Manic Street Preachers--Journal For Plague Lovers: An Album That Was Destined to Fail Proves Itself An Anachronistic Victory

I will probably expound on Manic Street Preachers' 1994 release, The Holy Bible, in a separate post, but for now I’ll just say that--after spending my eighteenth year playing “The Bible” to my doleful little heart’s content--I, with a Jehovah’s Witness-like intensity, tried to force it upon any random poor soul I encountered. I should have known that not everybody takes to songs about extreme self-abuse and the Holocaust as easily as myself, but, for a love ‘em or hate ‘em band, most music lovers will either enthusiastically agree that The Holy Bible is a truly original and untouchable piece of brutality, or they will begrudgingly concede that, yeah, it’s great.

I don’t want to rehash the band’s rich history for the eighty trillionth time, so please refer to Wikipedia if you’re uninformed. If you’re planning on reading further here, all you really need to know is that lyricist Richey Edwards, finally declared deceased last year and worthy of cult idol status on the sheer power of his cheekbones alone, bequeathed a journal of lyrics to his band mates in 1995. Fourteen years later, and in a potentially fatal move, the remaining members structured those words into songs and released them in a package highly reminiscent of, yep, their high water mark, The Holy Bible. Another painting by British artist Jenny Saville serving as the cover art? Check. The same number of tracks as The Holy Bible, with a society-bashing opener that is prefaced by a sound bite, ala their old classic? Check (see “Peeled Apples” with its sample courtesy of Christian Bale in The Machinist). The same fucking font? Check.

What are you doing, guys?

It seems that The Manics’ dearly departed really must be watching over the surviving members, because the doubters--me included--are currently eating their japes and taunts in a sullen huff. Journal For Plague Lovers is more surreal, less pulverizing, and more musically varied than The Holy Bible. It’s virtually impossible to out-gloom that album, so attempts to do so are largely dropped after "Peeled Apples" and relegated to hidden track “Bag Lady,” allowing the album to effortlessly progress through punchy punk bursts and a sprinkling of pretty acoustic tracks.

Early Manics lyrics were a marvel of insane amounts of words per meter, and words again abound here. The lyrics were edited down--they appear in full in the deluxe edition of the release--but it should still be impossible to sing “an African Punch and Judy show at half the price” with any level of intelligibility. James Dean Bradfield, an underrated singer and guitarist if there ever was one, mangles the lyrics into the meter, prompting the listener to engage in many an ear straining until some semblance of clarity is reached. This tactic reveals one of the album’s strong points--because a new word or line is deciphered each time, it takes far longer for repeat listening to give way to redundancy.

Another of the album’s gifts is the effortless way in which the music compliments the lyrics, in spite of the words being written fourteen years prior. These days, it is truly rare to find a song as near perfect as “Facing Page: Top Left.” Featuring just a guitar and harp, the song starts off as an unsullied acoustic number seemingly about hospitalization before the truly unusual chorus of “this beauty here dipping neophobia” sends the listener scrambling for both the lyrics sheet and an encyclopedia on psychological disorders. As the song progresses, guitar and harp partake in some melodic inversions, and the bleakness of the second verse holds a mirror to the first verse's sarcasm.

Music and lyrics work in harmony again on “Doors Closing Slowly,” three minutes of terminal woe backed by a condemned man drumbeat and a highly appropriate Virgin Suicides sample. “Marlon J.D.” comes at the listener with whiplash guitars and lyrics describing a scene in the Brando film Reflections in a Golden Eye. The most lyrically straightforward song on this or pretty much any other Manics album for that matter--is closer “William’s Last Words,” a simple indie-pop composition sung-spoken by bassist Nicky Wire. The lyrics are practically asking to be read as a suicide note, but the band doesn’t shy away from this association; the end result is all the more emotional and touching for it.

As with the Jarvis Cocker album, Journal For Plague Lovers was produced by Steve Albini, but here, his riley presence is more apparent. It may seem a little odd for a band of forty-something Welshmen to be riffing and pounding in a way so characteristic of the In Utero days, yet Journal For Plague Lovers sounds evocative rather than dated. Time will tell whether it becomes one of those old classics that will still sound as relevant and good in eight years as it does now. For the impatient among us who want to know if Journal For Plague Lovers is worthy of The Holy Bible style adoration, however, the answer is a resolute no, because, really, nothing in existence can touch it. Happily, Manic Street Preachers are aware of this fact also, and have wisely chosen to recall rather than rehash.

Level of Disappointment: 2; The only disappointing thing about the album is that it’s not getting a stateside release. Also, I’m disappointed in myself for not knowing any better and falling back into Manics fandom. I guess I’m just a sucker for cute boys with hang ups who like reading books.

Watch: A very insightful track by track dissection of the album by Bradfield and Wire.