So many acts convince themselves they are a ‘Great British Band’; mistaking ubiquity, arrogance and general fame, for grandeur, significance and longevity. As if status is their ultimate goal, rather than breaking new creative ground. But when we examine the nature of the truly ‘Great British Band’ we see that acquiring such a title isn’t really part of the plan. Of course, The Kinks, The Clash, The Stones, and Led Zeppelin were very sure of themselves, rightly believing they had something important and different to deliver, and the determination to do so. However, in all these cases, it was a musical urge which drove them. The glory and acclaim were happenstance.
And so it is with Manic Street Preachers.
Despite an original blueprint to release a debut album, sell a million and break up, the band has actually done something close to the opposite. From the off, when four angry, painted Welshmen released their ‘New Art Riot’ EP in 1988, they created a stir – if only in the pages of the music weeklies (which they have assuredly outlived). Opinions were rigidly divided, the naysayers claiming the group were merely plastic punks, the converted asserting they’d discovered a new force in indie rock. What nobody considered was the possibility they were hearing an act which would be making a cultural impact in the second decade of the 21st century. Possibly because there was nothing to suggest such a trajectory. With genuinely ‘Great British Bands’ there rarely is.
I have no desire to cause an unnecessary storm with Beatles comparisons – Manic Street Preachers and The Fabs are from utterly different eras, with completely different expectations and intentions. That said, there is a parallel in their careers: evolution. When The Beatles split in 1971, they were physically and musically unrecognisable from the whip-cracking scousers who won their spurs in Hamburg and shook their heads furiously in The Cavern. They had shaped their times and in turn had been shaped. Their ideas and songs had expanded and morphed as they explored the possibilities of their collective talent. Despite, or perhaps because of, the frictions, tragedies, loves, hates and uncertainties, they continued; because they instinctively knew they hadn’t finished. And, until 1971, they managed this because every time they set to work, they evolved.
This same expeditionary motivation lives in Manic Street Preachers. Even though they were forced to confront the loss of a key member, they understood the journey wasn’t over. Indeed, their most successful albums lay ahead of them. It’s more than their underrated talent that makes them such a continuingly attractive proposition. It’s the intrigue of observing a group as they evolve and evolve again. Sometimes the process takes them down dead ends (‘Lifeblood’ and ‘Know Your Enemy’ are sited as low watermarks), but all ‘Great British Bands’ stumble and trip. The greatness stems from the refusal to be deterred, and the knowledge there is plenty more ammunition in the arsenal.
I’m sure James Dean Bradfield, Nicky Wire and Sean Moore didn’t expect their new collection, ‘Futurology’, to be swept into the national consciousness on a gale of acclaim. They simply made the album they felt ready to make. It just so happened to be the right record at the right time – and it is a stupendous work. Released this week to almost unequivocal delight, as I write it is sitting very comfortably at number two. An unexpected result, but a typically unpredictable Manics’ victory.
Ironically, given its name, ‘Futurology’ is a rather retrospective album (which isn’t to say the title wasn’t chosen for that very reason). Taking its cues from Bowie’s Berlin period, as well as the icily satisfying ‘krautrock’ of Neu and Can, the feeling is one of reaching into the past to present something uniquely contemporary. The stunning single ‘Walk Me To The Bridge’ even recalls Phil Lynott’s Top of the Pops theme ‘Yellow Pearl’ – and such is the band’s skill, they make that an asset.
In 28 years, there have been many occasions when Manic Street Preachers appeared to have dropped the baton. Either by releasing records which didn’t quite catch fire, or by finding themselves at the wrong end of fashion’s curve, their demise seemed regretfully imminent. Self-evidently, that was a false impression. For here they are, not only perfectly attuned to their time, audience and market, but setting a standard for lesser or younger acts.
With ‘Futurology’, the Manics have proved their enormous value and significance to British music. We’re in love with them all over again and nobody deserves it more. The time has come to stop prevaricating and recognise that those angry, painted men have, against all prediction, become ‘A Great British Band’. In fact, at this moment, we may have to adjust that – they have become ‘The Great British Band.’
And so it is with Manic Street Preachers.
Despite an original blueprint to release a debut album, sell a million and break up, the band has actually done something close to the opposite. From the off, when four angry, painted Welshmen released their ‘New Art Riot’ EP in 1988, they created a stir – if only in the pages of the music weeklies (which they have assuredly outlived). Opinions were rigidly divided, the naysayers claiming the group were merely plastic punks, the converted asserting they’d discovered a new force in indie rock. What nobody considered was the possibility they were hearing an act which would be making a cultural impact in the second decade of the 21st century. Possibly because there was nothing to suggest such a trajectory. With genuinely ‘Great British Bands’ there rarely is.
I have no desire to cause an unnecessary storm with Beatles comparisons – Manic Street Preachers and The Fabs are from utterly different eras, with completely different expectations and intentions. That said, there is a parallel in their careers: evolution. When The Beatles split in 1971, they were physically and musically unrecognisable from the whip-cracking scousers who won their spurs in Hamburg and shook their heads furiously in The Cavern. They had shaped their times and in turn had been shaped. Their ideas and songs had expanded and morphed as they explored the possibilities of their collective talent. Despite, or perhaps because of, the frictions, tragedies, loves, hates and uncertainties, they continued; because they instinctively knew they hadn’t finished. And, until 1971, they managed this because every time they set to work, they evolved.
This same expeditionary motivation lives in Manic Street Preachers. Even though they were forced to confront the loss of a key member, they understood the journey wasn’t over. Indeed, their most successful albums lay ahead of them. It’s more than their underrated talent that makes them such a continuingly attractive proposition. It’s the intrigue of observing a group as they evolve and evolve again. Sometimes the process takes them down dead ends (‘Lifeblood’ and ‘Know Your Enemy’ are sited as low watermarks), but all ‘Great British Bands’ stumble and trip. The greatness stems from the refusal to be deterred, and the knowledge there is plenty more ammunition in the arsenal.
I’m sure James Dean Bradfield, Nicky Wire and Sean Moore didn’t expect their new collection, ‘Futurology’, to be swept into the national consciousness on a gale of acclaim. They simply made the album they felt ready to make. It just so happened to be the right record at the right time – and it is a stupendous work. Released this week to almost unequivocal delight, as I write it is sitting very comfortably at number two. An unexpected result, but a typically unpredictable Manics’ victory.
Ironically, given its name, ‘Futurology’ is a rather retrospective album (which isn’t to say the title wasn’t chosen for that very reason). Taking its cues from Bowie’s Berlin period, as well as the icily satisfying ‘krautrock’ of Neu and Can, the feeling is one of reaching into the past to present something uniquely contemporary. The stunning single ‘Walk Me To The Bridge’ even recalls Phil Lynott’s Top of the Pops theme ‘Yellow Pearl’ – and such is the band’s skill, they make that an asset.
In 28 years, there have been many occasions when Manic Street Preachers appeared to have dropped the baton. Either by releasing records which didn’t quite catch fire, or by finding themselves at the wrong end of fashion’s curve, their demise seemed regretfully imminent. Self-evidently, that was a false impression. For here they are, not only perfectly attuned to their time, audience and market, but setting a standard for lesser or younger acts.
With ‘Futurology’, the Manics have proved their enormous value and significance to British music. We’re in love with them all over again and nobody deserves it more. The time has come to stop prevaricating and recognise that those angry, painted men have, against all prediction, become ‘A Great British Band’. In fact, at this moment, we may have to adjust that – they have become ‘The Great British Band.’
