A tough album to review considering how much has already been written about this album; from 10th to 20th anniversaries and a literal book of dedicated essays, right up to the small but self-sustaining Richey Edwards cottage industry; I have a lot of respect for David Evans tacking such a beloved album while also trying to find something new to say about it.
The biography of the first decade or so of the Manics is both very well worn at this point, but also forever a niche and cult concern - those who know, know, others...not so much. Using the opportunity to his advantage Evans quickly but effectively runs through the early years one last time, working to position the Holy Bible not as an aberration in their "catalogue," but as a solid example of the constant hiraeth and hwyl that he sees as defining their career, Welsh terms (I'll leave you to google them) that he admits are verging on cringeworthy, but are worthy of reclamation. Much like the band really.
The Holy Bible then, Evans contends, is where both the band's lyrics and music finally reach a level worthy of their own ambition, leaving aside both the slogany Manics-speak lexicon and major-label rock pastiche of their early work, and moving into what are effectively dense and oblique essays put to similarly complex music.
No Richey fanatic, and admitting that a detailed reading of the lyrics, and even the references, has already been released in print in 2017's Tryptich, Evans instead does his homework demystifying the fan-lore both around the band and around the album, positioning them as products of Wales and their time in history. While folk-memory of the mid 90s might lead us to think they were years of cheery and beery Britpop, Evans digs into the London Review of Books and beyond pointing out there was much talk in the more "serious" press at the time of fear of a rise in fascism, of the rise in self-harm and suicides amongst teenagers, and that the rise of New Labour was already well on the way in 1994 - all of these inform the album in ways that perhaps reading a copy of Select magazine from the time would not.
In tribute to how the songs themselves wee written he separates the chapters about the music from the chapters on the lyrics. It allows the magnificent musicianship to be praised on its own but there's a part of me that wonders why this needs to be done, picking apart the object and undoing the alchemy of its creation, especially since he astutely notes that the words that Richey (and Nicky) were writing are better identified as lyrics and not stand-alone poetry.
If I have any real problem with the book it's that I could detect the younger indie-rock snob Evans peering out from behind the layers of analysis, praising the albums' nods to critic-approved post-punk heroes like Wire and Gang of Four and downplaying the fact that the Manics were not fans of escapist, glossy 80s hair-metal like Guns and Roses ironically but genuinely. NME-reading indie kids at heart for sure, but the sheer quality of the FM Rock radio-aping early Manics at their best went far beyond what would be possible had they been simply engaging in arch art-school experiments in the form. Similarly Evans' refusal to grapple with Britpop as a popular phenomenon except as something to be sneered at, pooh-poohing the bands who actually achieved the kinds of success the Manics so dearly craved in those days, reads like the sniffiness of the holier-than-thou gatekeeper clutching his unsuccessful, misunderstood favourites ever closer. One wonders what Evans would have actually made of the Manics had he been around in 1992 or 1993 and been presented with this working class band playing working class (i.e. aimed at the mainstream) music, not the clever-clever, critically approved (dare I say, student-y?) music of the Holy Bible.
Still though, as an introduction to the band and a tribute to an album in a relatively crowded marketplace, the book does its job admirably. The 33 and a third series is a little more hit and miss than I'd like it to be and this definitely comes out at the upper end. Now will someone please write one about Generation Terrorists don't make me do it myself guys.