyrics with reams of academia, James still sings and plays the guitar, and Sean is still a capable and reliable backbeat. Gone are the over-complicated diatribes which made songs virtually unsingable, but then, so is the stage presence which made the Manic Street Preachers such an unpredictable and dynamic set of performers. And in the absence of Richey, Nicky has become quite vocal about his own hang-ups - that he is in fact quite a boring and unexciting guy who loves to watch telly, eat crisps and hoover his flat. Of course, I can relate to that, but it doesn't exactly perpetuate the rock idol stereotype. Happily married, living near his hometown in a sleepy part of North Wales with his two kids... not the stuff of legend.
Some of the Manic Street Preacher trademarks are still continued - the use of quotations to punctuate the album liners and lyric sheets, the ongoing dialogue with historical biography (or biographical history), and the lingering feeling of sad emptiness.
Personally, I feel indebted to the group. Where else would I have stumbled upon the life-stories of Paul Robeson, Emily Pankhurst, Kevin Carter, and Bret Easton Ellis? And whenever I need to just sit back and absorb information at work, I just surf to http://www.manics.nl and start reading. I suppose that the most poignant comment I can make about the Preachers is that even if you don't fancy their music, you won't find them boring.
So now I'll quit shamefully plugging one of my favourite bands of all time, and instead give myself a huge pat on the back. Who was it that said that you could stake your mortgage on a bet saying that Barçalona would win La Liga, but not the Copa del Rey? I think that it was me. The Oracle rides high again. I'm going to have to check the archives and find out exactly how many months ago that prognostication was made, so I can blow my own trumpet in the correct key.
And my next post should be after the titanic struggle on the 25th, so be ready for some heavy-duty sports commentary. After that, I'll mellow out again and maybe blast off some articles on the Lightning Seeds, my ongoing employment quandary, the emerging trend of marketing to the adult male demographic, and my latest spin on male-female romantic entanglements. I won't use the "R" word because I loathe it - I'll let Oprah and Dr. Phil beat it all the way down the highway to Clichéville.
So for now, this is me signing off and wishing you a happy... everything. Don't forget to staple disposable diapers to your ceiling, and to fill your galoshes with sauerkraut and shaving scum to celebrate the annual coming of the magic yak in his flying canoe. Whenever that may be.
Take care and cheers,

-mARKUS
^+Justice for the 96+^