Withdrawn Traces

by Sara Hawys Roberts

  Leaks of such information never led to serious investigation, let alone prosecutions, and the truth was deliberately covered up for many years. Speaking out decades later, at a time when the mainstream media was finally forced to confront the fact that so many of its household names had been sexual predators, Lydon revealed that his career had been affected as parts of the media establishment closed ranks. ‘I’m very, very bitter that the likes of Savile and the rest of them were allowed to continue. I did my bit, I said what I had to. But they didn’t air that. I found myself banned from BBC radio for quite a while, for my contentious behaviour.’

  Whereas John Lydon’s outspokenness in this particular interview may have been censored in the form of an unofficial ban from the BBC, Richey’s later equivalent was less easily suppressed, arriving in the form of a lyric on the opening track of an album at the top of the charts. Undoubtedly, he would have taken great pride in accompanying Lydon in speaking out on these issues, but would Richey’s more pointed outrage lead to trouble for him?

  Was there someone in the wings, terrified that he could relay their words verbatim, and now wondering what he might say next?

  In the autumn of 1993, the BBC broadcast the documentary Michel Foucault, Beyond Good and Evil. It described the French philosopher as ‘a lone figure exploring the dark labyrinths of human experience; madness, criminality, perversion. He is the great explorer of the perverse. He takes the victims of history, the mad, the bad, the sinful and the criminal, and doesn’t romanticise them. He shows them as a mirror image of society.’

  Within the horrors of The Holy Bible, Richey sought not only to hold up a mirror to society, but to stir up a moral consciousness in listeners through harsh and insightful truths. The album offered no positive outlook for change, nor was there anything that truly sought to effect solutions to the raw dilemmas it posed.

  Before its release, the band said: ‘The world is such a violent place. What we experience from the everyday world, what we read and what we see makes you realise that there’s worse and worse things happening all the time. Perhaps it might reach such a low point of existence that something good may come of it.’

  In defining this ‘low point of existence’ Richey was targeting his audience and imploring them to re-align their moral compass by facing up to the most uncomfortable of truths. He asked where humanity could go from here, and left the solution for his listeners to decipher.

  In this sense, was The Holy Bible therefore the revolutionary album which the band had been promising since its inception; an invitation to their audience to rebel and reclaim the right to decide their own destiny? After this album, comprising more questions than answers, it is fitting that Richey’s own personal fate leaves us with similar ambiguous and unanswered questions.

  ‘Writing to each other all those years ago,’ says Alistair Fitchett, ‘we’d mostly talk about the ideas behind the lyrics and poetry of people we admired. What was their message, what did they really mean? Especially when it came to Rimbaud, whose work carried extra resonance because he gave up his craft at his peak, gave up his life, and disappeared to live overseas.

  ‘Richey would have been aware of the image he’d have after The Holy Bible was released and, from the beginning, I believe he had a plan. Career-wise, he was always very clear about what the future looked like, and gave his ideas away inadvertently or overtly through interviews and lyrics.

  ‘He seemed to have things mapped out so much more than anyone I’ve ever come across. He would know what the effects of every action would be. He’d have choreographed every idea, every scenario in his head and people’s reactions to them.’

  While writing The Holy Bible in 1993, Richey told the music press that ‘If you have a record which encapsulates the mood of a generation, you should split up.’ Following rave reviews, which described the record as a ‘pinnacle of an album’, was this the excuse he needed to make that break? Rachel Edwards believes so.

  ‘I think Richard was laying out a ground work for something when writing the album. He’d definitely made some kind of decision to change his existing life with the band after what he called the “humiliation” of Gold Against the Soul. I think when he was writing it, he saw it as his final testament on record. It’s a bit like Joy Division’s last album Closer, and how in hindsight, fans have read it as Close-r. As if Ian Curtis intended it to be a full stop.

  ‘With a mind like Richard’s that was always changing, whether he was planning suicide or a disappearance, I think he’d covered those eventualities in the lyrics, and knew whatever he decided to do next, it would add extra credence to the words he wrote on The Holy Bible.’

  ‘If this is our last album then it’s a brilliant album to finish on.’

  James Dean Bradfield, 1994

  Chapter 10

  Doors Closing Slowly

  Straight from psychiatric care and back to the daily grind, Richey joined the Manic Street Preachers at Blue Stone Studios, West Wales, in September 1994 to rehearse for an upcoming tour of France. It would begin with them supporting the Northern Irish trio Therapy? and mark the start of the band’s scheduled 54-date European tour.

  A month after his release from the Priory, the front cover of October’s NME featured Richey in Blue Stone, bleary eyed and hugging a statue. His body frail, and his arms covered in self-inflicted cuts and cigarette burns; the strapline read: ‘THE SCARRED REVIVAL – RICHEY MANIC back from the brink.’

  ‘It was a lot to take on so soon after leaving hospital,’ says Rachel. ‘I don’t know if he gave himself enough time to get better. He never really stepped out of the spotlight, or away from the public “Richey Manic” he may have felt the need to live up to.’

  In 1996, Nicky Wire looked back at the strains affecting Richey after his hospitalisation. ‘We had to put him to bed one night ’cos he just burst out crying in the car. It did feel that we were taking it so far with the record, and some of the lyrics were so self-fulfilling for Richey. Like “Die in the Summertime”. I’m sure he felt that “People are gonna say I’m a fake if I don’t do something about it”.’

  Back on the road, with drink, drugs and over-indulgence all around Richey, it left those close to him wondering how conducive this was to enabling him to become well again.

  ‘It was hard for him on all sorts of levels,’ reflects Rosie Dunn. ‘His mind, the type of DNA he had as a recovering alcoholic, and the line of work he was in. He told me he needed the lubrication of alcohol to perform on stage. To just be lounging around on the tour bus all day working himself up with anxiety for those nightly gigs can’t have helped his mental state.

  ‘Plus, the fact he couldn’t sleep, and used alcohol as an anaesthetic. I think of all this extraordinary brainpower that he had, and how it must have been going around in his head on that last tour. Trying to make sense of this crazy world, without the respite of sleep – it must have driven him damn near insane.’

  A Melody Maker article from the first leg of the French tour found Caitlin Moran describing Richey as back to some semblance of health, seemingly cheerful and stabilised: ‘Richey looks well – very well – and, more than that, beautiful; and seems reasonably happy. Things are stabilising.’ However, Richey’s letters to Jo from that period suggested an altogether different state of mind.

  I’m tired of opinion, to listening – Fuck it – Other people’s judgements. No, no, no, no, no, that’s simply not true. I worry about every triviality far too much. Stupid me. They’re fools if they think I’m 100% well and healthy. You know how it is – a smile and an OK is all it takes to convince the world that everything’s hunky dory. The sins of me – a shield, an invisible shield. Smiles don’t mean a thing. A plastic smile always Wins. Goddamn Grin weighs me down. Others judgement. At least me and you try harder than most eh? Don’t fear it. Make it your friend. It’s nothing. We can’t separate each other. We’re the same – me and you – Us Against Them. There’s gotta be some dignity somewhere.

  During th
eir 11-date support slot with Therapy?, The Holy Bible and its Richey-led material failed to impress French audiences. As James would explain to Melody Maker a month later, ‘You develop an instinct for when a country doesn’t get it. If there was any way we could have done this tour and bypassed France, we would have done.’

  A further setback followed on the band’s return to the UK when they released what was to be their last-ever single as a four-piece. ‘She is Suffering’ charted at a disappointing number 25. With a less urgent, slower-paced sound than other singles from The Holy Bible, and a video Nicky Wire described as ‘shite beyond belief’, critics were quick to concede that this was not the band’s finest hour, with one journalist even joking that this was the first male rock song penned about menstruation.

  In the accompanying Holy Bible tour programme, Richey explained the meaning of the song thus: ‘“She” is desire. In other Bibles and Holy Books no truth is possible until you empty yourself of desire. All commitment otherwise is fake/lies/economic convenience.’

  Press articles following his stay at the Priory reported Buddhist literature among his reading material, and highlighted Richey’s increasing interest in the religious and the spiritual. In 2009, Nicky spoke of his bandmate’s growing fascination in attaining a simpler, more ascetic way of life. ‘He was ridding himself at that time; he did seem to be ridding himself of any material complications. It was just books, or watching the TV or listening to music. There wasn’t really anything else involved.’

  That autumn Richey also began carrying a book of biblical quotes around with him, and took to writing the words LOVE on both his knuckles, with those around him noticing a marked change in his personality.

  ‘He asked me for a copy of the Old Testament for Christmas, so that he could read the book of Ecclesiastes,’ remembers Rachel. ‘I think he was trying to channel this emptiness he felt inside into something, anything. Nick said that the Priory ripped out the man and left a shell; and that the cure was to totally change your personality. Richard seemed at the time to be confronting this emptiness he had, and filling it with whatever he could find from religious sources that gave comfort to others.

  ‘But I think despite the changes he showed outwardly, deep down he still had the same cynicism he always had – so it must have felt like he was split in two. I imagine it was hard for him to connect with the others; he was on a different plain with his thought process at the time. His belief system was still very fragmented, and whatever he was feeling during his stay at the Priory came out with him, but this time he really was doing his best to change his frame of mind and address that scepticism.’

  On 5 October, the band embarked on the first half of a 14-date British tour. One of the support acts was alternative Welsh metal-reggae outfit Dub War, and it didn’t take long for their front man Benji Webbe to notice the stark difference from the Richey he’d met a year before his hospitalisation.

  ‘He used to come to our gigs in Newport in 1993. But the Richey I saw in the past and the Richey we toured with were two totally different people. From the first day of the tour, he was as sketchy as fuck. If you approached him, he’d have no more than two words to say, and run off. After one concert, our bassist sat by him and Richey just blurted out, “You can’t be here now,” and so the bassist got up and walked away.

  ‘Once I heard ear-splitting music coming from a pitch-black dressing room. I remember asking Ginge, our drummer, “Who’s in there?” He told me, “Richey’s on his own in there, listening to Sepultura.” He was always on his own; I barely saw him with anyone, not even James, Nick or Sean.’

  After eight days on tour with the band, and much to Benji’s dismay, Dub War received a phone call from Hall or Nothing informing them they were no longer required for the latter half of the tour, and their contract was effectively terminated.

  ‘We got the call saying we’d been kicked off the tour, because apparently one of us had said Richey was “swanning around” Blackwood showing off his cuts on his arms. That never came from the band, it came from our roadie. The NME had the choice whether to write that. Magazines know when members are ill, and all the rest of it. They chose to publish that, to bring Richey down, for whatever reason.

  ‘The last time I saw him was in a hallway of the Manchester Academy before the gig. There was one of those doors, where you’ve got to key the numbers in. He kept trying and trying different combinations but he just couldn’t get it. He was on his own, and he was just fucking well freaked out. Like a puppet with the key taken out of his back. There was no need for him to be freaked out, because he’s got ten thousand fans all screaming his name every night, but he was just so shaky and scared. I remember looking at him and thinking he wasn’t well at all. He just seemed like he didn’t want to be there, didn’t wanna play, didn’t wanna be on tour.’

  One pressure that was certainly not making life easier for Richey was the rumour, propagated by music journalists, that a ‘Cult of Richey’ had developed among his more obsessive fans. Letter pages of the NME and Melody Maker were filled with testimony, usually from young females, proving their discipleship with tales of self-mutilation, starvation and letters written in blood.

  ‘She has a cult, and what the hell is a cult except a gang of rebels without a cause. I have fans. There’s a big difference.’

  Joan Crawford on Bette Davis

  ‘Some of the music press were adamant on turning him into some sort of a caricature,’ remembers Rachel. ‘It was only the very basic elements of his character being amplified – as if his cutting and diagnosis of depression were all there was to him. He was so much more than that, and I know he wanted to be appreciated for his poetry and sensitivity.

  ‘Having this cult label was reductive for him, and did a lot of damage in terms of how people remember him. I’ve met many people through the years who’ve told me that when they’ve expressed admiration for Richard or his work, they’ve been labelled as having a depressive personality, or are some sort of self-harming nutcase. It’s a shame that people can’t show their appreciation of him without others making such assumptions.

  ‘I know he was capable of playing up to the rock star myth at times, and I don’t know how far he’d lost himself in that role, and how he viewed himself in terms of his own personal identity. I don’t think those accusations helped, because it made me wonder if he felt like he had to perform all the time just to make an impact. That he had to act a certain way to gain attention and be loved? And worse still, some of the media just lapped up all his behaviour as if it had no personal consequences behind the scenes.’

  ‘The less intelligent an animal is, the more it acts naturally. Man is born without the equipment to be free. Man is the only species that realises he will die. He is burdened with it and does anything to avoid it, even becoming fake. An endless scream passing through nature.’

  Richey’s archive, 1994

  On 13 October the band played the Manchester Academy. Tickets were oversold and the venue was densely packed.

  ‘It was dangerously full,’ recalls Alan G. Parker. ‘A 2,500 capacity packed with 3,000 fans. Factory Records’ Anthony Wilson was there milling around and declaring the place a health hazard! There were a lot of gawpers because Rich had just come out of hospital, and all eyes were on him. Everyone was jostling to get to his side of the stage. It was a decent set and you could hear Rich was plugged in and playing more than he usually did. He was wearing this tiny little top with a picture of the Fairy Liquid baby on it, and looked about three stone in weight. I have never seen anybody thinner.

  ‘After the show I spoke to Therapy?’s Andy Cairns and asked him, “How’s everything going with the Manics?” and he just gave me a look that said, “Don’t go there.” When I got to the dressing room to see the band, they didn’t seem as tight as they’d been in the past. There was a lot of distance there, a lot of silence. They were on eggshells; they didn’t want to say too much to me or anyone. It was like, if they did, they’d accident
ly let something out.’

  Back in South Wales, on 20 October the band played another sold-out show and the closest to a homecoming, at Cardiff’s Astoria. Friends from Blackwood came along to support them, including Richey’s former gigging acquaintance Joanna Haywood.

  ‘He came to speak to me and Byron after the show. I didn’t know what to expect after hearing he’d been so ill, but he seemed glad to see us. I was drinking heavily and he was propping me up to stop me falling over. He seemed his old self, telling me not to get too drunk and to be careful, because people could take advantage of the fact.

  ‘I remember feeling glad he hadn’t changed much, because it reminded me of when we used to hire a van to drive to gigs back in the day, and the time he went nuts when a Chinese businessman offered to buy me breakfast at a service station. He kept telling me, “You think that’s all he wants? To buy you breakfast?!” and he sped all the way home down the M4! It wasn’t jealousy. It was him being protective. And he still had that natural, in-built concern for people all those years on.’

  Before returning to the Continent for the second half of their European tour, the band were given a two-week break, during which Jo successfully contacted Richey for the first time since his suicide attempt that summer. By the end of 1994, they were once again spending time in each other’s company.

  Photographs in Richey’s collection feature Jo at his bedroom window; gazing out over the Bay; in the flat’s kitchen eating ice cream; and pulling goofy expressions while posing in front of his wall collages. Another set of images shows the pair at Caerphilly Castle just north of Cardiff, scaling the walls and looking out over the town, and taking selfies as they wrap up warm against freezing winds.

  After the disappearance, Jo wrote a letter to Rachel describing their moments together at his Cardiff flat that autumn. ‘After he came out of hospital he had changed, without a doubt. Before that, say in the mornings when he was sober, he would be shivering, tearful, gloomy, but he was calm, he could relax, he could talk. This winter, when I stayed weekends – although we were both happy, in good moods, chatting, taking the piss out of each other, watching brilliant films in duvets, gorging on chocolate – he just seemed unable to relax. The TV, the stereo, had to be on. He’d be chain smoking, drinking one coffee after another, writing, eating; he had to be doing something. He had to be occupied. It was as if he let himself stop, if he let himself think, something awful might happen. I know it sounds trivial but it wasn’t, it was just awful. I’d end up shouting at him to sit down. I’d be thinking to myself, oh please, please be normal again, come back. It broke my heart, missing him while I was with him.