Manic Street Preachers: 'The Holy Bible' 20th anniversary

THE SACRED AND THE PROFANE

This month marks the 20th anniversary of one of the most intriguing and intense records ever produced. The story of The Holy Bible - The Manic Street Preachers 3rd album - has become the stuff of legend. As a tribute to the album's enduring importance, I was compelled to write a few thoughts on the facts and possibilities surrounding its creation.

Ask anyone who was there what albums defined the Brit-pop era and you wouldn’t get much of a variation on Blur’s Parklife and Oasis’ Definitely Maybe. Those bands were celebrating their creative or at least commercial peak, and were a feast of material for music columnists everywhere. The year was 1994 and in grunge’s dying light it was ‘no time for losers’ as British rock – from many journalists point of view at least – provided an antidote to the endless parade of sulky post-Nirvana American 'slacker' bands. Realistically though, very few of the so-called Brit-pop bands wanted a bar of the media-driven ‘scene’ they found themselves unwilling parties to. More to the point, there were in-crowd bands who made bankable albums and gave good quote - namely Blur and Oasis – while two rather angular outsiders (also good for a quote, it should be mentioned) felt rather more worthy of my attention. A year after their much hyped debut, Suede dropped the grandiose, career-defining Dog Man Star and it's raw ambition alone lifted it head and shoulders above anything in the then scene. Its creation however, was so utterly punishing for the band, any promise of a future seemed in tatters. Suede's rise and fall and rise again became a pattern which ultimately defined them, but such triumph and tragedy paled in comparison to that of the Manic Street Preachers.

As opposed to Suede, 1993 was not a good year for the Manics. On the verge of being dropped by their label following underperforming second album Gold Against The Soul, the band who so many found difficult to swallow threw out the manifesto which had got them noticed in the first place. Old, borrowed ambitions of ‘world domination’ and ‘highest selling albums’ were let go of. The new manifesto if there ever was one, was to ditch the clichés – or at least to stop trying to compete with Guns N’ Roses. For the Manics, the way forward was in sight, but at what cost? I sometimes wonder if they would have done things differently had they known the outcome awaiting them in the wake of their third album. The recording of The Holy Bible (working title: The Poetry Of Death) was by all accounts a fairly jubilant time within the band. Reportedly, Nicky Wire, James Dean Bradfield and Sean Moore were smashing through tracks in the studio in record time. His technical role as ‘rhythm guitarist’ meant that Richey Edwards was scarcely required during recording, yet he never missed a session. Realistically, his work was already done and he had little to do but witness the process of his words being turned into music.

Romantically speaking, Edwards’ approach to writing conjures up images of the Marquis De Sade amusing himself with a bout of desperate scrawling and analyses. Along with co-writer Nicky Wire, it’s fun to imagine the pair wiling away the hours over a bottle of claret, filling note pads with ‘controversial ideas’ and ‘quotable common sense statements’ by dusty old European provocateurs. Wire may in fact have planted this image in my head himself, but he knows too well that it is barely half the real story. The lyrics on The Holy Bible will forever be the handle by which it is grappled and wrestled with. Musically no one could deny its intense power, but Edwards’ raw insight was so compelling, many could not get past it then and – following his slide into depression and ultimate disappearance – it only served to act as an epitaph. The pen had proved mightier than the guitar and the Manics would go down in history as the band who had and lost the greatest writer of their generation. What was it then that separated Edwards from his contemporaries and peers?

Over the centuries many great periods of enlightenment have been documented – the birth of science, Renaissance art and critical thinking all rank among events of historical importance, but rock music’s ability to shape society is often overlooked when compiling such lists. Having said that, The Holy Bible didn’t shape society any more than the invention of the lollipop, but as a contemporary piece of art, it strived for more – much more – than what was already on offer. Its significance was felt  by the listener willing to invest in what was actually being stated, and in many ways it was near impossible to criticise. Listening to his words, I feel as though Edwards not so much  peered into the abyss, but shared an intimate relationship with it. The beauty of it all though is his lack of trite self-reflection or cringe-worthy emotive megalomania. The Holy Bible is beyond ego which is its most enduring feature. It’s the album equivalent of the artist who stopped painting himself and finally broke through the surface, producing a work of genuine truth in all its wonder and horror.

Key track, Faster works as a summary for the album. It’s truth is the serendipitous realisation that only if we discard the ego, are we free to realise our true power and potential. Hence, the setting we are in as listeners is not the ‘happy being sad’ territory occupied by the pompous black-eyeliner wearing goth and emo bands. The album, it must be said, only reveals itself gradually. Titles are often misleading, lyrics sung in a garbled fashion but then there is no doubt what 4st 7lb deals with. Here Edwards offers a matter-of-fact approach to anorexia from firsthand experience, devoid of any kind of self-pity. He treads a fine line between critical analysis and exploration based on remarkable insight and observation. But the tragic reality of Edwards was that in apparently achieving this rare kind of detachment, he lost his will to self-preserve. He came to see himself as so flawed that his mind would not allow him help his failing body. The much-documented self-harm and poor diet on top of alcohol abuse finally landed him in a psych hospital pumped full of sedatives. To this day, Nicky Wire believes that Edwards’ treatment in the Priory was his undoing.

Then in February 1995, just over five months after The Holy Bible hit the shelves, Edwards discharged himself from life at the age of 27. While suicide was a likely outcome, the true nature of his disappearance will probably never be known. The album was Edwards’ final legacy and the very act of writing it gave him not release or relief from his growing issues, but rather a doorway into an area of his psyche from which he could never seemingly return. Songs such as The Intense Humming Of Evil and Mausoleum had historical context – namely the Holocaust – but pouring over Edwards lyrics, he isn’t writing about one event in history, he sees human history itself as one long Holocaust. Abuse of power is a recurring theme on the album as witnessed in songs like Yes, Revol and IfWhiteAmericaToldTheTruthForOneDayItsWorldWouldFallApart. Edwards reappraised works like Animal Farm utterly stripping away any metaphor. IfWhiteAmerica… and Yes are as direct as their names suggest. The later dealing with prostitution in all its forms to be clear. Edwards was not so much anti-corporate – the band were on a major label after all – but he accepted that at every stage in one’s life/career etc… there is always somebody to answer to. Power is always somewhere else – never with the individual. 

Whether this troubled him immensely or it was just a fact of life as he saw it, is hard to tell which really is the true unanswered mystery of The Holy Bible and its creation. The rest of the band asked very few questions about Edwards’ motivation for what he was writing at the time. It was good material and they brought it to life, but should his outpourings have raised alarm bells? To be fair to the band, no. They were on their third record and it was shaping up to be the most ground-breaking material any one had heard in a long while. They trusted him as a writer completely and they yearned for success. Edwards himself had no ‘shrinking violet’ pretensions. He wanted the Manic Street Preachers to be the biggest band on the planet, because, as he put it, they were the only band who told the truth and they deserved recognition for it. His reason for naming the album The Holy Bible, was that it contained the true history of mankind and should therefore claim ownership over ‘that book’ which offered only fantasy. Ultimately though, his grandiose stance proved unsustainable, and once the songs that made up the album were out of his system, he physically digressed so completely it was as though his very soul had been sacrificed for them. Witnessing his final year from the conception to completion of The Holy Bible, Edwards disappearance almost seems like the only logical outcome following what he would probably have seen as total and utter fulfilment.

lEIGh5

Manic Street Preachers: Futurology (review)

ACHTUNG, BABY!

The build up for the release of Futurology began almost a year ago in the wake of the Manics 11th album, Rewind The Film. What was promised was a heavier ‘yang’ to Rewind’s acoustic ‘ying’ - Nice analogy, and hardly a first in music, but ‘yang’ comes nowhere near cutting it when describing Futurology’s monstrous, Germanic stomp over Rewind’s slow amble through Wales’ recent history. Recorded at Berlin’s world renowned Hansa studios, the second part of a proposed trilogy takes its cue from post-new wave industrial music, David Bowie’s Low and good old German precision. Pre-release, the fan-teasing announcements came thick and fast ensuring anticipation levels never dipped. A return to rock, a variety of guest vocalists, and the knock-out punch that Alex Silva would return on production duties had fans salivating. After all it was Silva who assisted in bringing The Holy Bible to life – long considered to be the Manics’ true masterpiece. While that album was a sprawling bombsite of nervous energy and the darkest of thoughts, Futurology is the post-devastation re-build - and if any band knows the meaning of ‘rebuilding’ it’s the Manics. 

But all anyone really needs to know in order to enjoy their current work is that contradictions abound and listeners are challenged to make their own minds up as to why. Futurology is defined as the study of patterns in society with a view to predicting a probable outcome. It is argued that this is a futile act, and that hindsight is the only true teacher. This pseudo-science is a hint as to where the Manics are coming from. The importance of ‘learning from the past’ is a mantra most history buffs are quite happy to chant, but on Futurology the Manics present a more realistic – opposite is reality – theory. The title track sets up the album’s manifesto with muddled tenses, “we’ll come back one day/we never really went away”. Musically, the past is carefully mined to include sounds associated with a time when Kraftwerk and The Human League were THE sound of the future. Rest assured though, this is no puffed up ‘ironic ‘80s’ album from a bunch of aging socialist rockers. First single Europa Geht Durch Mich’s delivery is icy and direct, aided masterfully by German film star Nina Hoss who swaps choruses and verses with JD Bradfield. The result is an urgent, militant bilingual exchange over a relentless marching beat that makes Rammstein sound whimsical by comparison. Europa is complemented and perhaps even outshone by the fearsome Let’s Go To War. The darkness of The Holy Bible returns on this rally cry, which conjures up images of goose-stepping Nazis, while clearly is a reaction to the bands’ own occasional dithering deviations. It’s an odd blend of Eno-esque cavernous/claustrophobic synths and multi-tracked vocals – surely a signature of Hansa studio itself. Most importantly though, because it’s a Manics album, these tracks - along with Sex Power and Money and Walk Me To The Bridge - are dressed up as certified stadium rock anthems. The latter of which is pomp at its best. Imagine Livin’ On A Prayer shagging She Sells Sanctuary – only much better.

At its core, Futurology is a complete overhaul by a band approaching middle-age and who are still hungry but keen to put a few past mistakes to bed. Wire’s biting but self-effacing lyrics on The Next Jet To Leave Moscow are a genuine nod to errors of judgement, such as the much maligned concert for Castro; “So you played in Cuba, did you like it brother?/I bet you felt proud you silly little fucker”. Departure is a recurring theme but predominantly the songs are underpinned by a youthful, idealistic future full of possibilities versus the lamentable reality. The View From Stow Hill as a case in point is the tale of two desecrated cities – Newport and Berlin – both of which quickly became gentrified after years of neglect and political mismanagement. Wire’s bitter-sweet observations are carried on through the sublime working class ballad, Between The Clock and The Bed – a perfectly matched duet between Bradfield and Scritti Politti’s Green Gartside. Misguided Missile is the nihilist from Faster all grown up, “I am the strum and drang/I am the Schadenfreude/I can still fill your void.” But it’s the longing Divine Youth that is the real heart of Futurology. This paean to physical change - the truly unavoidable indicator of passing time – humanises this often brutalist work. Only time will tell if Futurology will enjoy the level of plaudits often heaped on past glories like The Holy Bible or Everything Must Go, but the Manics know too well recognition for their victories has long been hard-won. If anything it’s this fact which has ensured they continue to work harder and are quite likely to yet produce their finest album. In the meantime, Futurology will do nicely as wearer of that particular crown.

lEIGh5

Manic Street Preachers: live in Melbourne, 2013

Venue: Festival Hall
Date: 28/06
 
The Manic Street Preachers have evolved beautifully over the years into a band comfortable with what they are. The early cockiness, the time of uncertainty and the wilderness years are all behind them and despite having no new material to promote or even having been on tour at all, they display a refreshing, well-earned confidence tonight at Festival Hall. Having refined their strengths and shed a few old ghosts, they stand today as the very picture of ‘triumph against the odds’. The current set list alone represents a ‘chop off the slack’ approach to fulfilling what they themselves see as a ‘dream Manics set’, and while there will always be a few who go away disappointed, for the vast majority who attended tonight’s gig, it was pure heaven.

The fact that the band are here at all is a pleasant surprise to their multitude of devotees, making this one-off show all the more delicious. A tie-in with the British and Irish Lions rugby match in Australia was the given reason for a fly-in fly-out visit, while back home in Cardiff, the band were up to now putting the final touches on the follow up to 2010’s Postcards From A Young Man. The buzz about new music from the band has yet to really take hold, so focus tonight is on a no bullshit straight-up greatest hits package, with a few surprises thrown in for good measure.
 

The biggest surprise however is not band-related so much, as their audience tonight. Whereas the Manics dial has most often been tuned somewhere between glittery glamour and muscular rock n’ roll, tonight the switch has been given a hefty shove towards the latter. The Manics found their inner brute in an effort perhaps to appeal more readily to the present boof-head contingent. This is after all a show designed to bring together the many rugby loving ex-pats in Melbourne as well as appease the already converted. But then it’s just like the Manics to pull a mob of beer-soaked lads and wags only to lead them in a cheery sing-a-long about tackling an anxiety disorder (Send Away The Tigers) or the evils of consumerism (Motorcycle Emptiness).

It may all have been a little ironic, but not in such a way as to spoil the glory of their performance. James Dean Bradfield – looking fiercely fit – commanded our attention in that remarkable voice of his, and remained the undisputed ringleader throughout. His spirits are notably up as he jokes and banters with the crowd and his band-mates, loving every minute of the gig and perhaps riding high on the knowledge that there’s no nerve-rattling 50-date tour penned in this time round. Nicky Wire, always the elegant, if not mouthy one, is however short on words and even shorter on his usual drag tonight. That is to say, we didn’t get a much anticipated sighting of those marvelous legs dangling down from beneath a netball skirt or some such, and had to make do with a mere sparkly unicorn decal on each cheek as compensation. Despite such setbacks, he still has the power to get a large number of fans swooning, and remains one rock’s most beautiful creatures.

In light of the band’s more recent overseas shows to promote their singles collection National Treasures, there is a somewhat retro feel about the song selection. There are a number of fans here who weren't born when Generation Terrorists came out, but it is the early tracks (You Love Us, Motown Junk) that get the biggest response. A now long tradition in Manics gigs is the acoustic interlude where James belts out The Everlasting - with full-crowd backing – only tonight we get the added bonus of some classic Bacharach in the form of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You. The surprise cover delights us all and sets up nicely a grand finale in the form of Little Baby Nothing – which featured a rather goofy looking Jamie Roberts of the British Lions as surprise guest on acoustic guitar – Tsunami, Motown Junk and If You Tolerate This bring the set to a blinding close. But as tradition dictates, there’s no encore despite James’ teasing us with the possibility.

The show was a full body saturation of the Manics power as a live band and even a somewhat sad reminder of how many genius songs they have in their canon which have been largely overlooked. For the devoted here though it was just not enough. The knowledge that it may be several years before they come back hangs heavy at the conclusion. Talking to fans outside the venue in the cold night air, there is a mix of elation and gloom. This was after all only the bands third visit to Australia in their 26 year career. Love for the Manics is so strong among those who invest in their songs and it’s the kind of devotion many bands could dream of. The reason being, they are a band you can care about and they mean something to people which – like their peerless stage presence witnessed tonight at Festival Hall – is something worth celebrating.

lEIGh5

 

meeting Nicky Wire

FESTIVAL HALL SET-LIST (28/06/13)

 Motorcycle Emptiness
Your Love Alone Is Not Enough
You Stole The Sun From My Heart
Ocean Spray
Australia
Suicide Is Painless
It's Not War (Just The End Of Love)
La Tristessa Durera (Scream To A Sigh)
Revol
Everything Must Go
Send Away The Tigers
A Design For Life
The Everlasting
Can't Take My Eyes Off You
You Love Us
Little Baby Nothing
Tsunami
Motown Junk
If You Tolerate This

 

Manic Street Preachers live in Melbourne (2010): review

Venue/date: The Forum, 20/11/10

Among the Metallica shirt-wearing punters filling the streets this Saturday evening, occasional glimpses of glam-attired bodies appear, all en route to the Forum. Tonight it's Christmas for the freaks of Melbourne and their long-awaited gift awaits them at the iconic venue. Long before the our early pressie - the Manic Street Preachers - arrival, fans gather and buzz about all things Manics, including rumours about poor attendances in Adelaide and unresponsive audiences in Sydney. In a flash, there's a collective unspoken 'decision' in people's faces that the band won't receive that same reaction here tonight. Eleven years have passed since the Welsh former glam-punks have played in Australia. At the time they were promoting their fifth album This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours, which still features heavily in their set, but fans of their edgier, earlier work were in for more of a blast than probably expected tonight.

The wait during support act Dead Actor's Club was unbearable for some and the Welsh flags began appearing, held aloft, early in the Melbourne band's set. Dead Actor's Club played a ripping electro-infused rock show, and definitely didn't outstay their welcome, but to my ears they can proudly claim the worst matched support to main combo I've seen. Think Regurgitator meets Short Stack, and your close. Following a lively intermission in which copious hardcore fans took the time to meet one another, each brimming with the same feeling as the next, we are suddenly joined by a huge portrait of Tim Roth filling the back drop. This image which announced itself recently as the cover of the Manics new album, Postcards From A Young Man receives a stars welcome.

From the pit, the noise is deafening as fans erupt to the sight of the Manics who are now in our midst; James Dean Bradfield looking robust and muscular as hell, Sean Moore's in his all black military regalia, and Nicky Wire's keeping the cartoon-glam flag flying with his collection of feather boa's extending even to his mic stand. The set kicks off with You Love Us, as every Manics' gig has since their debut, and rolls on blending the new with very old alternately. Regardless of age (of song or fan), the faithful here tonight know every single word and sing back to the band with fierce enthusiasm. The occasional shouts for fan favourites are ignored however, as they rip through a best of, of sorts which easily covers their entire catalogue of work. There are a few rarely played indulgences – This Is Yesterday, Australia, Motown Junk - but mostly it's the songs no Manics gig could do without – Motorcycle Emptiness, A Design For Life, If You Tolerate This... Muscling onto that list is sure to be this year's come-back single, It's Not War (Just The End Of Love), which although musically similar to Smashing Pumpkins' Tonight Tonight, already feels like classic Manics.

The show seems to gallop along at break-neck speed with each anthemic punk song following another, but James, who can barely be heard over his adoring fans, decides to show-off his awesome voice and sends his cohorts away for an acoustic interlude. Here's where the personal fanboy moment arrives, as James and I, strangely (for me), maintain eye contact for nearly all of Ocean Spray and sing it together. This gentle moment among the storm is over fast and before the second acoustic number, Everlasting, is finished James steps away from his mic and lets the packed Forum take it to the end for him. He seems genuinely thrilled by the response and, as Sean and Nicky return to the stage, our reward is the monstrous Faster. In his absence, Nicky's slipped into something more comfortable – a mini-skirt, paired with sailor's hat and jacket. He yells into his mic, "In Sydney, they thought I looked ridiculous... But what the fuck do they know about fashion!" Cheers all around, and Melbourne's Manics fans collectively shower Nicky with wolf-whistling approval.

It's rare to see the band's true firebrand – Nicky – disarmed, but lumps were in throats all around as he took a moment to describe the ongoing loss he feels for long-lost Manic, Richey Edwards. Wire and Edwards' shared a writing partnership within the band and bonded over their bodies failings – both were frequently ill – and so we all shouted extra hard for Nicky during No Surface, All Feeling, a dedication to his lost bro. It's a fact that the Manics never, ever do encores, so the momentum as they plough towards the finish, only spirals up and up. They beef up the stirring, usually mid-tempo Tsunami for the live set, before roaring through a vital-as-fuck Design For Life. Hands raise, stomping commences, and hysterical screams fill the air, but we all know it's in vain once the guys exit the stage with a final wave and a bow. Maybe Sydney and Adelaide didn't exactly pull out the red carpet for the Manics on this tour, but from where I stood, Melbourne had a fresh rug made, poured them a glass of bubbly and insisted they stay the night. If our unspoken mission to butter them up into coming back before another eleven years pass works, only time will tell.

lEIGh5

MELBOURNE SETLIST:

YOU LOVE US

YOU'RE LOVE ALONE IS NOT ENOUGH

MOTORCYCLE EMPTINESS

IT'S NOT WAR (JUST THE END OF LOVE)

ROSES IN THE HOSPITAL

AUSTRALIA

THIS IS YESTERDAY

EVERYTHING MUST GO

SOME KIND OF NOTHINGNESS

YOU STOLE THE SUN FROM MY HEART

OCEAN SPRAY

THE EVERLASTING

FASTER

NO SURFACE ALL FEELING

LA TRISTESSA DURERA

SUICIDE IS PAINLESS

MOTOWN JUNK

IF YOU TOLERATE THIS YOUR CHILDREN WILL BE NEXT

GOLDEN PLATITUDES

TSUNAMI

A DESIGN FOR LIFE

Meeting Nicky Wire... (aaahh!!)

 all pics by myself and Fruitbat.

Manic Street Preachers - Postcards From A Young Man (review)

MANIC STREET PREACHERS
Postcards From A Young Man
(Sony)

Before its release even, the latest Manic Street Preachers album was heralded with a kind of surrender entirely out of character with the band; "Last Chance To Get Our Message Out There" was the cry from within – and what could that possibly mean for an act eleven albums old, and seemingly cursed and weighed down by misfortune and unpopular viewpoints? Were they surrendering or posing a threat? If they truly are considering a break-up, their detractors can at last say 'saw that coming years ago', but this possible last chapter in the Manics story will in no way be a bitter one for fans, who can comfortably celebrate Postcards... as one of the band's strongest albums in their 24 year career.

The Manics have survived against some pretty big odds all along. Missing-presumed-dead members, songs built around socialist meanderings and obscure literary references, (surely enough to drive many a  rock fan away?) but mostly a lack of broad, consistent interest. The Manics could easily be saddled with a 'glory or death' tag, but their refusal to be defeated even in some pretty glory-free times means either incredible unity within their ranks or sheer stubbornness has kept their fire burning. Which ever is true, I'd back them over a frothing Beta Band, a rearing Catatonia or a six-legged Super Furry Animal any day.

The Welsh trio have remained largely unchanged musically since first injecting their melancholy punk anthems with a little stadium pomp on 1996 classic, Everything Must Go, but subsequent releases often struggled to match that album's rich offerings. All but the hardcores probably shrugged at the band's post millennium releases, which up until last year's outstanding Journal For Plague Lovers, were met with little acclaim, but Postcards From A Young Man is a vital sounding push to the front of a once disappearing line, and the sound of a band mad at themselves for resting too long on their laurels.

All of the regulation MSP fare is still present in 2010; the history book rifling, communist values, Britain in crisis etc… but these touchstones are delivered on Postcards without any of the awkwardness of the sometimes over-wordy early records. Confidence reigns and, although orchestras and choirs feature throughout this album, a lot of the excess fat found on such releases as 2000's Know Your Enemy, for example has been shed. You can almost hear the conversation between Bradfield, Wire and Moore as they embarked on their 'last chance' effort, which probably concluded with a remark close to 'never mind the bollocks, let's just make the album we've always wanted to'. Whatever thoughts they indeed had, this band knows its true strengths and unabashedly plunders them for all they're worth. The title track for starters is almost a cobbling together of the 'old' and the 'new' Manics' sound, acting as an awareness-metre of how much they have grown musically over 24 years. It also tidily announces the album's concept - the artist's present selves weighing up the value of progress against their past selves' quaint existences.

Being a Manics record, of course they're cranky about mindless consumption over elementary pursuits - and they've never written more clearly on the subject. Take A Billion Balconies Facing The Sun for example – guest bassist Duff McKagan (ex-Guns 'N' Roses) adds some fat 'n' heavy licks to Bradfield's no-nonsense rail against online bullying. It's worth noting that McKagan's presence, along with other guests Ian McCulloch (Echo & The Bunnymen) and John Cale, is down to a few Manics' childhood dreams being fulfilled. If you'd ever wondered who they count among their heroes, (Stephen Hawking was busy), there's the top three. Ian McCulloch's duet on Some Kind Of Nothingness – actually the dark twin of Kylie Minogue's Some Kind Of Bliss, which the Manics wrote for her - is celebratory, but one of the less impressive moments overall, in spite of the tricked out full choir backing. Cale meanwhile is more impressive on the Radiohead-esque, Auto-Intoxication, adding keys and 'non-descript noise' to this track about being slaves to the world wide web.

The album's powerful rock 'n' prose single, Its Not War (Just The End Of Love) – a paean to the media-driven divide between East and West - and All We Make Is Entertainment are probably the ripest fruits on offer overall. But following run of (what would be) easy choice singles - take your pick of Hazelton Avenue, Golden Platitudes, The Descent - the album hits you with a kicker of a finale - the beautifully titled Don't Be Evil, which makes me want to praise and damn them for the same reasons. There they go, being all articulate and irritatingly correct about lost humility through online social networking, the old grumps. But damn them if they aren't right on the money with this, and damned if any band's who've actually sprung up in the internet age could nail this topic so accurately and awesomely as the Manics have. Not satisfied with this triumph alone, it also happens to be one of the best rock songs of the year.

Yes, there is a vague, unsurprising concept running through Postcards From A Young Man, but it never feels whiny or self-important. As much as it is an album concerned with our increasing reliance on the virtual/digital world, it equally mourns the lost art of tactile communication and by proxy, the band themselves have whole heart-idly reconnected with their audience.

lEIGh5

"Postcards From A Young Man" video.

Sean Moore (Manic Street Preachers) interview (2010)

COMBAT ROCK

Manic Street Preachers could've been willfully obscure as their often confronting topics are on Postcards From A Young Man – their tenth album in 24 years. Yet their cold-hard tales of degenerative diseases, sold-out Britain and virtual-world obsession are instead served up with some sweet cock-rock riffing, big choruses and an orchestra. Initially these Welsh communist glam-punks were a reaction to mindless stadium rock – and not much has changed in that regard – but what better way to mock your enemy than to become them - with a knowing wink? Their strength has always lied in their understanding of the importance art plays in critiquing humanity, yet they are also a rock band and nowhere near as "Preachy" as the name might suggest. Instead these childhood friends, James Dean Bradfield, Nicky Wire and Sean Moore, now in their 40s, continue forging a quiet battle against accepting the status quo.

Another minor change within the band's ranks is the promotion of their latest album, which has been unusually high for the Manics - as their loyal fanbase like to call them. Much of their post-millennium output has suffered largely from a growing indifference towards the Socialist rockers, but it seems they are determined that Postcards From A Young Man won't suffer the same fate. It's been 11 years since the trio toured Australia, but providing further evidence of a Manics resurgence, a long over-due reconnection with the anitpodes was planned. Anticipation for both band and fans is naturaloly high, but as I chat to drummer/trumpet/player-cum-co-writer Sean Moore pre-tour, it soon becomes clear that anticipation for him can be a killer. Backstage at BBC studios, pre-warm up for the Manic Street Preachers' appearance on Later With Jools Holland, Moore sounds worried, "It's Holland's 250th show, so it's supposedly going to be a big one." He begins, while drawing a sharp breath, "I just saw Phil Collins in the hall and Klaxons are here…" He pauses as there's a knock on his dressing room door. "I better get that… It's okay, it's only my breakfast!" Moore doesn't like doing live TV, and the arrival of his first meal of the day is of greater relief than usual. "Sorry, I was expecting to be hauled out to do rehearsal then," he says with a nervous laugh. "I do find live television extremely nerve-racking. I've never been able to just slip into 'performer-Sean' mode. I'm always teetering on edge, and it either goes one way or the other. Hopefully we won't fall off on this occasion though.

As it's a landmark show for Jools Holland, he's pulled out all the stops and employed a full choir and string section to back the Manics umpteenth showcase. The new album is after all a heavily layered set, bursting with anthemic numbers, largely devoid of introspection. It has been described by the group's bassist and writer Nicky Wire as "their last shot at getting on the radio" following the quite modest reactions to the group's previous three albums. However, the Manics have never really sat very easily on radio playlists; If You Tolerate This, Your Children Will Be Next was as close to radio-friendly as they came, and so a battle plan was drawn up to get their message out to as many listeners as possible by dressing up their already solid tunes, and calling in some help from their peers. "We asked Ian McCulloch, John Cale and Duff McKagan to play on the album because we're fulfilling a lot of our boyhood dreams this time around," Sean states. "Echo & The Bunnymen was the first gig we all went to see, and my first album I ever bought was actually Porcupine." He says, brightening up. Arguably, the antithesis of the Manics on their angsty debut was misogynistic himbos, Guns 'N' Roses, which makes the appearance of ex-Gunner's bassist Duff McKagan on A Billion Balconies Facing The Sun seem all the more strange. Sean responds.

"In a way, you're right, but at the same time Guns 'N' Roses introduced James and Richey to rock music," he reasons, "Whereas Nick was more into Rush, for me AC/DC was about as heavy as it got." He laughs. "We met Duff when he presented us with an award and we reciprocated our appreciation by asking him to play bass on one of our songs. Turns out he's right into what we do as well, surprisingly." Ian McCulloch duet-ing, John Cale playing piano and a Gunner could all easily be seen as unduly ambitious, but the album was designed to be a sharp turn away from 2009's Journal For Plague Lovers and its bleak outpourings. Comparing the recording of Postcards… with Journal For Plague Lovers, Sean is very clear. "This album and Journal... are basically Jekyll and Hyde," he confirms. "Recording Postcards… was quite easy by comparison. We had our objective and we stayed put until that was seen through, whereas Plague Lovers was a collection of Richey's final lyrics that we painstakingly built music around and it became a kind of Holy Bible part 2." In 2008, an official verdict of 'deceased' was finally reached after the 1995 disappearance of Richey Edwards - the Manic's troubled guitarist/songwriter. His wise but often gut-wrenching lyrics were always the starting point of every one of the band's albums, making him a kind of thematic guide which the band then followed. 1994's The Holy Bible - The last album Edwards made with the band before vanishing - was also their most disturbing and most successful. 2009's Journal For Plague Lovers being an actual sequal to Holy Bible, meant that the latest album would have the task of following the last words of Richey Edwards - a man who for many fans was the true genius in the band. Sean discusses.

"We were quite aware of following up that album with something much brighter, as we did when we released Everything Must Go." (in 1996 - their first non-Richey album - and a total career-saver). We did two or three albums of that nature – heavy, Richey albums - but you just can't do that every time. If we did, I don't think I'd be speaking to you now," Sean says ominously. "The record-buying public don't want to hear that, and we have always said that we want to be heard by as many people as possible because we feel we have something worthwhile to say." Reactions to Manic Street Preachers entire canon of work are, in many ways, typical. There are those who yell 'sell-out' at anything but the band's purest angst period – Generation Terrorists, The Holy Bible – however the post-Richey following still see the band's passion as firmly intact. Sean considers the widely varying perceptions.

"I agree that we have a divided audience, but I don't believe we have released anything we didn't wholly believe in," he continues. "We always need something to react against to even begin to get our creative juices flowing and if we ain't got that, we don't do anything particularly well." All Manics albums are angry at something; their debut, Generation Terrorists (1991), was the truest example of a punk record released in many years. The band, dressed head-to-toe in glam-rock regalia, dug their heels deep into their own generation's apathy (all while resembling a bad '80s metal group). So began the wild ride of album upon album spiked with wake-up calls or ripping in to the cold truths on all manner of subjects, with a particular lean towards human rights injustices in and outside of the developed world. A few mis-fires and failed attempts were clocked up along the way, yet, unlike U2 for example, the Manics never made the mistake of patronising their fans; they have always presumed the listener to be curious, informed, or wishing to be challenged. However, Sean understands, the songs don't always translate. "You know, I wouldn't want to be in a band making music that meant nothing to people, and I get that people don't always see the meaning in our songs, but when they do it feels like we've achieved something." Moore explains, "I don't make any apology if that's not the case, but it would be quite boring for us if we made it too easy or over simplified it." He adds, "We were criticised for being too flamboyant in the past, and for having overly wordy songs, but sometimes I think you need music that goes that bit further than just rocking out."

The beauty of the Manics is you can invest in the often intricate song meanings as many fans would want, but engaging with the well-defined passion of their delivery is a rich enough reward in itself. James Dean Bradfield has one of the strongest voices in music, plus the trio have never allowed a gigantic, memorable hook pass them by. Sean explains, "The way we see it, you have to make the music as accessible as possible especially with this album (Postcards…) because Journal… was a lot more edgy, or less musically direct." Sean adds, "We are guilty of being a bit obscure at times, but we wanted this album to rise up out of that." Postcard From A Young Man is nothing if not direct. It takes hold from the very first listen with all the strength of a greatest hits CD. Yet within is a loose, but prevalent theme of longing for simpler times, or at least criticism of the crap-tastic 'world of purchase power' we find ourselves in. Sean discusses.

It's Not War (Just The End Of Love) on Later With Jools Holland

"The title refers to more tactile forms of communication which have all but been replaced by things like e-mail. It's very easy to gain information about a person, but any kind of personal touch is fading away rapidly." The cover image features actor Tim Roth (Lie To Me, Reservoir Dogs) shirtless, his face mostly obscured as he takes a Polaroid picture. The dated photo summarises beautifully the tactile world to which Sean refers - Roth as he was 20-odd years ago embracing a long-lost artefact. Moore continues, "It's just something that harks back to when we were young, I suppose, when you had to sort of maintain and care for the condition of a record or a photo. Now digital images and mp3s are forever frozen in a kind of stable perfection, and none of these things have a chance to wear." He sighs, "But we still like the strange beauty of seeing tangible objects gradually fray at the edges."

Manic Street Preachers can claim a roaring return with Postcards From A Young Man. If their wish to 'get back on the radio' comes true, the album's first single (It's Not War) Just The End Of Love - a commentary on Russia and America's forever damaged ties despite the Cold War ending years ago – would be a delicious prospect. Yes, they are willingly living in the past on this album, and their paranoia of an Orwellian future seems as dated as the idea of 'infiltrating the mainstream'. But the Manics' greatest drive is that there's still room in popular music for renegades, and share their fan's hope that that's something which will never fall out of fashion.

lEIGh5

In the weeks before the Manics Melbourne concert, I was invited onto local community station JoyFM to do a two hour special on the band just playing faves and talking a bit about the group in between songs. The program was called "Raise Your Flag", a kind of all-things-punk weekly show... Funny thing is, we got complaints that the music wasn't suited to the theme of the program! What do you think, reader?

Manic Street Preachers "Raise Your Flag" playlist