albums

Rip It Up, Issue 210, 1 February 1995, Page 28

albums

MANIC STREET PREACHERS The Holy Bibl (Epic)

I always thought their name had a great image, screaming atop a soapbox as passersby watch, but don’t listen. It’s apt, to a degree. There’s always been an element of punk pop heritage to this Welsh four piece. The simplicity of the Jam, the snarl of the Pistols, the melodies of the Buzzcocks, and yet, beneath their musical surface, are writhing maggots. The Holy Bible is their third album. It is, for the most part, created and driven by their Cobainesque icon, Richey ‘4 Real’ James (who was recently hospitalised after his anorexia, alcoholism and self mutilation proved near fatal). The stench of his self-loathing permeates this CD. They’re his songs — personal songs, dark revelations, with the lyrics here for all to see. The closing lines of ‘4st 71b’ (the weight at which anorexics face death) give you the gut wretching idea: ‘Self worth scatters / Self esteem’s a bore... such bautiful dignity in self abuse’. And the titles ‘(I wanna die) In the Summertime’, ‘The Intense Humming Of Evil’ and ‘Archives Of Pain’ deliver exactly what they promise.

Bible isn’t hung up on image and ambition like Generation Terrorists — there’s too much anger and pain. Nor does it drown in polish like Gold Against the Soul, as its scowls were captured in some shithole stuio in Cardiff’s red light district. It is a gritty, seething mess, with plenty of pop among the decomposing pigeons. JOHN TAITE

SLAYER Divine Intervention (American)

Us jelly-back humans only use about 10 percent of our brain’s potential. Pretty sad news, isn’t it... so where does that leave us? Hopelessly inadequate at best and absolutely hopeless at worst. There’s very little hope. Ever heard of Social Darwinism? It’s about survival of the fittest — weeding out the gene pool, if you will. It’s a very metal concept when you think about it. If you can’t handle the power and the subtle lyrical twists that the music of bands like Slayer offer, then maybe you should... well, fuck off and die. So what about those that decide to start wandering around killing people, those who actually try and carry out these social ‘experiments’. Have they tapped into the rest of their brain, or are they just unable to put value on human life? And who protects us from these killers anyway? The cops and their ticket books? The armies and their chemical weapons? The priest who kneels alone in poverty and prays for us? We are all alone — to be weeded out — Slayer know it and create the soundscape to accomodate it. How beautiful this album should come out just before Jeffrey Dahmer had his brains splashed around the walls of a toilet cubicle.

There’s a great song on this album about Jeffrey Dahmer. It’s loaded with some very evocative lines about dead men. Jeffrey drilled holes in mens skulls, poured acid into those holes and waited for a zombie to arise. His victims went into comas and died. Then he had sex with them. Have you passed a serial killer on the street today? Are Slayer sick because they sing about death constantly, or are they just facing up to a reality that is so very real it makes you shit your pants? You're very drunk. You wake up. You don’t know where you are. You look around. You are tied to something. You can’t move. Jeffrey Dahmer is lying next to you, naked. You're going to die. Feel the hideous blasts. Hold back a cackling laugh as Tom Araya shouts about more killings. Then burst through a new plane of understanding beyond your wildest dreams and bow down before the mighty love of Jesus Christ our saviour. Let us rock, amen. JEREMY CHUNN

METHOD MAN Tical (Def Jam)

GALLIANO A Thicker Plot (Talkin’ Loud)

Method Man was always the star of the infamous Wu-Tang Clan rap collective. Out on his own, this Staten (Shaolin) Island, steel vampire fanged (check out the photos!), psychotic rap assassin is no less lethal. There ain’t a spot of G-funk to be heard. The two styles going down here are old school poundings and splashes of horrorcore — aided by producer RZA (Prince Rakeem) of the Gravediggaz. The beats are blunted, the rap is gruff, the style meanders in and out of time. Of course, there are the staple kung-fu movie samples. ‘I Get My Thang In Action’, ‘Tical’, ‘Meth Vs Chef’ all ooze some Knievel sounds. But when swarming bees and screams of terror open ‘Mr Sandman', then chilling soprano vocals mix with an old horror movie organ and RZA gets involved in some rap warfare — phew — hell with the lid off, ya know. Then ‘Stimulation’ brings it back to spliff time with the aid of some strings from some 1940 s Hollywood love scene. This ain’t nothin’ ta fuck with. The WuTang saga continues. As for Galliano, well, A Thicker Plot is about being fucked with. It’s a re-mix album. Although this is better than the dissappointing The Plot Thickens, all of the mixes here have stripped away the ethnic core to Galliano’s sound. Instead, the various remixers (DJ Krush, Machine, the Roots, Palm Skin et al) have used Galliano’s music as a sample mine. Weatherall's does the usual spacious sounds of surround on ‘Skunk Funk', Machine creates some dance floor fodder supreme with ‘Long Time Gone’ and X Project give them a jungle juicing. A Thicker Plot is a whore of an album. That’s the full appeal.

JOHN TAITE