Manic Street Preachers
The Holy Bible

THE REVIEW

Let's be clear, belin: "The Holy Bible" is one of the most "violent" British Rock albums (in a... let's say psychological sense), since the days of Joy Division. Many tracks are stabs to the heart, and even when it seems to slow down, the record always manages to hit you bluntly. It’s impossible to find the best song, maybe "Mausoleum".
I don't really like "The Intense Humming Of Evil", but within the album's context, I recognize it's perfect.
The band died in 1995 with the disappearance of that lunatic Richey James, who neither sang nor played very well but was the face of the Band, and the one who wrote the lyrics. Since James' disappearance, the Manics are dead and buried, but many haven't noticed and continue to listen to this crap that comes out every three years. Has no one ever realized what kind of trio of communist pricks they are now? One of the bastards (Nicky Wire) is two and a half meters tall, has a chin long as a window, and thinks he's Roger Waters, the other, the singer, is a fucking chubby little shit, while the drummer looks like... A TIT!

Nothing to do with the ambiguous icon Richey James who fucked off a fucking bridge because someone told him he looked like one of the Village People... this Richey James, still to this day, there is no certainty he is dead, the body has never been found in any sewer, and it has been 9 years, Richey James belin, I must admit he fascinated me for a long time during my adolescent Grunge years… at the age of 17, our Richey was under treatment at a psychiatric center accused of mimicking Marc Bolan along the shitty proletarian streets of his hometown, this James never played a fucking note right because he didn't know how to play, he merely spewed decadent poetry and Trotskyist slogans in the lyrics and struck poses on stage because he was the most charismatic, while the other three fucked like rabbits, Richey who was the most handsome and attractive couldn’t fuck, otherwise, he would lose his allure as the depressed existentialist artist, so he also wanted to empty the tap now and then, but they wouldn’t let him, you Richey James must only write existential Sartrean crap while we have fun, you must fall into catastrophic spiritual ruminations, otherwise, the Baby Boomers won’t buy our records anymore and will turn to a new schizoid depressed Rockstar daughter of a mother with her ass up in the air at Woodstock..…. it was too much even for a debauched bisexual with a shattered brain like James, hence that absurd tragic end.

As you know, Richey besides alcohol (and you're not the only one dear Richey) loved to slash his arms leaving deep scars... I saw by the way, in the magazine Select, a couple of impressive photos, symptoms of a person balancing between mental imbalance and extreme lucidity. Some say he lives in India under a false name, but to me, he's somewhere below the Thames. Today, the Manics go play Punk in Cuba with Fidel Castro, let's cut it here if you don't want me to really get mad, and listen to them only up to "The Holy Bible", actually, just listen to "The Holy Bible". Bye, see you next time, from Vic (who will now make a stop in Cuba, but to do spunk in some bistro with some underage little girl served on my totem by Fidel himself (30% of the fee will end up in your pockets, oh Fidel), Fidel, you do indeed have the desires of the people at heart.