Will the Manics finally find a U.S. audience?

Manic Street Preachers.

Mostly unknown in this country, the Welsh rock trio have been taking the U.K. by storm for more than a decade. From their roots as DIY pop/punk group with the visceral snarl of a Guns 'n Roses record as heard in Generation Terrorists (1992) and Gold Against The Soul (1993), to the stripped down caustic caulderon of meloncholy and forboding that was their pinnacle album, ironically named The Holy Bible (1994), to more mainstream rock efforts such as their latest album, this year's Journal For Plague Lovers, the group has never been able to make the proverbial leap across the pond.

And for no bloody good reason apart from a case of bad timing, argues author Simon Price in "Everything (A Book About Manic Street Preachers)."

Price argues their first efforts at heralding a U.S. audience fell short of the mark in 1992 due mostly to the very same thing that killed off hair metal (for those readers who have a musical knowledge akin to our former president's verbal rhetoric, I'm talking about grunge).

Taking to the states at a time when hair metal was about as desirable as a full-body cavity search, they suffered bad concert attendance. When they finally hit the musical trend in 1994 with the most horrifying and doom-laden album of all time, their lyricist/rhythm guitarist, Richey Edwards, disappeared. He hasn't been seen to this day.

Needless to say, that tour never happened.

But at the time, perhaps America wasn't ready for the Manics. With titles such as "Ifwhiteamericatoldthetruthforonedayitsworldwouldfallapart," it might be sufficient to say 1990s American youth were not THAT disaffected. Or at least if they were, it was directed more inwardly with the angst of grunge, and they certainly didn't want a load of Brits taking the piss out of their country.

That argument has already been made. I'm glad those who have never heard of this band are caught up to speed.

Now, I believe, America is finally ready for the Manics. And it's not because their sound has become a bit more what one might term Mainstream Rock. It's because, unlike British bands such as Coldplay that make college girls want to down a Bud Light Lime and drop their panties, groups like the Manics typically have to rely on something much more despairing to garner a U.S. audience:

A new generation of American bands shamelessly aping their style. Most of them are shite New York indie bands that spend more time on their hair and eyeliner than learning how to give energized performances.

So there you have it. America is finally ready for the Manics. Let's just hope their tongue-in-cheek Welsh subtlety isn't lost on a nation of music fans that needs to be beaten over the head with straightforward Springsteen-esque lyrics (or even worse, those dreaded hipsters who have a greater sense of self-importance than any human being should).

Anyway, here's the dates:

Seattle, WA Neumo’s (September 21)
Vancouver, Canada The Commodore Ballroom (22)
San Francisco, CA The Fillmore (24)
Los Angeles, CA The Avalon (25)
Denver, CO The Bluebird Theatre (28)
Minneapolis, MN The Varsity Theatre (30)
Chicago, IL The Metro (October 1)
Detroit, MI The Majestic Theatre (2)
Toronto, Canada The Phoenix Concert Theatre (4)
Philadelphia, PA World Café Live (6)
New York City, NY Webster Hall (7)
Boston, MA Paradise Rock Club (8)

Misunderstood songs: "Coffee & TV"

Considered by most Blur fans to be one of the group's greatest songs, "Coffee & TV" is probably best known by American fans as "that video with the milk carton walking around."

Yank or Brit, who doesn't live Milky?

But it's not the music video's protagonist that I want to discuss.

I've been listening to this song since high school and I always thought I knew what the lyrics meant. It's not that the lyrics are particularly difficult to discern (my friend Roberta recently confessed to me that she spent the better part of a decade believing Mick Jagger was singing "I never smelled your pizza burning" rather than "I'll never be your beast of burden.")

It's just that Blur made their intentions known from the get-go. They were always a band that championed British culture and criticized the banality of late 20th Century life (It's not too difficult to figure out if you glance at the title of their sophomore effort, "Modern Life Is Rubbish"). They were trying to make a statement and combatting the world's obsession with Grunge because bands like Pearl Jam, Nirvana and Soundgarden didn't say anything at all to musicians who were forming bands across the pond in the early 1990s.

I always assumed guitarist and sometimes-singer Graham Coxon was disenchanted with modern life, fame and the London scene that, by the mid-1990s, was birthing bands who wanted a piece of Britpop's golden ticket to fast album sales and loose women.

Coxon sings in the song, "I've seen so much, I'm going blind and I'm braindead virtually," before emploring, "take me away from this big bad world and agree to marry me so we can start over again."

Pretty clear cut?

It turns out Coxon was actually reeling from an attempt to give up alcohol. Ever the angry drunk from some accounts (John Harris' now out-of-print "The Last Party: Britpop, Blair and the Demise of English Rock," for one), the song was Coxon's way of dealing with sobriety:

"Your ears are full but you're empty, holding out your heart to people who never really care how you are"

Just think about these lyrics, literally, and you might listen to the song in a different way:

"Your ears are full of their language
There's wisdom there, you're sure
'Til the words start slurring
And you can't find the door

So give me coffee and TV..."

There you have it folks. Disenchantment with modern life, perhaps, but most definitely Graham was trying to cope with giving up the bottle. What was the remedy?

Coffee & TV

How Phil Collins killed Genesis

Unknowingly, Peter Gabriel called his band’s shot in 1969 with the release of their debut album, “From Genesis to Revelation.”

Within six years, the English prog-rock band Genesis’ authenticity would collapse under the guise of drummer Phil Collins’ direction toward a more financially savvy and artistically devoid musical style that appealed to the masses while overlooking the band’s beginning as a burgeoning progressive powerhouse.

From the humble beginnings of catchy hooks and Bee Gees-esque melodies, the band continued to grow during its first six years with increased musical techniques, odd time signatures and a lyrical prowess that only Gabriel could pull off. “Nursery Cryme” (1971), “Foxtrot” (1972) and “Selling England By The Pound” (1973), to name the string of records preceding the group’s epic double album “The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway,” showcased Gabriel’s increasing leadership with the group and unfailing ability to paint mental landscapes with his visceral, often epic and introspective lyrics.

Gabriel’s hushed husky vocals climbed to realms that encapsulated the sheer emotions of its singer within lyrical lines that evoked imagery similar to many post-modernist writers of the 20th century. Gabriel’s musical direction, as evidenced on the band’s most ambitious venture, 1975’s “The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway,” created atmospheric anthems and musical interludes that would comprise the band’s most adventurous and musically intellectual work to date.

After completing the tour for “The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway,” Gabriel left the band feeling estranged from his band mates and in the midst of familial issues. For many it was a disquieting departure just as the group was expanding its musical horizons far past the poppy beginnings of its debut album.Enter drummer Phil Collins’ stint as lead singer.



Genesis shifted from an almost art-rock songwriting format to a period in which well-polished pop anthems evoking Collins’ never-failing ego brought the band immense commercial success during the next two decades. With intellectually devoid lyrics and a penchant for mainstream success, Collins traded Gabriel’s trademark eccentricity for something more financially viable, eventually turning the band into nothing more than an elevator music-producing sham.

Garnering more hits than ever, Genesis was suddenly a world-wide phenomenon with a string of hits including “Follow You, Follow Me,” “Turn It On Again,” and “Invisible Touch.”Some critics went so far as to say Collins sounded more like Gabriel than Gabriel did. But Collins’ penned tunes lacked tenacity and integrity.

His voice was, and still is, whiny and annoying, and lacked the emotional relentlessness of his predecessor.

Instead, they were derivative of Gabriel’s genius combined with tried-and-true 60s rhythm and blues format in a more listener-friendly format. It was more accessible to the masses.

Boil it all down and Genesis under Collins' direction was a trio of talented musicians pandering to the musical taste of a light-rock generation that wanted nothing more than something to listen to in the background.

In essence, it was Muzak.

Collins’ style, while not completely ephemeral, gained Genesis more exposure and a slew of hits, but at what price? Perhaps unwittingly, Gabriel provided the band’s genesis while Collins fueled the band’s artistic demise by trying to fix a horse that wasn’t broken.

While Gabriel sang about the lamb lying down on Broadway, Collins killed the lamb by pandering to a geriatrics-friendly fan base that probably didn’t know the difference.

Former MOJO editor's book about The Clash is hit-and-miss

Few rock 'n roll bands have sustained such a degree of musical originality and a refusal to sell out at the price of their fan base as The Clash.

And then again, how many bands have fired their drummer and lead guitarist only after scoring one of their biggest commercial hits?

Pat Gilbert's "Passion is a Fashion: The Real Story of The Clash," which was published in 2004, takes the reader through a chronological account of the band's career, beginning with the turbulent childhoods of guitarist and singer Joe Strummer, guitarist Mick Jones and bassist Paul Simonon, and ending with The Clash's drawn-out dissolution, which, according to several observers, was anything but pretty.

The accounts given in the book are recollected through a series of interviews with the band members and nearly every person who came into contact with them throughout their lives. Nor surprisingly, Gilbert, the former editor of MOJO magazine, uses a journalistic approach to his narrative style.

Many of the people interviewed for the book have conflicting opinions about the band members' working relationships and how each member interacted with their managers, the road crew and record company officials. By using this approach, Gilbert provides a balanced account of nearly every argument or anecdote, as well as providing a unique insight into the lives of four men who seldom shared their personal lives with the public.

Despite that seemingly balanced approach, Gilbert's shortcoming throughout the book is not giving Mick Jones enough of a voice. Throughout "Passion is a Fashion," the guitarist is portrayed as the creative genius of the group, and is often seen as being moody and selfish.

Fair enough.

Jones' own voice is often overshadowed by perceptions of his personality, mostly told by The Clash's ever-changing entourage. Most of them couldn't stand him, or so it would seem if Gilbert's accounts are to be believed.

Perhaps they felt slighted, or perhaps Jones truly was and still is a difficult person. By that same token, Strummer is championed as being more likable and amiable by the people who knew him.

The musical limitations of both Simonon and Strummer are lauded as being the backbone of The Clash's musical aesthetic.

Again, fair enough, but the band members themselves rarely discuss in detail the events as they unfolded. In a sense, a bunch of roadies are spilling the direct about the band members. The band members themselves are given less say than a barrage of hangers on.

It's as if Gilbert allows his sources to play favorites.

The journalistic approach also has its shortcomings in the multitude of voices. People are introduced early in the book, and each individual relationship with the band is described in full.

A little too full, for this reader's liking.

It is difficult to keep up with each name, and when one of Joe Strummer's old childhood friends is reintroduced 200 pages later, the reader is expected to pull that name out of a bag containing God knows how many."Passion is a Fashion" is undoubtedly a masterpiece when it comes to the zeitgeist of late 1970s/early 1980s Britain. The time period, London and the underlying attitudes of a generation are painted vividly.

When the band members are given a say, the reader gets a sense of what emotions or thoughts were behind the musical decisions that defined their aesthetic. That say is minimalized far too often. The music itself is underplayed by too many "insider" perceptions.

At the end of the day, would we rather read about some drunken incident recounted by a roadie nearly 20 years after the facts, or would it perhaps be more prudent to describe in more detail the writing and recording processes of a handful of seminal punk albums?