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— Tony Cross
It wasn't all that long ago that found myself growing sick of writing about The Cure in this space so many times. In the case of their mid-eighties' indie-pop trilogy of UK hits "The Lovecats", "The Caterpillar" and "In Between Days" this wasn't much of a problem since it presented me with a welcome reminder of how good they could be when Robert Smith and whoever he deemed fit to join him were at their best. "Jumping Someone Else's Train" (which, full disclosure, I was in no way obliged to cover since this was pre-Single of the Fortnight era) is a perfectly acceptable early Cure number though not among the true high spots of their goth years. But by the time I got to "A Letter to Elise" I had had my fill of them. It wouldn't have mattered if it had been one of their finest moments (even though it isn't) because I had covered a band I'm not all that into more than enough by that point.
I'm already reaching a similar stage when it comes to Manic Street Preachers. This is now their third time on this blog and I know for a fact that they'll be coming up at least one more time. Because online scans of nineties' issues of Smash Hits are incomplete, I'm dreading the prospect of eventually having to blog about them a fifth, sixth and even seventh time. It actually makes me feel well-disposed to a once great pop mag for going too far down the road of disposable pop because at least it might help curb the numbers of times I have to deal with this band who I did enthused over a little too much the last time they came up. (Granted, I was blogging about a hell of a song so no wonder) My usual indifference is turning into a faint sense of loathing for this lot — a statement which could easily be confused for a Manics' song title.
"Motorcycle Emptiness" had been the first obvious sign that there was far more to these Welsh oiks than met the eye and they used much of second album Gold Against the Soul (I always think 'God Against the Soul' would've been a catchier title) reaffirming this. The intention is there but they are aren't up to the task of repeating what made the most acclaimed single they'd ever release able to imprint itself on seemingly an entire generation of British youths. You want passion? James Dean Bradfield has got it nailed and he's going to hammer it home. You want angst? Lyricists Richey Edwards and Nicky Wire could put pen to paper and make Siouxie Sioux look like Debby Boone, all the while talking at their audience at least as much as they talked to them. You want a powerful indie rock foursome that made no bones of their debt to punk and metal? Oh, their chords could rip your grubby old jean jacket given half a chance. You want subtlety? Look someplace else.
The Manics at their absolute best were always touching. "Motorcycle Emptiness", "La tristesse durera", "A Design for Life", "The Everlasting": these are the four songs of their's that I genuinely care about and I'm not alone in this regard. John Aizlewood's perceptive review of their 2001 album Know Your Enemy points to at least three of these very same tracks ("La tristesse..." being the one possible exception: I don't have the source to consult or provide a link to, I'm just going on memory) as examples of when the group truly was "4REAL". The Q Magazine wit and Lightning Seeds fan also pointed out that they could be their own worst enemies.
Thus, "From Despair to Where", a classic example of how there's a fine line between getting it just right and ballsing it up big time. (Manics are unique in the sense that while I feel largely indifferent to them, I seldom feel non-pulsed by any of their individual songs: either I love them or I have no used for 'em) A rational rock fan might find plenty to enjoy and I would agree they're in there, only they don't mesh well at all. Bradfield can't tone it down, the words are just the sort of thing that a pair of university graduates would come up with while play acting as though they're bedsit anthems for the young and the passion just never lets up.
I wouldn't have made this charge at the time (even though I've never really taken to Manic Street Preachers) but they really do represent the rock and roll con job at its finest. Have guitar, will turn heads. It doesn't matter that much of what they had to say was tosh or had been so poorly communicated as to mean precisely nothing. I used to scoff at Meat Loaf for putting his entire (and considerable) frame into his recordings but how is this Welsh foursome any different? "From Despair to Where"? How about, I don't care!
Critics and fans will sometimes lay into the likes of XTC and Talking Heads for being "too clever by half" but somehow or other Manic Street Preachers have managed to avoid such a charge, particularly in the early, Richey period. No doubt being a blistering old school rock group helps in this regard. That shouty Bradfield voice also plays a significant role. Yet, music that sets itself up to diagnose teenage moodiness is really the ultimate in clever-clever pop. It's easy to laugh at The Clash being the "only band that matters" but the Manics made mattering into all that mattered. Yes, they could do extraordinary things but this probably only convinced them that everything they did could sparkle. They didn't but at least those rare moments of inspiration remain. Let's have some more of them come up on this blog if I'm meant to continue this Manic love fest.
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
Willie Nelson & Sinead O'Connor: "Don't Give Up"
One of the more forgotten trends of '93 was the duet album. Elton John's Duets sold very well in spite of some poor material and some not great singing partners for old Reg. Frank Sinatra's, also with the highly original title Duets, was also a big success as it made old Blue Eyes relevant with Generation X. Willie Nelson didn't release his own album also called Duets this year but the first half of current release Across the Borderline — with four cuts suggests the thought had crossed his mind. This rendition of the 1986 Top 10 hit for Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush isn't a favourite of Tony Cross and I would agree that Willie Nelson and Sinead O'Connor's voices don't really gel. Possibly a kind gesture of solidarity from one performer at the previous year's Bob Dylan 30th Anniversary Concert (in which a large portion of the Madison Square Garden crowd booed O'Connor the same way they would have greeted Dylan some twenty-five years earlier) to another but a brave attempt at something memorable can't quite cut it. Two outstanding artists but they can't all be winners, can they?
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