So you form an incediary rock band to change the face of music. You have a manifesto, you have the soundbites, you eventually learn to play your insturments. Your debut album is a double and will be “the last album you ever release”. It does alright. You release another. It does less well. You release another written mainly about pain, anguish and suicide. It does even less well. One of your members vanishes in an obvious bid at suicide way. Freed from the shackles of his oft cackhanded lyrics you suddenly have lots of big hits./ You also have lots of fans who like swilling beer and wearing denim shirts. You get fat. You release some singles which are either minor hits or surrounded by self-whipped up pointless controversy to desperately try to get to number one (releasing two singles on a day, criticising Tony Blair, playing Cuba despite this adding insult to injury). These singles aren’t that much cop and you look a corpulent shadow of yourselves. You get near the end of the road, you release a greatest hits album.
Forever Delayed is the name of that greatest hits album, though unfortunately it was not. Then, to show what anti-authoritarian scamps you are you release a new single called Forever Delayed that is not on said Greatest Hits album. In the first week of January. To try to get to number one. You strike fear into a nation of singles buyers that you aren’t actually going away at all. You are The Manic Street Preachers and isn’t it time to give it a rest?