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Old 26-11-2020, 22:47
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Tim Tim is offline
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Join Date: Jan 2003
Location: ...my fathers can have it.
Posts: 5,839
I've never really had an interest in this idea of 'legacy', it's the kind of thing that politicians and their commentariat get obsessed with but it's an interesting question as to how the manics will be remembered. Radiohead's place in history is probably already assured but then they've had a far wider reach than the manics, especially in the states and for good and bad american culture is an invasive species. Anyway, it doesn't feel like they're ready to slip into being a legacy act yet, i still get the sense they are pushing through to their second (third?) renaissance and still have one more great album left to do. Their lack of influence on newer bands is an odd one i suppose but within the bounds of being a rock band they are quite varied so i agree there's the question of which era you're influenced by. Not that they seem to care much about that and good for them i say, nicky has always said he's more proud of them inspiring people to study politics, history, english etc. At least they won't be remembered for any naff rock and roll tales of excess like trashing hotel rooms or... possibly misquoting sean here - snorting coke off stripper's arses. Eringa is correct though, rock and roll is how you define it and to me the manics absolutely embody that old gustave flaubert quote - be regular and orderly in your life like a bourgeois, so that you may be violent and original in your work.
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Please, he prayed, now -
A gray disk, the colour of Chiba sky.
Now -
Disk beginning to rotate, faster, becoming a sphere of paler gray. Expanding -
And flowed, flowered for him, fluid neon origami trick, the unfolding of his distanceless home, his country, transparent 3D chessboard extending to infinity.
Inner eye opening to the stepped scarlet pyramid of the Eastern Seaboard Fission Authority burning beyond the green cubes of Mitsubishi Bank of America,
and high and very far away he saw the spiral arms of military systems, forever beyond his reach.
And somewhere he was laughing, in a white-painted loft, distant fingers caressing the deck, tears of release streaking his face.
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