Bit of a juxtaposition, this one. You ordinarily associate all things motorbike with a sense of machismo. Especially Harley Davidson (which, unless you’ve lived under a rock for a million years, you’ll recognise this one as being based on). You can’t really imagine Pete Fonda and Dennis Hopper smuggling drugs in their choppers and then having a long drawn out conversation about how they’re falling apart now, can you? Or maybe you can. Everyone with shoulders owns a black dog.
As with the vast majority of the Manics’ output, this one is heavy on the feels. This is Richie era as well, so it’s all looking a bit bleak. Which puts it mildly for a song that says everywhere is death row and that all joy is a lie. Cheer up mate, it might never happen!
But of course, it did. And does. Why bother, eh? Please buy this, though. It would at least make me feel fractionally better about the pointlessness of existence.