In my recent post, ’20 years ago today life changed forever’, I talked about 30th March marking 20 years since my first ever live show – Manic Street Preachers at Brixton Academy, South London. In this next article, I’ll pick up the story, as well as expanding a little on the impact the Manics have had on my life since then – a band I have gone on to see live some 22 times.
In the weeks leading up to the Manics’ Brixton Academy gig on 30th March 2001, my mate Mike and I spoke about little else. Were we going to get crushed in the crowd? Yes. Was there going to be drugs? Yes. Would we be refused entry to the venue on account of our tender age (most shows were 14+). Remarkably no.
Mike’s older sister had been to a see System of a Down in concert a year prior and she had warned him that before the band appeared onstage, the venue had gone “completely pitch black” and then once Serj Tankian and co. emerged, “the lights went on and everyone went mental and started moshing”. Such reports only added to our sense of anticipation and our apprehension increased when it was announced that My Vitriol were to be added to the bill as the support band.
They were a great group and had recently released the brilliant, futuristic-sounding debut album Fine Lines. However, they were on the heavier side of things and had one song ‘C.O.R (Critic Orientated Rock)’ where frontman Som Wardner pretty much screamed non-stop for 40 seconds. We began to imagine what injuries might be inflicted upon us in the ensuing circle pit that we would of course, be forced by audience members to take part in. In our heads, the other participants would naturally be a mixture of six foot four rugby players and chain-wielding metalheads.
30th March eventually came around and Mike’s dad, affectionately known as ‘Big Mike’ (he was actually quite slight in frame) had agreed to escort us to Brixton. After driving to Didcot, we took the train to Paddington and then the Bakerloo and Victoria lines to Brixton. We had worked out that arriving at the venue at 4pm, three hours before the doors opened should give us enough time to ‘get down the front’. On arrival at Brixton Academy on Stockwell Road, there were already several hundred fans queuing up down the alley to the right of the venue We unzipped our Nirvana hoodies (much to the visible chagrin of the somewhat aloof leopard skin and feather boa brigade who looked like they had been queuing all day) to reveal our homemade Manics-inspired shirts; mine emblazoned with ‘Culture of Destruction’ and Mike’s with ‘Useless Generation’ and began the long wait for the doors to open. Big Mike, meanwhile was left to fend for himself in Brixton for seven hours until the gig finished.
My much-cherished, homemade ‘Culture of Destruction’ shirt. 
‘New Art Riot’ on the front.
Whilst Big Mike very kindly gave up his day to take us to London, my parents also did more than their fair share of ferrying my friends and I to gigs during our teenage years and played a big role in my musical education. They had some memorable encounters too; whilst waiting for us to leave The Cooper Temple Clause’s gig at the Portsmouth Pyramids (a review I wrote is still online here from 2003), they witnessed a group of girls literally falling out of a taxi onto the ground, mimicking the famous Ab Fab scene.
On another occasion, whilst waiting for us to leave the Southampton Guildhall after a Supergrass show in 2002, my Dad spotted a worse-for-wear-looking girl in a leather jacket and short denim skirt walking past his car eating a bag of chips. On closer inspection, he realised that it was a man and it was only after talking to us after the gig did he realise that it was in fact Pete Doherty, co-frontman of The Libertines. The band were in that ascendancy at that time and had been supporting Supergrass – Pete had taken to the stage in that very attire. The less said about Ash’s gig at the Swindon Oasis Centre, the forgotten tickets and the additional 80-mile round trip they had to make on our behalf, the better. We had arrived at the gig so early though that we did get to briefly meet Tim Wheeler and Charlotte Hatherley from the band as they arrived by taxi from Swindon train station.
Pete Doherty with The Libertines in that very same denim skirt and brown brogues combo. October 2002 (photos: Getty Images).
Back to Brixton and the queue was an education in itself. In front of us was a serious-looking, heavily-eye shadowed couple who whiled away their time in the queue debating whether or not tonight could actually be Richey Edwards’ long-awaited comeback gig. She was in full Generation Terrorists-era regalia; a pink feather boa, leopard print dress and tiara, whilst he wore a green army surplus store shirt with ‘Linguistics Die Easily’ stencilled on the back of it in red (a lyric from the song ‘Intravenous Agonistic’ that was on the new album Know Your Enemy). We were also offered drugs for the first time in that queue; a cheeky-looking bloke popped up from around the corner asked us if we “wanted some skunk?”. We were familiar with weed but the term skunk was new to us. The girl behind us explained to him that “she really wanted some but didn’t have any money” – unsurprisingly the pusher was unsympathetic to her plight and continued along the queue.
Photos 1.) and 4.) Dressed to see the Manics wearing my ‘Culture of Destruction shirt’. Cardiff, May 2007 (photos and eyeliner courtesy of my long-suffering old housemate Emily). 2.) The ticket stub for the Brixton Academy gig on 30th March 2001. 3.) Nicky Wire signing autographs outside Brixton Academy’s stage door after the gig (photo: Crucifix Kiss).
Finally, just after 7pm, security opened the doors to the venue and after a quick search by security staff on the door we were in. Built in 1929, originally as the Astoria Variety Cinema, the 5,000-capacity Brixton Academy is one of London’s finest music venues. Boasting an Art Deco exterior and marble-floored entrance lobby, its main auditorium was modelled in Italian Renaissance-style to resemble a Mediterranean garden and its ceiling, the night sky (there are some fantastic old photos on Albert Lloyd’s encyclopaedic theatre website here).
Brixton Academy in years gone by when it was the Astoria Variety Cinema. 
At capacity for The Decemberists in February 2015 (photo: Alison Clarke).
Simon Parkes famously bought the venue for £1 in 1983 (it was in a poor state and needed substantial repairs) and transformed it into the Brixton Academy we know today. Parkes’ book ‘Live at Brixton Academy’ tells his story of the venue’s resurgence and is a great read for anyone with even the slightest interest in the venue. Brixton Academy has been voted the UK’s Best Venue 12 times by the NME, was the location of The Smiths’ final ever gig in 1986 and in June 1996, Leftfield broke the world decibel record for a live concert when they reached levels of 137db. The venue’s ceiling apparently started to disintegrate as a result and showered audience members with particles of plaster and dust.
As part of the theatre’s rebirth as a music venue, the seats were removed but the gently sloping floor retained. The result is one of the best views anywhere in London, with crash barriers strategically placed along the slope to prevent crowd surges. It was the second barrier back from the stage (and still one of my favourite spots in the venue) where we positioned ourselves and waited for My Vitriol, and then the Manics.
Brixton Academy’s interior and the barrier where we positioned ourselves that night in March 2001.
My Vitriol mooched onto the Brixton stage shrouded in smoke and obscured partly by low lighting and partly by their fringes. They kicked off with the slow-building instrumental ‘Alpha Waves’ which then morphed into the recent single (and underrated classic) ‘Always: Your Way’ and as expected, a dedicated throng of fans directly in front of us started hurling themselves into each other in a frenzied circle pit for the duration of their performance (we were luckily protected by the barrier). Their impressive set finished with frontman Som screaming into the microphone whilst sprawling around on the floor. My Vitriol are still together today and I saw them again some 18 years later in 2019 with my friend Virginia at the Scala in King’s Cross. They were still pretty good although strangely they now perform as a three-piece and the bassist seemed to have been curiously replaced with a backing track…
My Vitriol performing ‘Always: Your Way’ on Top Of The Pops – three weeks before we saw them at Brixton. February 23rd 2001
As we then waited for the Manics, we got chatting to the guy stood next to us in the crowd – a third year politics student called Andy. A hardcore Manics fan, Andy was also equally as passionate about New York hip hop outfit the Beastie Boys and was writing his thesis about the feminist politics of the riot grrrl movement. He was affable and incredibly polite – his profanity of choice was ‘sod’ – so we were suitably surprised when he removed his leather jacket to reveal a deeply offensive and blasphemous slogan on the back of his t-shirt.
The wait was over; the venue’s lights went down and the Manics stepped onto the stage to a rapturous reception; James and Sean in khaki shirts and Wire in heavy make-up and trademark white tennis skirt. James’ guitar roared into the urgent power chord intro of ‘Found That Soul’ and from the moment Sean’s drums kicked in, the crowd surged forward and we were firmly pinned against the barrier for the duration of the gig. It was actually quite fun though and added to the adrenaline even more. A glorious-sounding ‘Motorcycle Emptiness’ followed and the band ploughed through a two-hour set of hits, material from Know Your Enemy and some fan favourites such as the brutal ‘Yes’ from The Holy Bible.
The Manics onstage at Brixton Academy. March 2001 (photos: Getty Images).
The whole experience was euphoric and rushed by – the adrenaline almost taking us to an altered state of being. The band were so much louder than My Vitriol had been and the swaying and surging movement of the crowd meant that Mike and I ended up quite a few metres away from each other by the end of the show. We were ‘treated’ to Nicky Wire’s Mark E. Smith-esque singing on ‘Wattsville Blues’ and ‘Miss Europa Disco Dancer’ (James took over bass duties on a double-necked guitar for both songs whilst Wire strummed a Fender Strat), an acoustic rendition of ‘Baby Elian’ and ‘This Is Yesterday’ and then a triumphant closing trio of ‘If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next’, ‘You Love Us’ and ‘A Design For Life’.
The Manics never play encores and with that they were gone; the venue’s lights went up as we slowly filed out of the venue to the strains of the psychedelic interlude of ‘Let Robeson Sing’ B-side ‘Masking Tape’ being played over the PA. We met Big Mike outside the front of Brixton Academy and it turned out that one of the security staff had taken pity on him waiting for us holding two teenagers’ hoodies and let him sneak into the back of the venue to watch the end of the band’s set. “They were really good” he beamed afterwards; “although they swear a lot, don’t they?”.
I had been very conscious of not eating or drinking anything all afternoon in case a call of nature meant losing my spot in the crowd. I remember downing an extra-large coke immediately after the gig in one of the fast food joints on Brixton Road but had zero appetite after hours of being crushed and not drinking any water. Ironically, as a 20-something I would move into a small flat on the very road that Brixton Academy is situated on and would often stop off at these fried chicken shops on the way home after a boozy night out. It’s funny how life works out and Stockwell Road and its Little Portugal neighbourhood (it’s home to London’s biggest Portuguese community) is somewhere I always feel very much at home.
“We’re a mess of eyeliner and spraypaint” – an evening at Newbridge Memo, Gwent
To-date I’ve seen the Manics some 22 times and being a fan of the band is a big part of my identity. Whenever you meet someone new and they say that they’re a Manics fan, you tend to have an idea about their politics, outlook on life and the books, music and art they’re likely to be into. I’ve had too many memorable experiences as a result of seeing the band live to really do justice here but one that immediately springs to mind was after seeing James Dean Bradfield play a fundraiser at the Newbridge Memo in South Wales in 2006 – a venue whose bar he used to work at as an 18-year-old.
Newbridge Memorial Hall (known locally as ‘The Memo’) and the room that James Dean Bradfield played in (the rest of the venue was undergoing refurbishment at the time).
I was at university in Cardiff and writing music reviews at the time and the Manics’ PR agency Hall or Nothing had arranged a pair of free tickets to the show. I commandeered my good mate Chris to come along with me and after a bus to Blackwood and then a walk into nearby Newbridge, we arrived the venue. The place was originally built in 1898 as a miner’s institute and working men’s club and they were trying to raise funds for the refurbishment of their art deco cinema auditorium on the upper floor (this has happily now been restored to its former glory). The gig was great – one of the highlights being a cover of ‘Clampdown’ by The Clash. We even met James after the gig and had a quick chat with him about the music venues he used to play in Cardiff when the band was just starting out – see the photo below. Yes; I am wearing a crucifix.
Chris and I with James Dean Bradfield. Newbridge Memo, 14th October 2006.
We had made friends that night with two other Manics fans that we recognised from uni, Owen and Rhys. It was only after the gig had finished that we realised that the buses back to Cardiff had stopped and that we were stranded in Newbridge – 20 miles away. Our first port of call was the local pub to see if they had a spare room we could bed down in for the night. They didn’t but the locals at the bar were very welcoming, despite their intimidating appearance, asking us how the gig was and giving us a local taxi number.
No taxis were in the area so eventually we went back to the venue and explained the situation. One of the barmaids was closing for the night and to our amazement she said that she would drive us back to Cardiff once her shift finished. After stopping off at her house to explain where she was going to her husband, it took a good 30 minutes for us to reach Cardiff and when we got there she wouldn’t accept any money from us for petrol – “we just like to see everyone getting home safely”, she explained. She even dropped Chris and I off at the Barfly nightclub so we could meet some of our mates. That unique evening in Newbridge taught me a lot about the kindness and community spirit of the rural South Wales communities. What an absolute legend that lady was.
There were other stories too; Owen, Rhys and I bumped into Welsh rugby prop Adam Jones munching on a kebab on Caroline Street, Cardiff’s famous ‘Chippy Lane’, after the Manics’ show at the university’s Great Hall. He took one look at our get-up and stencilled shirts and asked; “Been to see the Manics have you lads?’’
“Love your masks and adore your failure” – being banned from the school music block
Then there was the incident of my first ever ‘gig’ as a musician in 2001. Inspired by what we had seen at Brixton Academy in March, Mike and I had formed a rudimentary band with a drummer called Kevin and we had been allowed to stage a short three-song performance to our class in our Music lesson on Friday afternoon. We spent as much time decorating the ‘stage’ as we did rehearsing our songs and we decided to play three Manics tracks; ‘Found That Soul’, ‘You Love Us’ and ‘Stay Beautiful’. Not only did ‘Stay Beautiful’ contain swearing in the chorus (it was replaced by a guitar lick on the single recording) but we actively encouraged our fellow classmates to shout this back to us, call and response-style.
The gig went down well and there were lots of cheers but the teachers were less impressed (“if you think you can get away with performing a song like that you are sadly mistaken!”). We were placed in detention and banned from the music block for the rest of the year (it wasn’t the end of the world, we just started practising in the sports hall instead). However, there was some retribution in the form of our free-thinking drama teacher Class Tutor Mr Hudson (once a technician for folk musician John Martyn) who said he thought the lyrics were “rather good” after we showed him a printed copy.
An early line-up of my Manics-inspired group Felix Mandelson, summer 2001. Left-to-right; new bassist Charlie, Kevin, Mike and myself.
Manic Street Preachers are set to release album number 14 (“like The Clash playing ABBA”) in September this year and Nicky Wire has been quoted as saying that the album is “bathed in comforting melancholia” and that the lyrics explore “the tension between online connectivity and healthy solitude”, with Bradfield adding that the pandemic has made him realise he’d “undervalued absolutely everything in my life.” It will certainly make for an intriguing listen. Long live the Manics.
The Manics’ very own rendition of ‘Stay Beautiful’, live at the Millennium Stadium, Cardiff. New Year’s Eve 1999.
