Friday 2 October 2015
A wild Nicky Wire appears!
This is what happens when you try to log in to Tumblr (ah those were the days!) on your phone.
A Wild Nicky Wire appears!
Three men and a baby.
This is one of my favourite 'out-take' images ever so I thought I'd share it and the story behind it. It was a few years ago at the XFM studios in Manchester. The Manic Street Preachers were doing a live session and chat on Clint Boon's show. I don't really do getting starstruck but I was kind of nervous about meeting the Manics, they were my hero's when I was younger, stuff like The Holy Bible and Generation Terrorists had a massive influence on me growing up. Anyway they were polite and reserved and very business like about doing what must be the millionth photoshoot. I always enjoyed doing stuff for Clints show, he's a nice friendly chap, so he came in to have a chat and a picture too. As we were finishing his wife arrived with the baby, so excitedly Clint said 'Wanna have a photo with my baby Boon?' The band kind of mumbled and politely said 'no it's alright thanks' but before they knew it baby Boon was hurled (in a safe, loving way! This wasn't a Michael Jackson type incident) into their arms and they all burst out laughing. It was a really nice moment and I'm glad I got chance to capture it.
Wednesday 30 September 2015
In it till the end.
When did I first hear the Manics? (Warning: this is going to age me
badly) I first saw them on TOTP doing Theme From M*A*S*H. I liked
M*A*S*H. Who were these stinky oiks covering this theme song I liked?!
They were all skinny and young. The singer was shirtless and trim. I
didn’t like him, he looked like he needed to be dipped in a hot bath.
That other guitarist on the other hand…that one on the left, pale skin,
dark eyes and hair, he’s alright…Richey. So, that was me then, smitten
by Richey. Luckily he was quite gobby and turned up in the music
magazines/papers a lot. Not that I bought them (apart from Smash Hits); I
stood in Smiths and read them on my way home from school.
I listened to the radio in bed and always got a thrill from Motorcycle Emptiness, La Tristresse, From Despair to Where. I Watched TOTP, laid on my stomach on the carpet with my mum telling me to turn that racket down and was always delighted when they were on; not as much as when Jason Donovan was on naturally (don't judge me), but delighted all the same.
I vaguely remember hearing about 4Real in the playground at school, I certainly didn’t read it in the NME, so I’m lying to make myself look cool if I said I did. I was mainly disgusted but just a little bit thrilled.
Faster on TOTP: James spitting out the lyrics. Visceral and angry. The balaclava tippexed with his name on it as if he’s afraid that someone might steal it. Nicky, thin, pale, gaunt and very tall, smeared in face paint. Richey looking as cool as fuck in his sailor outfit.
Then…Richey goes missing. In my deluded teenage certainty I was sure he’d come back. Entirely convinced. Absolutely certain. Totally positive. I was deluded. He never did.
OK, Richey didn’t come back and the radio interviews with his family broke my heart…but… I was young and fickle and Britpop was happening: Oasis vs Blur. I preferred Pulp and Space and Elastica and Suede. There was so much wonderful music, a guitar band orgy. The Evening Session was always on as I did my English essays and I wrestled with quadratic equations and chemical formulae. Then I hear the new Manic Street Preachers song. Outrage! How dare they keep going now that Richey’s gone! What a shit song! I hate them.
I listened to so much radio back then, it was the first thing to go on in the morning and the last thing I turned off and Radio One didn’t stop playing the song just because I didn’t like it. Along with a lot of other songs, it soaked into my entire life. A blast of Supergrass’ ‘Alright’ is enough to whisk me back to my sixth form common room, drinking cheap hot chocolate out of the vending machine.
I’m at university, walking home to the bus stop in the twilight, holding my cheap CD walkman flat as it skips if you hold it any other way, listening to ‘If You Tolerate This’. The album bought at the music fair they held in the smelly student’s union that I danced to The Prodigy and the Chemical Brothers in. Bass shaking me from the heart outwards.
I loved the video to ‘Tolerate’; James soulfulness dripping off the screen. His voice sounding brilliant. They were everywhere, on the radio, on the tv, in magazines. They won awards. It was good.
After university I stopped listening to so much music. There wasn’t a radio where I worked and I stopped caring what was number one. I worked and I read and tried to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Probably should have figured that out before uni, but there you go…but I still watched TOTP. Not laid face down on the carpet anymore, I was well past the age that that was seemly, but oh, are the Manics still going? Have they got another song out? Not too bad is it? Blimey James has put on weight. Nicky hasn’t. Repeat for many years.
TOTP again. 2006. James is singing his jaunty, catchy solo single and I’m sad because I think the Manics have split up. I’m also wondering when James got quite so foxy. Well, hello Mr Bradfield!
I wander around at lunchtime. I’m not eating anything so I just walk for an hour, then go back to work. Your Love Alone comes on the radio through my headphones, I’m awed at how wonderful it sounds. It nearly gets to number one! I love this song, it’s catchy, melodic and lovely. Nina brings her je ne sais quoi and lights it on fire. The band look amazing in the video and I wonder why I never noticed James before now.
2008 and I notice Richey’s name in the paper and my deluded teenage self hopes that they’ve found him, hiding out in Goa or Belgium, but no, she finally has to concede that he’s not coming back. It’s Richey’s obituary.
I wander around HMV: (remember them kids? Record shops?) Journal For Plague Lovers. The cover so different to anything else in the shop. Richey’s lyrics. I listen to it carefully, the last vestiges of ‘deluded teenage self’ searching for the clues that aren’t there. Every song on it is declared the best song ever. Until the next one. Repeat until ‘William’s Last Words’. I still haven’t listened to it.
The TL:DR version of this: this fucking band have insinuated themselves into my life in a massive way. They didn’t plan it, I didn’t want it, but they did. I fucking love them and I’m in it until the end.
I listened to the radio in bed and always got a thrill from Motorcycle Emptiness, La Tristresse, From Despair to Where. I Watched TOTP, laid on my stomach on the carpet with my mum telling me to turn that racket down and was always delighted when they were on; not as much as when Jason Donovan was on naturally (don't judge me), but delighted all the same.
I vaguely remember hearing about 4Real in the playground at school, I certainly didn’t read it in the NME, so I’m lying to make myself look cool if I said I did. I was mainly disgusted but just a little bit thrilled.
Faster on TOTP: James spitting out the lyrics. Visceral and angry. The balaclava tippexed with his name on it as if he’s afraid that someone might steal it. Nicky, thin, pale, gaunt and very tall, smeared in face paint. Richey looking as cool as fuck in his sailor outfit.
Then…Richey goes missing. In my deluded teenage certainty I was sure he’d come back. Entirely convinced. Absolutely certain. Totally positive. I was deluded. He never did.
OK, Richey didn’t come back and the radio interviews with his family broke my heart…but… I was young and fickle and Britpop was happening: Oasis vs Blur. I preferred Pulp and Space and Elastica and Suede. There was so much wonderful music, a guitar band orgy. The Evening Session was always on as I did my English essays and I wrestled with quadratic equations and chemical formulae. Then I hear the new Manic Street Preachers song. Outrage! How dare they keep going now that Richey’s gone! What a shit song! I hate them.
I listened to so much radio back then, it was the first thing to go on in the morning and the last thing I turned off and Radio One didn’t stop playing the song just because I didn’t like it. Along with a lot of other songs, it soaked into my entire life. A blast of Supergrass’ ‘Alright’ is enough to whisk me back to my sixth form common room, drinking cheap hot chocolate out of the vending machine.
I’m at university, walking home to the bus stop in the twilight, holding my cheap CD walkman flat as it skips if you hold it any other way, listening to ‘If You Tolerate This’. The album bought at the music fair they held in the smelly student’s union that I danced to The Prodigy and the Chemical Brothers in. Bass shaking me from the heart outwards.
I loved the video to ‘Tolerate’; James soulfulness dripping off the screen. His voice sounding brilliant. They were everywhere, on the radio, on the tv, in magazines. They won awards. It was good.
After university I stopped listening to so much music. There wasn’t a radio where I worked and I stopped caring what was number one. I worked and I read and tried to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Probably should have figured that out before uni, but there you go…but I still watched TOTP. Not laid face down on the carpet anymore, I was well past the age that that was seemly, but oh, are the Manics still going? Have they got another song out? Not too bad is it? Blimey James has put on weight. Nicky hasn’t. Repeat for many years.
TOTP again. 2006. James is singing his jaunty, catchy solo single and I’m sad because I think the Manics have split up. I’m also wondering when James got quite so foxy. Well, hello Mr Bradfield!
I wander around at lunchtime. I’m not eating anything so I just walk for an hour, then go back to work. Your Love Alone comes on the radio through my headphones, I’m awed at how wonderful it sounds. It nearly gets to number one! I love this song, it’s catchy, melodic and lovely. Nina brings her je ne sais quoi and lights it on fire. The band look amazing in the video and I wonder why I never noticed James before now.
2008 and I notice Richey’s name in the paper and my deluded teenage self hopes that they’ve found him, hiding out in Goa or Belgium, but no, she finally has to concede that he’s not coming back. It’s Richey’s obituary.
I wander around HMV: (remember them kids? Record shops?) Journal For Plague Lovers. The cover so different to anything else in the shop. Richey’s lyrics. I listen to it carefully, the last vestiges of ‘deluded teenage self’ searching for the clues that aren’t there. Every song on it is declared the best song ever. Until the next one. Repeat until ‘William’s Last Words’. I still haven’t listened to it.
The TL:DR version of this: this fucking band have insinuated themselves into my life in a massive way. They didn’t plan it, I didn’t want it, but they did. I fucking love them and I’m in it until the end.
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