It was no surface but all feeling / Maybe at the time it felt like dreaming
Whenever I mention that my favorite band is terribly obscure in the U.S., the person I'm talking to inevitably says, "What's their name? I bet I know them." Then, of course, when I say "the Manic Street Preachers," they'll say, "Oh. I've never heard of them." But on a chilly night this past fall, I was surrounded by Americans who would not only know who I was talking about, but be able to recite their entire discography.
When I became a fan of the band, I never expected to be able to see them in concert. When they toured while I lived in England, I figured it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. We went to London, it was a very good show, I got to meet them in person (!), the end. Very lovely. So when Ilya told me they were touring in America, I was simultaneously shocked and thrilled. The chance to see them again? In Philadelphia? I'll be there!
To compensate for the concert being on a weeknight, I took a half-day off work to leave early and come in late the next day. Taking the train from Union Station, I alternated between writing, sleeping, and being sheerly excited. I met Ilya at the train station, where he showed me his (relatively) new Hyundai, one of his two "hot Asian girls" (the other being his girlfriend!). Considering our shared love of music, the last time I saw him was also at a concert, appropriately.
We headed over to the venue, World Cafe Live. The space must have been much stranger for them to perform in than for us to watch. At the turn of the last decade, they played at one of the largest stadiums in the UK to a sold-out crowd. In contrast, World Cafe Live made Saratoga Winners seems spacious (although this place was far cleaner). It was a step up from the concerts I went to in the now-departed Noyes Student Center at Cornell only in that it was an actual venue, with food and a bar. It was cute in its smallness though. When we got food, we could actually still see the opening band despite sitting down.
Unfortunately, the opening band was awful. The Manics' opening band last time was a bit dull, very young emo-ish, but these guys were just dumb. They had a song comparing women and weed and determined weed was a superior option. Thankfully, they were done quickly, leaving me to finish off my crab cake sandwich and wait in excitement for the Manics to come on.
As we waited, the venue began to fill up, with more and more people staking out their places in front of the stage. It was obvious from the start that this was a very different crowd than the one in London. The crowd in London was energetic, with everyone seemingly pleased to be there. But there were definitely some people who thought, "Oh, the Manics? They had that song from a long time ago - you know that song? Yeah, sure, I'll go see them." Interested, but not enthused. (There were also a couple of very rude people who I found annoying.) On the other hand, everyone in this crowd was absolutely passionate about the Manics. Many of them probably thought that they'd never be able to see them live. We waited in eager anticipation, like kids on Christmas Eve.
Finally, they made the waiting all worth while. With James Dean Bradfield (yes, his real name, isn't it rock star?) at the mic, guitar in hand, Nicky Wire on the bass, and Sean Moore hidden behind the drum kit, they launched into the iconic first notes of Motorcycle Emptiness. "Culture sucks down words..." James cried, as sincere and cynical as he was 17 years ago when they released Generation Terrorists. From that electric beginning, they launched into "No Surface, All Feeling," one of my favorite songs. The intimate surroundings perfectly matched the song's melancholy musings on youthful passion and love shared by friends.
Then they switched to a couple of newer songs, maintaining the intense energy. James jumped and spun wildly all over the stage, swinging his guitar in time with the rhythm. Nicky alternated between doing high scissor-kicks, grinning in an intensely goofy manner, and intently focusing on playing his bass. Nicky's gotten a lot better at playing his guitar over the years - in the beginning, he was known for being a fantastic lyricist but terrible instrumentalist - but Ilya and I still poke fun at how hard he seems to be working to get the notes right. While transitioning to "La Tristesse Durera," about the loneliness of WWII veterans, James described their diction on that album as "very German." As Welsh accents are very unfamiliar to many people, even some British, I'm sure many listeners didn't notice! Nonetheless, it's a deeply empathetic song that makes teenagers care about people they might never have thought about otherwise, and I was so glad to hear them play it. Another new song followed, with the eminently sing-alongable chorus "Mummy, what's a sex pistol?" Then "Let Robison Sing," which was the song I chatted up the Welsh historians about at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival, followed by a searing version of "Faster," about furious mania. "Faster" is one of those songs I turned to when I felt particularly dark about the world and myself. Just listening to it reminded me of sitting in my bedroom at Alpha Zeta. I think playing it was a specific tribute to Richey Edwards, their long-gone rhythm guitarist who disappeared without a trace over 10 years ago. His lyrics, from a notebook they found shortly afterwards, made up all of the songs on their latest album. Moving into the flip side thematically, they then played "Enola/Alone," which is about feeling terribly isolated but needing to reach out despite yourself.
Somewhere within those songs, James' guitar went incredibly out of tune, forcing him to spend quite a bit of time between songs fixing it. Thankfully, I could actually understand the on-stage banter this time. While he was futzing with it, someone yelled "Cuba!" where the Manics have performed in the past. They allegedly got their live concert DVD's title from a conversation they had with Fidel Castro. They said their music was going to be quite loud, and he said, "Is it louder than WAR?" In response to the fan, James smiled and shook his head, saying, "Don't say that in this country. We had to rip those pages out of our passports before we got to Immigration!" As he continued to fiddle with the strings, he asked, "So do you want to hear a little Philadelphia Freedom?" The crowd was amused but not supportive, so I sadly didn't get to see the Manics cover Elton John.
After a new song (Ilya's favorite off of the album, if I remember) and two of my favorite songs ever ("From Despair to Where" and "If You Tolerate This, Your Children Will Be Next"), everyone except James left the stage. In their absence, he switched to acoustic guitar and launched into the Manics most pretty/sad song, "This is Yesterday." Never has lost innocence transitioning into despair sounded so lovely. Then, much to my surprise, he launched into "Masses Against the Classes," normally a rocker. The acoustic version removed the loudness, but none of the venom, making it an ironic, almost silly but quietly nasty song. It was hard to judge the level of sincerity, bringing the entire song's meaning into question. That combination of brutal honesty and self-awareness of their own ridiculousness has been something I've always liked about the Manics. On one hand, they fiercely believe in whatever they are saying at the time. On the other hand, they know that may change tomorrow. As they've always said, "We reserve the right to contradict ourselves."
The rest of the band returned for a big, full version of "Send Away the Tigers," followed by the electric-tinged "You Stole the Sun from My Heart." Then a lead-in I didn't recognize (a cover), into the song that best captures their once-youthful anger, pride and cynicism: "Motown Junk." Absolutely blistering. "Stops your heart beating for 168 seconds / stops your brain thinking for 168 seconds." Within all of this intensity, the Manics did stop again to exchange a bit of fun conversation. At one point, Nicky said, "There's a hot, sweaty, sexy mess up here," to which James replied, "Well, it's not me." Later on, James called Sean "a beast" on the drums. It was hard to see his response, as he tends to get a bit lost behind the kit.
Another one from the new album and then they finished with 3 iconic songs - two early ones and their most famous of all. First, "You Love Us," another one full of malice and fury, then "Little Baby Nothing," a softer, almost pop-like song about child prostitution and exploitation of women. That song epitomizes their love of highlighting the pain of the continually oppressed and downtrodden. That theme continued in their closer, "A Design for Life," a rousing bar song about the co-opting of the lower class culture in Britain by trendy "lads."
For a few moments after they finished, we stood there mesmerized , letting the experience wash over us. As we walked to the door, Ilya commented, "Richey missed a really good night." "Yeah, he did," I said. After a second, he added, "Unless he was here." Misunderstanding him to be referring to a ghost, I said, "Well, that would be creepy." Looking at me oddly, he said, "If he was in the audience," and I immediately understood what he meant. I think every Manics fan - and the band themselves, of course - know that Richie is dead, but secretly hope that maybe he just ran away from everything and is living happily in disguise. He certainly wouldn't be recognized in Philadelphia. "Yes, maybe he was," I replied, with a sad smile.
We walked out into the lobby, and Ilya looked like he was going to leave. I pointed out that it was still quite early and it was likely the band would be greeting fans, especially with this devoted crowd. If he wanted to get something signed, he could get it from the merchandise table. I already had a signed CD from the last concert, so I was going to try to get a photo. Standing in line, waiting for Ilya to buy the LP, I received some reward for my hard work with a paint pen. For the last concert, inspired by classic Manics DIY shirts, I created a t-shirt with glitter paint that says, "Words are never enough." I used glitter paint specifically because the lyrics following that line are "Only cheap tarnished glitter..." As we stood in line, a lady passing by asked, "Oh, is that from the song?" I said, "Oh yes, I made it myself!" It was a rather odd question to ask - where else would it be from? - but I appreciated that someone did notice it.
We headed to the backstage door the most awkward way possible, down a dodgy fire escape. But our interest paid off - they were there! The bus was parked out back, and little clusters of people were gathered around Nicky and James. Even though Ilya had joked for years that he would kick Nicky in the shins if he ever met him (because of his extremely delayed stated opposition to the Iraq War), it was obvious that wasn't going to happen. He was thrilled as anyone else to have this opportunity. We went over to Nicky first, in his military jacket and matching tight pants, surrounded by a gaggle of girls (and a few guys). He has to be the only cross-dresser considered a sex symbol - he wears it so well. In some ways, he reminds me of Tip from Skin Horse. As we were waiting patiently, two guys next to us kept complaining that the more giggly girls weren't "real fans." I wanted to say something to them but I just rolled my eyes and muttered to Ilya. I hate when people claim others are fakers. Eventually, we got close enough to ask for a photo, and Nicky was so sweet. When I asked, he said, "Of course!" and put his arm around me. How many people can say they've been hugged by their favorite rock star? Just after taking the photo, a car came down the back alley, causing everyone to scatter. Nicky exclaimed, "Manics running wild on the streets of Philadelphia!" He looked so sincerely happy about it all - smiling, taking photos, shaking hands, answering questions (even the personal ones), laughing, signing memorabilia. He was having as good of a time as we were.
Having gotten photos and signatures, we moved on to James. He emanated a bit more rock-star cool, but was still smiling and more than willing to talk to fans. Interestingly, despite being the lead guitarist and singer, he had a slightly smaller crowd than Nicky. I mentioned that I had attended a concert in England and was so glad to see them in America, something I never expected to happen. He nodded, said he was glad we could make it, and posed for the photo. Then there was only Sean, who was nowhere to be found. But I had a plan. Boldly, I asked the manager who was standing in front of the bus (and who a fan was harassing for an autograph) if Sean would be willing to have a photo taken. He said he was in the bus and he would ask. And miracle of miracles, Sean came out! He didn't look quite as enthused as Nicky or James - he's much shyer than either of them - but was willing to pose. Unfortunately, none of the photos came out well because of the lighting. But just having the experience of talking to them and getting the photos taken was worth it.
Having seen everyone, we walked back to the train station. Ilya waited with me until the next train came, and we talked about all sorts of things, including writing. Then, while waiting on the platform, I ended up talking to a fellow fan who was also heading back to DC. I had a lovely conversation with him that kept me awake on the whole ride back.
/
Even though I had already seen the Manics in concert, it was a thrill to see them again. The space and the crowd were ideal, intimate without being cramped. Despite the smallness of the crowd, the Manics themselves were enthralling, so full of energy and joy. And experiencing it with Ilya, who introduced them to me, was gratifying. It was, without a doubt, my favorite concert ever.
The only photo with the band that came out half-decent. Thanks, Ilya!
Another Ilya photo.
A fantastic photo from Ben Harris, the guy I met on the train ride home. There's James, rocking out!
Another great one from Ben. Nicky grinning like a madman.
When I became a fan of the band, I never expected to be able to see them in concert. When they toured while I lived in England, I figured it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. We went to London, it was a very good show, I got to meet them in person (!), the end. Very lovely. So when Ilya told me they were touring in America, I was simultaneously shocked and thrilled. The chance to see them again? In Philadelphia? I'll be there!
To compensate for the concert being on a weeknight, I took a half-day off work to leave early and come in late the next day. Taking the train from Union Station, I alternated between writing, sleeping, and being sheerly excited. I met Ilya at the train station, where he showed me his (relatively) new Hyundai, one of his two "hot Asian girls" (the other being his girlfriend!). Considering our shared love of music, the last time I saw him was also at a concert, appropriately.
We headed over to the venue, World Cafe Live. The space must have been much stranger for them to perform in than for us to watch. At the turn of the last decade, they played at one of the largest stadiums in the UK to a sold-out crowd. In contrast, World Cafe Live made Saratoga Winners seems spacious (although this place was far cleaner). It was a step up from the concerts I went to in the now-departed Noyes Student Center at Cornell only in that it was an actual venue, with food and a bar. It was cute in its smallness though. When we got food, we could actually still see the opening band despite sitting down.
Unfortunately, the opening band was awful. The Manics' opening band last time was a bit dull, very young emo-ish, but these guys were just dumb. They had a song comparing women and weed and determined weed was a superior option. Thankfully, they were done quickly, leaving me to finish off my crab cake sandwich and wait in excitement for the Manics to come on.
As we waited, the venue began to fill up, with more and more people staking out their places in front of the stage. It was obvious from the start that this was a very different crowd than the one in London. The crowd in London was energetic, with everyone seemingly pleased to be there. But there were definitely some people who thought, "Oh, the Manics? They had that song from a long time ago - you know that song? Yeah, sure, I'll go see them." Interested, but not enthused. (There were also a couple of very rude people who I found annoying.) On the other hand, everyone in this crowd was absolutely passionate about the Manics. Many of them probably thought that they'd never be able to see them live. We waited in eager anticipation, like kids on Christmas Eve.
Finally, they made the waiting all worth while. With James Dean Bradfield (yes, his real name, isn't it rock star?) at the mic, guitar in hand, Nicky Wire on the bass, and Sean Moore hidden behind the drum kit, they launched into the iconic first notes of Motorcycle Emptiness. "Culture sucks down words..." James cried, as sincere and cynical as he was 17 years ago when they released Generation Terrorists. From that electric beginning, they launched into "No Surface, All Feeling," one of my favorite songs. The intimate surroundings perfectly matched the song's melancholy musings on youthful passion and love shared by friends.
Then they switched to a couple of newer songs, maintaining the intense energy. James jumped and spun wildly all over the stage, swinging his guitar in time with the rhythm. Nicky alternated between doing high scissor-kicks, grinning in an intensely goofy manner, and intently focusing on playing his bass. Nicky's gotten a lot better at playing his guitar over the years - in the beginning, he was known for being a fantastic lyricist but terrible instrumentalist - but Ilya and I still poke fun at how hard he seems to be working to get the notes right. While transitioning to "La Tristesse Durera," about the loneliness of WWII veterans, James described their diction on that album as "very German." As Welsh accents are very unfamiliar to many people, even some British, I'm sure many listeners didn't notice! Nonetheless, it's a deeply empathetic song that makes teenagers care about people they might never have thought about otherwise, and I was so glad to hear them play it. Another new song followed, with the eminently sing-alongable chorus "Mummy, what's a sex pistol?" Then "Let Robison Sing," which was the song I chatted up the Welsh historians about at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival, followed by a searing version of "Faster," about furious mania. "Faster" is one of those songs I turned to when I felt particularly dark about the world and myself. Just listening to it reminded me of sitting in my bedroom at Alpha Zeta. I think playing it was a specific tribute to Richey Edwards, their long-gone rhythm guitarist who disappeared without a trace over 10 years ago. His lyrics, from a notebook they found shortly afterwards, made up all of the songs on their latest album. Moving into the flip side thematically, they then played "Enola/Alone," which is about feeling terribly isolated but needing to reach out despite yourself.
Somewhere within those songs, James' guitar went incredibly out of tune, forcing him to spend quite a bit of time between songs fixing it. Thankfully, I could actually understand the on-stage banter this time. While he was futzing with it, someone yelled "Cuba!" where the Manics have performed in the past. They allegedly got their live concert DVD's title from a conversation they had with Fidel Castro. They said their music was going to be quite loud, and he said, "Is it louder than WAR?" In response to the fan, James smiled and shook his head, saying, "Don't say that in this country. We had to rip those pages out of our passports before we got to Immigration!" As he continued to fiddle with the strings, he asked, "So do you want to hear a little Philadelphia Freedom?" The crowd was amused but not supportive, so I sadly didn't get to see the Manics cover Elton John.
After a new song (Ilya's favorite off of the album, if I remember) and two of my favorite songs ever ("From Despair to Where" and "If You Tolerate This, Your Children Will Be Next"), everyone except James left the stage. In their absence, he switched to acoustic guitar and launched into the Manics most pretty/sad song, "This is Yesterday." Never has lost innocence transitioning into despair sounded so lovely. Then, much to my surprise, he launched into "Masses Against the Classes," normally a rocker. The acoustic version removed the loudness, but none of the venom, making it an ironic, almost silly but quietly nasty song. It was hard to judge the level of sincerity, bringing the entire song's meaning into question. That combination of brutal honesty and self-awareness of their own ridiculousness has been something I've always liked about the Manics. On one hand, they fiercely believe in whatever they are saying at the time. On the other hand, they know that may change tomorrow. As they've always said, "We reserve the right to contradict ourselves."
The rest of the band returned for a big, full version of "Send Away the Tigers," followed by the electric-tinged "You Stole the Sun from My Heart." Then a lead-in I didn't recognize (a cover), into the song that best captures their once-youthful anger, pride and cynicism: "Motown Junk." Absolutely blistering. "Stops your heart beating for 168 seconds / stops your brain thinking for 168 seconds." Within all of this intensity, the Manics did stop again to exchange a bit of fun conversation. At one point, Nicky said, "There's a hot, sweaty, sexy mess up here," to which James replied, "Well, it's not me." Later on, James called Sean "a beast" on the drums. It was hard to see his response, as he tends to get a bit lost behind the kit.
Another one from the new album and then they finished with 3 iconic songs - two early ones and their most famous of all. First, "You Love Us," another one full of malice and fury, then "Little Baby Nothing," a softer, almost pop-like song about child prostitution and exploitation of women. That song epitomizes their love of highlighting the pain of the continually oppressed and downtrodden. That theme continued in their closer, "A Design for Life," a rousing bar song about the co-opting of the lower class culture in Britain by trendy "lads."
For a few moments after they finished, we stood there mesmerized , letting the experience wash over us. As we walked to the door, Ilya commented, "Richey missed a really good night." "Yeah, he did," I said. After a second, he added, "Unless he was here." Misunderstanding him to be referring to a ghost, I said, "Well, that would be creepy." Looking at me oddly, he said, "If he was in the audience," and I immediately understood what he meant. I think every Manics fan - and the band themselves, of course - know that Richie is dead, but secretly hope that maybe he just ran away from everything and is living happily in disguise. He certainly wouldn't be recognized in Philadelphia. "Yes, maybe he was," I replied, with a sad smile.
We walked out into the lobby, and Ilya looked like he was going to leave. I pointed out that it was still quite early and it was likely the band would be greeting fans, especially with this devoted crowd. If he wanted to get something signed, he could get it from the merchandise table. I already had a signed CD from the last concert, so I was going to try to get a photo. Standing in line, waiting for Ilya to buy the LP, I received some reward for my hard work with a paint pen. For the last concert, inspired by classic Manics DIY shirts, I created a t-shirt with glitter paint that says, "Words are never enough." I used glitter paint specifically because the lyrics following that line are "Only cheap tarnished glitter..." As we stood in line, a lady passing by asked, "Oh, is that from the song?" I said, "Oh yes, I made it myself!" It was a rather odd question to ask - where else would it be from? - but I appreciated that someone did notice it.
We headed to the backstage door the most awkward way possible, down a dodgy fire escape. But our interest paid off - they were there! The bus was parked out back, and little clusters of people were gathered around Nicky and James. Even though Ilya had joked for years that he would kick Nicky in the shins if he ever met him (because of his extremely delayed stated opposition to the Iraq War), it was obvious that wasn't going to happen. He was thrilled as anyone else to have this opportunity. We went over to Nicky first, in his military jacket and matching tight pants, surrounded by a gaggle of girls (and a few guys). He has to be the only cross-dresser considered a sex symbol - he wears it so well. In some ways, he reminds me of Tip from Skin Horse. As we were waiting patiently, two guys next to us kept complaining that the more giggly girls weren't "real fans." I wanted to say something to them but I just rolled my eyes and muttered to Ilya. I hate when people claim others are fakers. Eventually, we got close enough to ask for a photo, and Nicky was so sweet. When I asked, he said, "Of course!" and put his arm around me. How many people can say they've been hugged by their favorite rock star? Just after taking the photo, a car came down the back alley, causing everyone to scatter. Nicky exclaimed, "Manics running wild on the streets of Philadelphia!" He looked so sincerely happy about it all - smiling, taking photos, shaking hands, answering questions (even the personal ones), laughing, signing memorabilia. He was having as good of a time as we were.
Having gotten photos and signatures, we moved on to James. He emanated a bit more rock-star cool, but was still smiling and more than willing to talk to fans. Interestingly, despite being the lead guitarist and singer, he had a slightly smaller crowd than Nicky. I mentioned that I had attended a concert in England and was so glad to see them in America, something I never expected to happen. He nodded, said he was glad we could make it, and posed for the photo. Then there was only Sean, who was nowhere to be found. But I had a plan. Boldly, I asked the manager who was standing in front of the bus (and who a fan was harassing for an autograph) if Sean would be willing to have a photo taken. He said he was in the bus and he would ask. And miracle of miracles, Sean came out! He didn't look quite as enthused as Nicky or James - he's much shyer than either of them - but was willing to pose. Unfortunately, none of the photos came out well because of the lighting. But just having the experience of talking to them and getting the photos taken was worth it.
Having seen everyone, we walked back to the train station. Ilya waited with me until the next train came, and we talked about all sorts of things, including writing. Then, while waiting on the platform, I ended up talking to a fellow fan who was also heading back to DC. I had a lovely conversation with him that kept me awake on the whole ride back.
/
Even though I had already seen the Manics in concert, it was a thrill to see them again. The space and the crowd were ideal, intimate without being cramped. Despite the smallness of the crowd, the Manics themselves were enthralling, so full of energy and joy. And experiencing it with Ilya, who introduced them to me, was gratifying. It was, without a doubt, my favorite concert ever.
The only photo with the band that came out half-decent. Thanks, Ilya!
Another Ilya photo.
A fantastic photo from Ben Harris, the guy I met on the train ride home. There's James, rocking out!
Another great one from Ben. Nicky grinning like a madman.