Manic Street Preachers

24/02/2010

Design for Live @ King Tut's

Manic Street Preachers
King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut, Glasgow
5/5

“Just take a look at the whites of my eyes,” sings James Dean Bradfield during ‘No Surface All Feeling’ and for the first time in years, every member of the 300-strong crowd
can do just that. Downsizing from their usual stadiums to Glasgow’s hot and sweaty King Tut’s in honour of the venerable venue’s 20^th birthday, the Manics are clearly invigorated by this most intimate of shows.

Immediately treating fans to a real blast from the past, the band walk on stage to Allen Ginsberg’s ‘Howl’ – “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked” – and clatter straight into a slightly chaotic, but undeniably passionate rendition of golden oldie ‘Strip It Down’.

“Do you know,” grins Nicky, the diamante heart sparkling on his cheek, “19 years on and I played that worse than I did when we were here in 1991. That’s regression for you.”

Of course, the last couple of decades have been anything but a regression for the Blackwood boys. Through the heartbreak of losing missing bandmate Richey Edwards, and the triumphant return of Everything Must Go, the wilderness they hit after Lifeblood and the (second) triumphant return of Send Away the Tigers, they’ve acquired a uniquely passionate cult following as well as widespread popularity. Apparently only 20 people showed up to their last gig here; tonight many had paid small fortunes on eBay to secure a place at the exclusive show. Many more couldn’t get their hands on that elusive rectangle of paper for love nor money.<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->

Having just put out an album – Journal For Plague Lovers – that used the lyrics left behind by their lost friend, “We reconnected with the spirit of our friend Mr Richard Edwards,” says James, the Manics are more invigorated with glam punk spirit than men in their 40s have a right to be.

‘Strip It Down’ is an appropriate beginning for more reasons than just nostalgia, as the group have been pared back to just the core three members tonight, possibly to fit on the tiny stage – throughout, concerned fans wince as beanpole bassist Nicky Wire’s head gets closer and closer to the ceiling as he pogos. James, Nicky and drummer Sean Moore have no backing tonight from the keyboardist or additional guitarist they usually bring on tour nowadays – so no strings where they’re supposed to be and, in his own words, we only have Nicky’s “terrible out-of-tune attempts” at backing vocals. Briefly breaking his omni-present, impossibly wide toothy smile, Nicky frowns in concentration to put in a sterling effort, if not a melodious performance backing up James’ still phenomenal vocal range on ‘Found That Soul’ and a completely riotous ‘You Love Us’.

The compact touring band may be a decision born of necessity, but it shows off something that was always great about the Manics – they’ve always been a bunch of mates taking on the world with their music. Brand new songs, like ‘Jackie Collins Existential Question Time’, with its cheeky chant “Oh mummy, what’s a sex pistol?”, are delivered with as much heart-in-your-mouth intensity as long-time fan favourites ‘Motown Junk’ and Motorcycle Emptiness’.  The spark bodes well for the Cardiff recording sessions that were interrupted to make the journey up to Glasgow. When James promises that they’ll be back to play the Barrowlands at the end of this year or the start of next he is met with sheer delight.

Having a long tradition of refusing the false convention of the encore, the Manics aren’t about to start tonight. But a brief acoustic set from James, including 1993 B-side Donkeys (“one for the anoraks”), allows Nicky time to change from relatively demure skinny jeans and suit jacket combo into something a little less comfortable. “This,” he announces, “is commonly known as Welsh tartan.” And he waves his leopard-print rah-rah skirt. “You’ve still got the legs, Mr Wire,” laughs James.

Finishing up with a transcendent rendition of the homage to drunkenness and learning that is ‘Design For Life’, notorious loudmouth Nicky has almost got through the show without putting his trademark Vans trainers in his big gob, but it’s not to be. “Ed O’Brien,” he says, calling out the Radiohead guitarist during a musical interlude, “you called me a wanker. Like I’m fucking scared. Go back to your boarding school, you cunt.”

Oh well, it wouldn’t quite have been a real Manics show without it. Still fiercely intellectual, controversially petulant and haphazardly glamorous – and now clearly revitalised, we may well be due yet another triumphant return from one of music’s most unusual group of survivors. For tonight, even the fans who were thoroughly fleeced for their tickets are more than satisfied. It’s been a phenomenal night, catching these three friends at yet another peak of their substantial powers.

Laura Kelly