Steve Manuel

Steve Manuel


Imagine John Mayer and Bono had a baby who had an innate love for Stevie Wonder's keyboard and Peter Gabriel's gravelly voice. They give this kid a glut of mischief and encourage his passion for the oppressed. He screams. A rock band is born. Buy the new record at


Steve Manuel

Steven Alphonse Manuel was born backstage at the Théâtre de Babylone in Paris, January 5, 1953, during the world premier of Samuel Beckett’s “Waiting For Godot,” shocking his mother, who had already given birth to him once, eight years before. Beckett, a witness to the birth that night, commissioned his own epitaph on the spot: “I saw a baby born with lunch money in its pocket.” For Manuel, it was the beginning of a relationship with the stage that would last decades, garner millions of fans, and inspire three Elvis movies.

When he turned 16, Manuel’s mother was crushed beneath the foot of a rampaging Indian elephant, and he struck out, alone, in search of his estranged father, who had left the family ten years prior in search of his own father, a rampaging Indian elephant. His adventure took him to all corners of the globe, and little Stevie grew fast and strong in the lamplight of the world’s great societies:

At 19, traveling through Central Africa, Manuel – with his shock of bleach white hair – was mistaken for Nzambi, the supreme god for all the Kongo Kingdom. Later admitting his indulgence in hair product, he was demoted to a “nganga,” or a medicinal consultant in charge of rashes and phlegm.

At 23, Manuel burned his draft card and moved to Flin Flon, Manitoba, where he met and married a local anesthesiologist named Ruby who had induce-slept her way to the top of a prominent medical practice. The partnership unraveled, however, when Ruby admitted to splitting a cab once with U.S. Secretary of Defense Robert S. McNamara. The marriage was annulled and all reference to it blotted out of subsequent Soviet encyclopedias.

At 28, piecing his life back together, Manuel returned to his musical roots, and started a traveling harp-lute band. “It’s 1973,” he would often say. “And the world is ready for me and my harp-lute.” But it would be another sixteen years of dingy bars and honky-tonks from Lisbon to Istanbul before Manuel would finally be able to say, “At last I can say, nobody likes the harp-lute, and nobody likes me, Steve Manuel, who plays it.”

Little did he know that success lay just around the corner. While rounding a corner at a market in Prague, Stashwan (as he now called himself) slipped on a honeydew and immediately remembered the lyrics to an original song he heard in a fever dream as a child. He jotted the lyrics down on a banana rind and faxed it to his friend Elton John, who informed him that the song had already been recorded as “Saturday Night’s Alright (For Fighting)”, although with completely different lyrics and melody.

Devastated, alone, and still father-less, Manuel did the only thing he knew how to do: he courted investors, rented a stage on Broadway, and launched a musical based on his own life and experiences titled “Waiting For Godot.” It was a smash success, heralded by critics for its “rigorous use of the unities,” its “implacable interpretation of human life” and its “generously early intermission.” It was immediately embraced by audiences of toddlers and transients everywhere. Steven Manuel had become a household word, festooned with accolades and beclothed with rich coats of many colors (and also rich pants and matching boots of many colors). Yet Manuel would not admit success until 1998, when his name was used as a puzzle on Wheel Of Fortune under the clue “androgynous mysteries.”

Sadly, Manuel met with misfortune in May of 2002, when the airship he was attempting to fishtail suddenly burst into flames. He lingered in a partial coma for three weeks, emerging from his mental haze in short episodes long enough to swear vengeance on Schneider, before finally succumbing on June 17, 2002. He was 114. He is survived by his dog, Steven Manuel.


Up With Love

Written By: Steve Manuel

Down with religion/Down with lies
Down with the fools who promise they’re wise
Down with hate for a fellow man
Down with institution and the promises they make
Down with the prostitution of our passion for their sake
Down with indifference
Down with my addiction; down with living for myself
Down with your money if you think it's gonna help
Down with all your morals, man—all those rules
Down with self-corruption and the guilt that it brings
Down with the sweet seduction of sleep and apathy
Down with manipulation
Down with the fat cats who kill on a whim
Down with the preacher saying life is a sin
Down with oppression of every kind

You fight all the monsters you can't see
You kick and cry and push and shove
We pray to the waters, but what we want is… love

Down with all my efforts to fill up all my holes
Down with any other who'd lay claim to our souls
Down with hopelessness
And up with love

Give me love: love knows best
Give me love, and hang the rest


Written By: Steve Manuel

I got fooled; messed around
I was lost; I could not be found
I got numb; I got dead. I got stuck up in my head

“If you look on the outside, all right.
But you’re gonna reap what you sow
I believe there’s a spirit on me
And I can know what I don’t know”

So it’s you and I, fumbling down
But beyond the eye, we lift off the ground
Falcons call, gyres spin
And I tell myself I’ll not be fooled again

Wandering like Steinbeck’s Tom
Wondering which road I’m on
No I don’t want to live out my life up in my head,
But I’ve been living out by twilight’s shade so long
It may appear to me that daylight’s sheen is wrong

Not My Clothes

Written By: Steve Manuel

I am not my clothes: burn them--you won’t affect me
They’re just there to protect me.

Welcome to the real world, where you’re sized up with a look
Acceptance is the promised land (or a minnow on a hook)
Exchanging masks and poses, one must hope one can make do
I may have caught your outline, baby, but I never knew you

Flash and cash are the stuff of earth, all made to fade in time
They say, ‘you can drink your fill, just sign on the dotted line’
My heart says, you can’t own me; my ambitious id says, yes
Then what turns out dank and rotten is that sweet smell of success

Remove my resume
Peel back my leathered tan
Zero my portfolio, then I’ll show you a man


Comic Book Hero- 2006 Album
Meta- 2000 EP

Set List

Our last set went something like this here:

[Steve welcomes, berates crowd]
Surrender (A Meters-style rendition of an old U2 joint)
Not My Clothes
[Exhausted, Manuel downs 4 packages of uncooked cherry flavored Jell-O instant gelatin and a cream soda.]
Up With Love
Sweetest Thing
Giving In
[Overcome by sugar-induced delirium, Manuel invites the entire crowd to join him in his hotel bathtub later that evening]
If Dirt Were Dollars (another of Don Henley's religious/political foot-stomping tantrums)
I Am The One

We've dabbled in these people's music as covers:

Stevie Wonder
Jackson Browne
Griffin House