Manic Street Preachers – Generation Terrorists

generation-terrorists

In the gigantic discography of the Manics, this is the anomaly. Other albums have unique points – The Holy Bible is steeped in philosophical pessimism, Gold Against the Soul is almost funky, This is My Truth is the most melodic. However, they all paint a consistent picture. Manic Street Preachers are a band who plays traditional rock music without being traditional people. They play like they got Bowie levels of fame, but instead of hot, skinny dudes they’re a bunch of well-read guys who lived their whole life in a university and are despairing from the human condition.

Generation Terrorist does fit the narrative, but the Manics here are different people. Instead of despair, there’s anger. The lyrics are incoherent, mostly mumbling something about how much the world sucks and that we should leave this country. It hints at the despair of the later record, but anger is the keyword here. That’s why it still sounds so bizarre yet so familiar at the same time.

Is Glam Rock an angry genre? I don’t know, but listening to Queen or David Bowie points otherwise. In fact, a lot of classic rock paints a fairly nice image of reality. Sure, there’s heartbreak but the people playing it are always cool, always kind of weird but not really and will give great sex to your daughter. Velvet Underground are guilty of it, too. Their debut isn’t that scary anymore since, at the end, it’s just more praise for how cool New York is.

Although Rock ‘n’ Roll has always been painted as rebellious art, art that’s meant to shock and devastate and scare your parents, it hasn’t always been this way. Actually, maybe it is but nowadays who is scared of David Bowie or Queen? They paint a fairly nice picture of the world, rarely, if ever, addressing hostility or darkness. For all of their theatrics, they never sound like outsiders or oddballs or dangerous people. Rather, they just have above-average social skills and can afford to express their sexuality.

The Manics don’t sound like this. Generation Terrorists has zero political coherency because it’s so angry. “Love’s Sweet Exile”, “Slash N’ Burn” and “Repeat” blaze through, making a lot of noise and saying how much the world sucks. Sometimes it sounds like they’re trying to be happy or cool, but underneath it the anger and misanthropy is all the more apparent. “Love’s Sweet Exile” has a riff that sounds like an engine and lyrics about leaving the country. It’s more of a cry of distress, a song about loneliness rather than the joy of leaving your country.

The sound is Glam Rock, but there’s a roughness to it that fits the despair. The riff in “Love’s Sweet Exile” couldn’t appear in Ziggy Stardust. It’s too loud, too aggressive for it. “Another Invented Disease” is hilarious. The melody is victorious and the rhythm is danceable, but the lyrics – perhaps attacking psychiatry? – break the illusion. It’s another cry against something, protesting about how much something sucks. “Damn Dog” would be a fun number in other albums, but here Bradfield sounds in genuine panic and self-loathing when he screams “feed me!”.

At this stage of their career, Bradfield’s vocals are integral to their unique sound. He sometimes sounds like Bowie, but his voice is rougher. In some songs he just screams, such as “Repeat”. This edge in his voice never leaves him. He’s the star of the record. The other band members kick a lot of good riffs and rhythms, but he adds the hatred to “So Dead”. I can imagine these songs played by different Glam bands, and none of them would sound as good. No one could match the scream in the beginning of “Repeat”. Two versions of it appear here, and both sound great.

It’s a loud, angry album that states this from the band’s name to the title to the song titles to the lyrics. It’s so angry that you forget how accessible this material is. People shouldn’t be surprised the Manics became a Pop band. “Stay Beautiful”, “Love’s Sweet Exile” and “Another Invented Disease” have joyous melodies. They’re written like old-fashioned Glam Rock, back when we believed the world is a fine place. The contrast is all the more fascinating. It’s a bunch of victorious songs played with the demeanor of “Fuck everything, we need extinction”.

Sound is what drives the album though, not hooks. Then again, this album is 73 minutes long. The performance is good enough that the band doesn’t lose steam – “Crucifix Kiss” is played with as much bravado as “Stay Beautiful”, but the writing suffers. Few songs rise out, with many sound better in context than outside. It’s an album to put on, headbang or sing out your rage to and then put aside. The sound isn’t too varied either. Many songs are interchangeable, and most are just weaker re-writes of “Stay Beautiful” that are good enough for a few spins. As for their ballads, they still haven’t found their gorgeous melodies with “Little Baby Nothing” relying mainly on its lyrics, but “Motorcycle Emptiness” could go on forever. Along with “Spectators of Suicide”, we get songs that predict their most acclaimed albums.

Generation Terrorists sounds more important than good. No surprise the band bullshitted about selling millions of records in Senegal and then breaking up. There’s something iconic in this bravado and cocksure attitude mixed with misanthropy, along with despair creeping at the edges. More than any record, it sounds like the bridge between the happy-go-lucky silliness of the 70’s and the serious (sometimes overly so) demeanor that we have since the 90’s. Add “Stay Beautiful”, “Motorcycle Emptiness” and “Another Invented Disease” and you got yourself an album worth owning. They would only improve from this.

another 3 invented diseases out of 5

Willaim Styron – Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness

darknessvisible
I shouldn’t be too harsh on William Styron. The book was published in 1989. Benatar hasn’t published his antinatalist manifesto yet. Alt-suicide-holiday probably didn’t exist back then. If it did, it was still fairly obscure. As Styron admits, suicide was a huge taboo at the time of writing. Many considered it shameful and tried to erase it out of the stories of people they admire. Pessimistic philosophy always existed, but Styron is oblivious to it.

Depression is harsh. It’s a disease and chemical imbalance has things to do with it. Yet Styron never confronts the question of whether his depression was right. Often you hear about how depression lies to you, but that’s the end of it. We’re hard-wired to believe depression is indeed a liar. Our genes don’t care about us so long as they can continue to exist. Love and affection also result in a chemical reaction, yet does that make them invalid? Not wanting sex with someone can easily be written off as a chemical imbalance. With the right chemicals, you can make anyone attracted to anyone.

Styron clearly suffered a lot. This is a slim volume and every line is dripping with pain and humility. Some snobs will scoff at Styron for feeling bad while winning awards, but depression’s grip on him is so strong. He’s aware of his privileges. He’s smart enough to complain about his state of mind, rather than how horrible it is when you win awards. Most of the book isn’t so much a recollection of events but salvaging a few thoughts from the depression era in order to understand it.

Yet how can you understand depression if you don’t address the perspectives it brings? How can you argue against depression and ‘defeat’ it, if you just write it off as a liar? Calling anyone a liar without proving it is barely an ad hominem. This is how it feels like when you attack someone’s depression. In fact, this is closer to gaslighting than helping.

Gaslighting is a technique of mental abuse that makes someone doubt their perception. By constantly insisting that the depressed person is wrong, that the world and their situation isn’t so bad you’re doing something remarkably close to this. If Jerry said his room is full of spiders but everyone else told him they don’t exist, yet he sees it, how will we feel? Of course he’ll feel even worse, since maybe his mind is so wrecked he’s seeing things that are not there. This idea is effective in horror stories, and the brilliant video game series Five Nights at Freddy’s uses it effectively.

He should know more than to write off depression so quickly. He admits constantly that depression is a mystery, one that we can know more about but never truly solve. The book’s best parts are when he details what depression feels like. At its worst, depression is a crippling disease. Yet it’s not a huge wound bleeding for everyone to see. It affects behavior and mood, which are dynamic and can’t be measured easily. The account of depression – the inability to get out of bed, anhedonia, the grinding hopelessness is addressed. Even as a fairly depressed (undiagnosed) individual whose worldview is pessimistic, Styron’s account was valueable in helping me understand it better. Many in my camp – the right-to-die supporters and antinatalists – view depression as another invented disease. Darkness Visible is a decent argument against it.

The last part of the book deals with recovery, and it’s also a disappointment. That’s not surprising, since recovering from depression also means defeating it in an argument. Styron didn’t address the philosophy behind the depression. What the pessimistic philosophers claim, which is often ignored, is that depression is a reaction. Just as you can’t blame someone for bleeding when they’re cut, you can’t blame someone for being depressed when their mother dies or they reach old age or lack of sex.

Unlike bleeding, what causes depression is varied and all over the place. Pro-choice suicide forums have people with all kinds of troubles – from people who have it all and are bored, to chronically ill to ugly outcasts. Your problems are right there in front of you. Listen to these people, listen to why exactly they’re so depressed. Styron is wise enough to admit that each person needs a different kind of treatment, but why is that? That’s because depression isn’t just a chemical reaction but a conclusion. The account of recovery is empty since either Styron couldn’t understand why he was depressed. Dependency takes most of the blame, but the death of his mother and old age get mentioned too.

If only he delved deeper into what these things mean. Things don’t just make us sad – that much he knows. Even sadness can be hard to communicate since it affects us differently. Sometimes it gives us a drive to fight, sometimes it makes us hate someone or something or another. Sometimes it makes everything around it seem pointless. There will never be enough words. We will never reach complete understanding of our anguish and sadness and all the other negative emotions, but we must try.

I forgive Styron, because his depression was clearly severe. Every lines feels like he went through great pains just to write it. Maybe his pain was too great for him to stare into the abyss. We’re wired for pleasure, so it’s reasonable for Styron to want more to escape his depression than confront its meaning. It’s enjoyable enough and worthwhile, but every mental disease deserves a much better book for its defining literary work. I hope writing this helped Styron, but it won’t contribute much to our understanding of suicide, depression and pessimism.

3 awards out of 5

The Right to Die

Without the right to die, there is no right to live.

The right to live means your life is yours. No one is allowed to take it from you. This right relies on the belief that life belongs to the individual. That’s why we find murder so horrible, but also why many are against capital punishment.

A duty is something you must do. You do not have a choice to give up a duty, unlike a right. People have the right to drive cars today, yet it doesn’t mean they must. Therefore, the right to live means you’re allowed to live, not must.

A person doesn’t choose whether to be born or not. Life is something that is forced upon us. The paradox is that we cannot chose between life and death unless we’re already alive. In order to choose, you have to exist first.

The problem is, if you choose not to live there is no easy way to do it. All suicide methods are painful. The quickest suicide methods are the most painful, while the less painful ones take a lot of time.

This is a terrible place to be. The damage from a bullet that missed the brain is horrible. Chocking on helium might not be so painful, but it takes time and the result of failure is equally horrifying. Either you’re living with a memory of trying to kill yourself, or you have brain damage.

Why force people into this position? A person didn’t choose to live. If the person finds that life isn’t satisfying or worthwhile, the person sees no way of improving his situation then he deserves a painless death. A person may not even be interested in improving. It could be that once you look back at your life, you decide you don’t want to carry that past anymore and want to die.

Suicidal people are trapped. Either you continue living and continue suffering, or you do something painful that might get rid of it. You do it all because two people were certain it was a good idea to force a child into the world.

Sure, everyone suffers in their life but not everyone finds the suffering worth it.

Suicide will hurt others, too, but is that a good reason?

We don’t expect a person to have sex with another if he doesn’t want to. Witholding sex is hurting. Sexual frustration can do its damage. Yet we don’t expect the attractive person to have pity sex just so the unattractive person will feel better. In fact, we push for saying that no matter how you act, nobody owes you sex.

I agree with this, and that’s why I take it further. Nobody owes you their life. A suicide of a close person is painful, but what would you prefer for that person to stay and stay in pain?

Suicide prevention is inheritenly selfish. People who don’t want you to kill yourself want it so they won’t experience grief and loss. That’s okay, because loss is terrible. Yet, if you truly cares about the well-being of a person, you wouldn’t try to ‘prevent suicide’. You would listen to the person and try to understand him. If you start off with the conclusion that suicide is bad, you’re not interested in listening.

Also, how do we know that the grief the people will feel is not as bad as the cotinous suffering the suicide person feels?

Euthanasia will actually ease the pain. Instead of impulsive suicides that will suckerpunch everyone, people will be able to prepare. There will be a date, and people could say their final goodbyes. It will also be cleaner, and the body can easily used for medical research or organ donation.

Nobody owes you anything, true. The world doesn’t owe you sex and it doesn’t owe you a fulfilling life (it also doesn’t owe you help in giving birth). If this is all true, then suicidal people owe us nothing and we shouldn’t prevent it. If we want to have a compassionate society that recognizes the pain of these tragic deaths, we need to have enough empathy to realize it’s okay to die.

Most people who object to this right, in my experience, have been successful and well-adjusted people. They assume that since life is working well for them, it therefore works well for everyone. It’s not. Some of us are born with a chemical imbalance, in the wrong environment, or made a series of mistakes we don’t want to carry any more.

We did not choose to live in the first place, so let us choose to die.
Let my people go.