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#1465: Manic Street Preachers – Virginia State Epileptic Colony

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In early 2014, the only song I had in my iTunes library from Manic Street Preachers’ 2009 album, Journal for Plague Lovers, was ‘Jackie Collins Existential Question Time’. There was no official single from the LP, but that song was chosen as the main promotional cut from it, getting its own music video and stuff. I was in my first year of uni. I was hosting a radio station. Needed more songs to fill out a playlist. ‘Jackie Collins…’ was sitting there, all alone in my personal library, so I thought there’d be no harm in downloading the other album tracks. I knew the context around it, being made up of songs with lyrics by original bandmember Richey Edwards before his disappearance in ’95. It had a 7.8 rating on Pitchfork when it wasn’t all Condé Nast-ed. It felt like it had the potential to be a very interesting listen. I went through the album from front to back on 12th February 2014. Out of the other 12 tracks I got to know through hearing it, it was the second-last one, ‘Virginia State Epileptic Colony’, that became a favourite of mine I think almost instantly. I repeated it a lot that year.

I do remember wondering if it was actually James Dean Bradfield singing on it. Of course it was, ’cause who else would it be? But when it got to the choruses where he elongates “Piggyyyy” and “VSECeeee”, I thought there was a grit on his vocal that otherwise hadn’t been on the rest of the album. Sounded like it was recorded in a totally different place. Once I realised that I liked the whole album and found the “Making of” documentary, I was bummed to see that every respective song contained footage of the band working on it in the studio except ‘Virginia State…’ which was put in place as the credits music. With that being the case, I’ve got in my head canon that the track was probably the last one recorded for the album and maybe very quickly too. Whatever the circumstances, this is one Manic Street Preachers song that I could honestly leave on repeat for about half an hour without getting tired of it. The song goes by so briskly, its structure very easy to follow, with so many melodic components included. The guitar riff that alternates between the open chords and the rising/descending guitar scale in the introduction, very catchy. James Dean Bradfield’s vocals, again, very melodic and memorable from start to finish. The only nitpick I would have is how he really tries to rhyme “half-circled light” with “potassium percolate”. It’s quite awkward. But those are the lyrics he had to work with. Sean Moore’s drumming is solid as a rock. Nicky Wire on bass guitar follows the root note, mainly. But he does provide the skipping piano line during the instrumental break, and that’s probably the most delightful part of the entire track.

The song’s title isn’t a phrase Richey Edwards invented. It’s in fact based on the Virginia State Colony for Epileptics and Feebleminded, a state-run institution holding patients with severe mental impairment and others who were considered to be “feeble-minded.” An outdated term. There’s a whole Wikipedia article on it. At some point, Edwards did his own research on the institution, got some lyrics down and passed them on to his friends/bandmembers before he was never to be seen again. The lyrics detail the “choices” on offer to the inhabitants within the institution, but then, it’s like they don’t have much choice considering their mental states. Whatever they’re handed is really their only option. All very sarcastic, which Edwards could very much be in his lyricism. I mean, if you want to hear an official statement on the song’s meaning/background from the band, there’s no better video than the track-by-track analysis they did for NME. That is a video that’s come in handy for all the …Plague Lovers songs I’ve written about on the blog. How many songs by Manic Street Preachers are on here, ten or something? There are so much more by the band I like now. I always had respect for them ’cause they made The Holy Bible and Everything Must Go. But in June, I went through the entirety of their discography, inspired by the What Is Music? podcast. It was time well spent. I’d recommend anyone do the same.

#1114: Manic Street Preachers – Removables

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And so we reach another moment where a song from a specific album won’t be showing up again in this “series”. Everything Must Go by Manic Street Preachers has a solid spot in my top three favourite albums by the trio. Released after a year of adversity instigated by the disappearance of guitarist and lyricist Richey Edwards, the album was like a phoenix rising from the ashes, as it gained critical and commercial success spurred on by its “hits” like its Bond-esque theme title track and the classic ‘A Design for Life’. Had the stars aligned, there would be two more posts on here dedicated to ‘Australia’ and ‘Enola/Alone’. That would be over half the album on here. Things just don’t work out how they’re meant to sometimes.

‘Removables’ is the album’s eighth track and has the distinct characteristic of being the rawest, bare-boned song on there, both in its lyrics and its music. The song is one where its words are written entirely by Edwards, who (to understate it in the largest of ways) wasn’t in the best state of mind before his sudden disappearance, and appear to be a general account of his thoughts about himself and the human race as a whole. A possible reference to his self-harming (“Broken hands never ending”) and a hope for any voice of reason to get him out of an ‘aimless rut’ are stated. The bleak outlook is summarised in the song’s chorus. “All removables/All transitory.” People walk by and think nothing of you, you’ll never see them again. People are born and then people die. Nothing is meant for forever. Honestly, it’s all quite sad.

In terms of the music, the band allegedly cut the song in one take and put little time into its production. You can sort of tell too. Maybe apart from a few guitar overdubs, the track does have a grittier, modest type of production to it that sets it apart from almost every other number on the album. It follows somewhat simple chord progressions all throughout, switching from a sadder minor key in the first half of the choruses to a confident major one for the second. And the big highlight is probably when James Dean Bradfields breaks into his shouty vocal style in the second chorus, with a simmering tension built from the minor key underneath it. The arpegiatted chords that trail off and sort of linger at the song’s end leaves things just a bit unresolved and unsettling. ‘Australia’ starts right after it, though, and takes you on a whole other journey altogether. ‘Removables’ may not be a song that the majority of Manics fans return to. I don’t know, I just have that feeling. But it’s one of my favourites, so I hope what I say hear will urge you to listen.

#934: Manic Street Preachers – No Surface All Feeling

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‘No Surface All Feeling’ was one of the last tracks Manic Street Preachers worked on as a quartet before the sudden disappearance of guitarist and lyricist Richey Edwards in February 1995. When he vanished, the band’s three remaining members went through a bit of a crisis wondering whether they should continue working together. Thankfully they did. Despite the circumstances, they got to work and returned in the spring of ’96 with Everything Must Go. The album contained a few tracks with some of Edwards’ lyrics that had been given to each member before he left, and ‘No Surface’ closes the record out as the full dedication to him.

A lot of the track’s elements seem to be directly taken from its original demo. While the demo pushes Edwards’ rhythm guitar right into the back of the mix with James Dean Bradfield’s lead guitar right up front, the decision was made – and suitably so – to make Edwards’ guitar prominent. His power chords effectively drown out Bradfield’s guitar and vocals during the introduction and the choruses. The lyrics of ‘No Surface’ were written by bassist Nicky Wire, and I can only think to describe them as the account of a man disenchanted with the rock ‘n’ roll life looking in the mirror and telling the listener what they see. Though Wire is essentially describing himself, the lyrics took on another level upon Edwards’ leaving.

Up to 1995, the Manics had established an image of being something of an outsider band. An outspoken one at that. Before they even had one album out there, they announced that it would be the greatest rock album ever. Wire wore dresses on stage. Edwards carved the words ‘4 Real’ into his forearm with a razor blade. They appeared on Top of the Pops wearing military clothing, Bradfield wore an IRA-style balaclava on his head. ‘No Surface’ was made to say that whatever they did or said or sung, it wasn’t for show. Every sentiment was straight from the heart.

#819: Manic Street Preachers – Me and Stephen Hawking

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I made a post about a Manic Street Preachers song from this album a couple weeks back. There was another one only four days ago. Both mention the following situation, but I’ll repeat it in case you make a decision not to read them. Manic Street Preachers had four members back in the day. One of them, lyricist and guitarist Richey Edwards, who battled with depression, alcoholism and various other bad things, disappeared in February 1995 before the band were to fly for the US leg of their Holy Bible tour. Before he left, Edwards left James Dean Bradfield, Nicky Wire and Sean Moore copies of a folder called “Opulence” which featured lyrics, notes and artwork among other things. He was presumed dead in 2008, and the three remaining members chose to use these lyrics for their next album. That record was Journal for Plague Lovers. ‘Me and Stephen Hawking’ is the third song on there.

The track plays a bit of a bridge part on the album. Following the gritty opener ‘Peeled Apples’ and the almost-single ‘Jackie Collins’, ‘Stephen Hawking’ keeps the record’s pace on a higher tempo and somewhat upbeat level, before things settle down for a little on the following track. The song is essentially a verse and a chorus repeated twice in the space of just under three minutes, but that’s all that could be done with the lyrics as they were supposedly written in the form on an almost-haiku by Edwards on his typewriter. The verses talk about genetic modification on animals and how one day it’ll be eventually used on humans. The choruses bring up surreal imagery of British wrestle Giant Haystacks in a Bombay fight, while Stephen Hawkings and, supposedly, Edwards look on at this scene and have a laugh with one another. Very two contrasting ideas going on, but I enjoy it still.

I won’t talk about the music as much, because Bradfield and Wire did it themselves for NME when the album had just been released. I’ll leave that below. But I do like how the energetic, yelling verses are stopped in their tracks by the floating chorus with Bradfield’s wilting vocals before revving right out of the gates again. It’s a very up and down motion going on. It’s a general good listen.

#817: Manic Street Preachers – Mausoleum

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Well, it’s my birthday today. 26. A pretty solid age to be at, I think. I’m finding it a bit funny that a song from one of the darkest British rock albums of the 90s arrives on this day. The Holy Bible by Manic Street Preachers has been noted for its rage, discontent, and for being a brutal critique of the human condition, as described by comment I saw on YouTube. It’s the band’s last record featuring guitarist/lyricist Richey Edwards, who disappeared a few months after the album’s release. It’s something of a final statement by the man, though some lyrics were also written by bassist Nicky Wire. Clearly, Edwards wasn’t having the greatest of times.

‘Mausoleum’ is one of two songs on there inspired by the band’s visit to Dachau concentration camp. It doesn’t contain any overt references to the place itself. ‘The Intense Humming of Evil’ covers that. The ‘no birds’ refrain on ‘Mausoleum’ is said to have been written because there were no birds that the members saw when they were at the camp. Otherwise, the track is a scathing description of seeing nothing but death and destruction around you, and generally being in a very bad mental place.

James Dean Bradfield belts out every word from the gut here, apart from the verses where he has more of a hushed approach to the delivery. He really was a powerhouse back in the day. From ‘regained your self-control’ to the two repeats of ‘your meaning’, I don’t think he takes a breath once. And only a few seconds later, he yells ‘no birds’ from his chest. Very awesome when you hear it. I’ve always enjoyed the ending where the song’s melody completely changes to another and gradually speeds up until coming to a crashing stop. Just my personal highlight.