(Translated from my original Italian text by Nicholas Green)
Manic Street Preachers were formed in Wales by James Dean Bradfield (vocals and guitars), Richey "James" Edwards (rhythm guitar), Nick Wire (bass), and Sean Moore (drums).
Their musical dexterity enabled them to quickly launch an independent career with the single Suicide Alley and the EP New Art Riot.
Two more singles, Motown Junk and
You Love Us, and a few scandalous affairs catapulted the quartet into the headlines.
With Stay Beautiful (1991) they set their aims decisively toward more formulaic chart pop and Repeat (a rhythmic slogan set to hard rock riffs and a martial beat) made them into guerilla celebrities, imbued with the rebellious/nihilist iconographies/hagiographies of Sid Vicious and Axl Rose, screaming out the existential malaise of the young British generation.
This is also the theme of the album Generation Terrorists (Columbia, 1992):
in spite of some street-charlatan posturing in the vein of Guns n' Roses (Slash N'Burn, Condemned To Rock And Roll),
the group's sound is catchy and eminently danceable, touching at several points on Jefferson Starship's AOR
(Stay Beautiful)
and even Elton John on Little Baby Nothing (melody strummed by a piano and counterpointed by a falsetto chorus). The album launched six songs into the U.S. Top 40, most notably the existential ballad Motorcycle Emptiness,
making the Manic Street Preachers stars.
The nightmare of a decaying metropolis is still the pretext for their follow-up
Gold Against The Soul (Columbia, 1993), which more or less repeats the same plot, from the anthem From Despair To Where (with the illuminating line "I am just a fashion accessory") to the ballad Scream To A Sigh, from the refrain of
Yourself to the dance of Roses In The Hospital.
The music is still a puerile imitation of Guns n' Roses; see James Dean Bradfield's solo on
La Tristesse Durera.
Lyrically, The Holy Bible (Epic, 1994) is the most brutal of the three; here Bradfield and company play their super-glam with a crude fury. If the intent here was to surpass Guns n' Roses in brutality, the group fully succeeds. If the intent here was also to compose music, the Manic Street Preachers instead end up sounding like an even less creative David Bowie. Their stories are revolting; their music is infantile.
Soon after recording, Richey James, who had long been hospitalized for nervous disorders and alcohol detoxification, committed suicide by jumping off a bridge. (Translator's note: Richey disappeared abruptly and is currently presumed to be dead, and the explanation above for this has been neither officially confirmed nor ruled out.)
The Manic Street Preachers continued as a three-piece, in spite of constant vows to disband.
Everything Must Go (Epic, 1996) falls to the lowest levels of sentimental songwriting (but also makes them pop stars). The singles A Design for Life and Australia hinted at Starship in one of their unhappiest days, as did The Girl Who Wanted To Be God (almost copied from Sarah, albeit with a thumping "disco" beat), and the new songs will only appeal to singers at pop music festivals. There is something redeeming in the exaggerated mannerism of Removables (the interweaving of guitars, the recourse to the simpler, more direct Sixties-sound), but certainly not the magniloquent pomp of Elvis Impersonator: Blackpool Pier, not the neurasthenic din of Enola/Alone.
Truly embarrassing are the symphonic backdrops of Everything Must Go, which nonetheless is emblematic of the method: a melody shouted in a strained register over layers of orchestral arrangements and electric guitars. It's a method that brings to mind the old Phil Spector productions, but without the adolescent verve and jaunty edge. The classical harp flourishes in Small Black Flowers That Grow in the Sky belong to a mature and pedantic genre. Still, Richey James has left his imprint on the group's new direction: most of the lyrics are his, and they enliven the music with the usual auteur nihilism.
The bombast of This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours (Epic, 1998), submerged
by the most trivial and pathetic keyboard sounds since Bowie's
Ziggy Stardust, conceals a chronic dearth of ideas.
The melodramatic pop of The Everlasting (halfway between Moody Blues and
Pet Shop Boys) and of the even more embarassing If You Tolerate This
are endless repetitions of a musical adage that never sounded particularly
revelatory.
Ready For Drowning is pop-metal for the generation that missed
Bon Jovi and REO Speedwagon.
It is hard to believe that anybody could make music this boring.
Maybe Know Your Enemy (Epic, 2001)
is not as bad as the previous one, but still a lengthy album full of mediocre
songs, half-baked jokes (Miss Europa Disco Dancer) and occasional
glam (Found That Soul) or pop (So Why So Sad, basically a
Beach Boys tribute) ditties.
Forever Delayed (Epic, 2002) is a career retrospective.
Lifeblood (Epic, 2004) continues the string of awful releases
by Manic Street Preachers. This time the uninspired trio delves into
old-fashioned easy-listening music, which only occasionally redeems itself
from total boredom
(The Love Of Richard Nixon,
To Repel Ghosts,
Solitude Sometimes Is).
Send Away The Tigers (2007) had even fewer interesting moments.
Journal For Plague Lovers (Columbia, 2009), produced by Steve Albini,
marked a comeback of sorts for the ghost of Richey Edwards, whose lyrics
were used to pen the songs of the album; a return to the angry
young men and to the bleak mood of
Generation Terrorists and
Holy Bible instead of the bombastic arena-pop of the 2000s.
Bag Lady boasts a
mildly punk-ish refrain and metal guitar pyrotechnics;
Peeled Apples packs a limping boogie riff and a roaring shout
in the tradition of Free .
Even more aggressive is the pounding techno-roll locomotive
a` la Billy Idol of Marlon J.D.;
and She Bathed Herself In A Bath Of Bleach is a
solemn anthemic shout a` la Aerosmith.
On the lightweight radio-friendly front, they pen the
danceable lullaby Jackie Collins Existential Question Time,
the jangling and soulful Virginal State Epileptic Colony,
and the noisy power-ballad The Joke Sport Severed.
There is also room for the
acoustic folk chant Facing Page Top Left and
the slow atmospheric dance Doors Closing Slowly.
and the orchestral elegy William's Last Words.
The juvenile spirit of
Postcards From a Young Man (2010) was a welcome counterweight to
its predecessor's austere gravity, although the arrangements consistently
try to deliver an orchestral and choral feeling. The result was often funny,
echoing pop-metal of the 1980s (Just the End of Love).
National Treasures (2011) compiles the singles.
