30 years ago Manic Street Preachers’ Richey Edwards disappeared without a trace

‘I don’t think people think you are for real,’ NME journalist Steve Lamacq said to musician Richey Edwards in 1991.

The Welshman was part of up and coming four-piece the Manic Street Preachers, a band which had just held a slightly underwhelming gig at the Norwich Arts Centre. Lamacq, then a young reporter sent to interview the band, witnessed a crowd member shout ‘plastic punks’ up at the stage. To prove how authentic the Manic Street Preachers were to NME readers, Richey reached for a razorblade. 

Lamacq, who today works for BBC Radio 6, later recalled: ‘As Richey began to carve his arm open, I was as shocked as anybody was. But people always ask me: why didn’t you stop him? And there are two reasons, I think. One is that it happened so quickly. The cuts were deliberate but fast and got faster and lighter as he neared the end. The second is: do you think he wanted me to stop him?’

Richey had carved ‘4REAL’ into his arm and calmly watched as blood dripped beneath him onto the carpet. Photos of the shocking act of self harm were published in NME and a media frenzy ensued. A week later, the Manic Street Preachers were signed by Sony. But as the band’s fame sky-rocketed, Richey’s mental health spiralled downwards. The young rockstar’s time in the spotlight was not set to last.

‘He’d allay my fears’

Born in 1967, Richey was raised by hairdressers Graham and Sherry Edwards in the ex-mining town of Blackwood in Caerphilly, Wales. A happy child, he would scribble away stories and play football in fields near his home. 

In 2020, Richey’s sister told GQ magazine: ‘We shared a bedroom and he would construct these amazing, imaginative stories in his mind that I can still recollect now 40 years later. 

‘When I was at school I used to have a lot of anxiety, particularly around schoolwork. When I went on to comprehensive school, he’d already been there for a couple of years. At the end of each day we’d walk our dog Snoopy, I’d talk to him about my homework and he’d help me. He’d allay my fears, which, I suppose in retrospect, is ironic given the anxiety that he suffered years later.’

Richey’s mood dipped as he became a teenager and struggled with the concept of growing up. He experimented with his appearance while he studied political history at the University of Wales in Swansea. Richie would later say: ‘If you’re hopelessly depressed like I was, then dressing up is just the ultimate escape. When I was young I just wanted to be noticed. Outrage and boredom go hand in hand.’

‘I wasted whole days’

Richie was initially a driver and roadie for Manic Street Preachers, whose members all hailed from Blackwood in Wales. The band’s lyrics dealt with subjects like prostitution, the Holocaust, serial killers and suicide – which both shocked and intrigued the British public. They gained the nickname ‘The Manics’ and built up an army of followers who could be recognised by their feather boas, leopard-print clothing and heavy eyeliner.

Richie had a knack for lyricism and the rawness of his words, inspired by literature and philosophy, resonated with fans. Despite the huge success of the Manic Street Preachers, Richie had demons which he openly discussed in interviews. He dealt with depression, anorexia and alcoholism and spent a spell in rehab at the Priory Clinic and had been admitted to Whitchurch Psychiatric Hospital in Cardiff.

On January 3, 1995, Richey met with Japanese journalist Midori Tsukagoshi. The guitarist explained he had shaved his head due to ‘boredom’ and lamented the loss of his family’s dog Snoopy who had died two weeks before. Tsukagoshi asked Richey how his recent stay at the Whitchurch Psychiatric Hospital had impacted him. The 27-year-old replied: ‘I don’t feel much different. I just realise I’ve got more time. ‘Cos my lifestyle has become “healthy.” I’ve quit the alcohol and everything. I can now use the whole day. I used to start drinking as soon as I woke up, so the day was shorter. 

‘Some people maintain that all the best writing is done by alcoholics and junkies. That’s all crap: the more addicted you are, the less time you have to write. You just lose sight of your motivations and intentions. I wasted whole days. I’d wake up and feel so sick that I couldn’t do anything. I lost day after day.’

A passport, Prozac and a play

On February 1, 1995, Richey woke up in room 516 the Embassy Hotel in Bayswater Road, London. He was due to fly to America with bandmate James Dean Bradfield later that day. Richey checked out at 7am and headed to his flat in Cardiff.

A few hours later, James waited in the hotel lobby for his usually prompt friend. But when he didn’t appear and knocks went unanswered, a master key was used to unlock room 516’s door. On the hotel table was a copy of the play Equus and a note which said ‘I love you’ addressed to Richey’s on-off girlfriend, Jo. At his flat in Cardiff, Richey’s passport, some Prozac and a tollbooth receipt from the Severn Bridge were later discovered.

Martin Hall, the manager of the Manic Street Preachers, filed a missing person report at Harrow Road police station near to the Embassy Hotel when it became clear Richey was gone.

The next two weeks are unclear. A fan allegedly saw the musician at Newport bus station while a taxi driver claimed he drove a man who matched Richey’s descriptions across the valleys, in a journey which cost £68.

On Valentine’s Day, Richey’s silver Vauxhall Cavalie car was given a parking ticket at a now defunct service station on the English side of the Severn Bridge, a known suicide spot. The vehicle was reported abandoned three days later.

There was a steering lock on the car when it was towed back to Rickey’s parents’ home in Blackwood. This gave his mum Sherry hope and she later told the press: ‘Why would you worry about someone stealing your car if you were chaotically thinking of ending your life?’ Richey’s family put an advert in the press which read: ‘Richard, please make contact. Love Mum, Dad and Rachel.’ Meanwhile Martin Hall hired a private investigator. But no trace of the rock star was ever found.

Some of Richey’s loved ones feel he staged a suicide and started a new life, far away from the fame and pressure of his music career. Bandmate Nicky Wire previously said: ‘I’ve known Richey a long time and he would have probably planned this, he could be in Tibet for all we know.’

There have been ‘sightings’ of Richey across the world, from Goa in India to Fuerteventura in Spain. None have proved conclusive. 

Fighting for answers

In 2008, Richey was ‘presumed dead’ when he had previously been classed as a missing person. Lawyer David Ellils said his loved ones hadn’t lost hope he was alive, but felt an ‘an acceptance that his affairs have got to be sorted.’ As a result of the decision, Richey’s bank account could be unfrozen and his personal estate of £455,990 – which was reduced after liabilities to a net value of £377,548 – could be accessed by his family. 

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In 2000, Richey’s mum Sherry penned an emotive letter to her son which was published in the Sunday Mirror. It read: ‘I am scared that your decision to disappear like that has made you feel that you can never come back. We all want to tell you that’s not true.

‘We don’t care where you went or why you did it. We need to let you know that we have never stopped wanting you to come back and that whatever has happened you’ll always be safe with us. To see you walk through our door or even hear your voice again would make me the happiest person in the world.’

In 2017, Richey’s sister Rachel appeared on an episode Lorraine to talk about how her participation in the Missing People Choir – run by charity Missing People – had allowed her to meet others who had lost a loved one and been left with unanswered questions.

Rachel was joined by the likes of Peter Boxell, father of Lee Boxell, Denise Allan, mother of Charles Horvath Allan, Sarah Godwin, mother of Quentin Godwin, Peter Lawrence, father of Claudia Lawrence and Emma Cullingford, daughter of Sandra Hall, for the performance. The Missing People Choir took part and placed eighth in Britain’s Got Talent, which led to a wave of reunions, including one between a mum and her lost son.

Rachel told Lorraine: ‘Who better than to shape the message than the families left behind? We never thought we would generate so much interest and awareness. The Missing People charity offers a provision where someone can ring in and just let them know. Even if they don’t want us to know, but let us know that they’re okay.’

Wider legacy

The Manic Street Preachers toyed with the idea of disbanding after Richey vanished but his family convinced them to continue. The band went on to great commercial success and sold out venues such as The Millenium Stadium. The surviving three members – James Dean Bradfield, Nicky Wire and Sean Moore – place a quarter of royalties earned into an account for their lost guitarist, should he ever be found alive.

In 2014, the Manic Street Preachers embarked on a tour to celebrate 20 years of their album ‘Holy Bible.’ Each night of the tour, as the evening came to an end, James Dean Bradfield would step to his right in the empty space where Richie should have been. 

In an interview with GQ in 2020, Richey’s sister Rachel pondered why her brother’s disappearance still intrigues people years on. She surmised: ‘I think people are still so interested because ultimately it is a mystery. Nobody knows where he is.

‘We know no more now than we did 25 years ago. I think that does fascinate people. I can understand that, because no matter how much attention we’ve drawn to the case, we’re still no further forward. There’s also a lot of respect from people who thought a lot of my brother as an artist, as a lyricist and, for that reason, I think the story perpetuates itself.’

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Josie.Copson@metro.co.uk 

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