MANIC STREET PREACHERS

I remember the time in the early 80's on TOTP when I worshiped Toyah and became sexually awakened by Nick Rhodes of Duran Duran fame (I still tingle a little now - 24 years later). Music, bands have always been important to me. I discovered the Manics one day in Smash Hits. I was so bored by NKOTB and the new Mad-chester baggie scene. I wanted the glamour that first captured my imagination. So, this piece - less than a 1/4 page. A picture of them...eyeliner, leopard skin, pretty boys, the slogan...culture, alienation, boredom and despair. They were on The Word that Friday. At this point I was already hanging around street corners getting drunk so my Dad videoed it for me. Saturday. Hungover. Press play, fast forward. I see them. I play that clip so many times that day that my finger aches from pressing the hard button (remote control? The video was so old it didn't have one). They play R*E*P*E*A*T*. Repeat after me fuck queen and country. Why don't you just FUCK OFF.

My heart in my throat whenever I see them on any front cover. I consume. I destroy. I create. They become my words, how I describe my life, my hatred that I can't vocalise. They use other peoples word - I search and discover a whole new world in my parents respective bookcases. I worship the library. Knowledge is power.

I consider myself to be very lucky to have fallen in love at such a young age. It is love. A torrid, painful affair, I'm often let down by them. I can't listen to some songs because they hurt me so much.

They sing and play songs directly for me. I have a semi-reglious experience while watching James sing - a halo appeared. He was framed and for a moment my heart burst with love.

There have been other affairs, I've not been faithful but there's never been anyone else who hits that spot that they do. I try to "wean" myself off them only to find that I'd booked to see them 4 times last year.

They were and are at every important point of my teenage and adult life. Every key moment can be summed up by a slogan, a lyric, a scream becomes a sigh.

I wore white jeans, leopard skin, drank vodka and orange, smoked Marlboro's. Part of a tribe. I worship at gigs. I discover friends through this band, some of whom are still at my side, some who are not.

Blood and scars tie us together. The first time I saw '4 REAL' I knew I wasn't alone. That there was someone who might understand the rage that I couldn't get out, let out only by the calming slice and scratch of a razor blade, broken glass or safety pin. People misunderstand self harm. It calms, comforts, brings you back to the world. These days I eat sea salt or slice with ice to ground myself.

I still listen to the Manics.