This list could go on and on…
This is so hard that it almost hurts.
I don’t know how the Manic Street Preachers stole into my heart, but they did one day a long time ago and left an indelible mark on it. Of course they were like the punk and excitement I missed out on for one reason or another. They felt dangerous and I like a little danger, so long as it’s safe. Really I should never have listened, but I had to.
They made me hurt and I realised that hurting was okay, good if you could handle it. I had hurt a lot over the years and there’s a time when you need to let it go, or at least just accept it and move on. Funny that a band from
could speak to my deep rooted sadness and let me explore it as if it were just
another part of me and nothing to be ashamed of. Motorcycle emptiness was just
the start, but the melancholic remorse of the sound got into my very bones. Of
course, I’ve never owned or driven a motorcycle but I understood the basic imagery,
I guess we all do.
I was shocked when Ritchie went and still hope that he’s still out there, but if he’s not, well he was always going to be a self fulfilling prophecy – aren’t we all?
Maybe the Manics weren’t generation terrorists after all, but they sang about vulnerability and retrospective vision in a way that meant I had to listen; so much better than being comatose and they helped me work it through in a way that maybe Ritchie didn’t.
God speed Ritchie, see you later and thanks you helped a lot but last minute and at the end it’s the lovely Elizabeth Fraser and the Cocteau Twins. I know that you won’t mind.