Manic Street Preachers, McGonagles

The Irish Times

December 7 1992, CITY EDITION

WE'VE seen it all before. The Skids, The Ruts, early PIL, even the Sex Pistols, it's all been done before. So where does that leave the Manic Street Preachers, bearers of the punk banner in the Nineties? Up rock's narrowest creek without a paddle, or even a clue, that's where. Last Friday night's gig in McGonagles mixed the worst excesses of trash/noise with a disturbing sense of irrelevance, and the punters must have wondered, as 1 did, what the hell this band was even trying to rebel against.

In an age where everything gets recycled before it even becomes stale, the Manic Street Preachers are trapped in a vacuum of punk revivalism, without a "movement" to support them, without a frame of reference to validate them. They're reliving a time they never knew themselves, a time when all you had to do was kick your heels against the system and the public made you into demigods. The Manics make the same motions, but all they get are bemused looks and perfunctory applause. It doesnt matter how often Richie slashes his arms, he'll never knock Johnny Rotten, Sid Vicious, or even Joey Ramone off their pedestals, because these people have already passed into punk history. The Manic Street Preachers are desperately trying to create their own history, but haven't even the bottle to become martyrs. They're just wallowing in their own nostalgia and spitting on the new instead of the old.