Listening to the new Manic Street Preachers album is a surreal experience. The band on the one hand is playing with a passion not seen since their original releases in the early 1990s. James Dean Bradfield shouts out lyrics as though his life depended on it and fits into every track a blistering guitar solo. On the other hand the Manics so clearly have almost nothing to say. The best Nicky Wire can do is contribute tired abstractions about life today not being much good and attack the internet. It means they sound like a parody version of their 90s selves.
The Manics' renaissance started out promisingly. In 2006 James Dean Bradfield released a solo album in which he penned the lyrics himself. The Great Western painted the picture of a former anarchist at a crossroads: both musing wistfully about the past and looking to the future. Best of all the album had a certain dignity that suited Bradfield's encroaching middle age. The Great Western though proved to be a cipher. The following year the band released Send Away The Tigers: an album that was ostensibly a celebration of youth but actually a midlife crisis. Bradfield wrote songs incorporating thirty second guitar solos not seen since The Holy Bible fifteen years ago. Bassist Wire meanwhile contributed lyrics about experimenting with haircuts. The album was well-received because the band played with fierce conviction even while sounding ridiculous. In addition they obviously wanted to please, and that's hard to condemn.
Three years on though Postcards From A Young Man finds them in the same place with even less to say. This time Nicky Wire is putting even less thought into his lyrics: attacking the internet while claiming that the album is 'a loss shot at mass communication.' Bradfield meanwhile spits out his inanities as though warning us of the apocalypse. In addition, to compensate for a lack of development in the group's sound they've incorporated a gospel choir. You might not notice the choir though since Bradfield's voice is placed so high in the mix. Postcards From A Young Man has been received with almost unanimous praise from critics. This I think can be explained because - once again - the Manics sound incredibly eager to please. Two decades ago Bradfield confronted the listener: he was a doom-monger to be heeded. By contrast today he's courting the listener: though still doom-mongering (thanks Nicky) he records songs as spectacle. This is pretty enjoyable I admit. But it's also deeply embarrassing. You know who the Manics most closely resemble today? Queen. Fucking Queen.
