How do you gain perspective on the Manic Street Preachers? One of the most mercurial bands ever to gain such a fervent fanbase, you could ask ten different fans for their favourite album and gain ten different answers. For me, it will forever be The Holy Bible for oh so many reasons, but part of being a Manics’ fan is learning to let go of the past, finding your way to the future with the band providing some sense of companionship along the way. The alternative is to remain stuck in a past that is neither yours nor theirs, refusing to move forward and finding yourself bereft as a result. Easier said than done, however, following the Manics has not always been a simple endeavour and, over the years, I’ve laughed and cried with the band, I’ve railed against their decisions and supported them wholeheartedly – which is perhaps the conundrum at the heart of it all. At any event, it makes writing about the band something of a challenge, with the primary rule being to never trust your first impressions – Manic Street Preachers albums frequently repay investment, and Critical Thinking is no exception.
The band’s fifteenth album (not bad for an act who planned to sell a million copies of their debut and promptly split), Critical Thinking follows in the footsteps of the languid, and often lovely, The Ultra Vivid Lament, finding itself influenced by the 20th anniversary celebration of the much-maligned Lifeblood along the way. With nods to both Truth and Know Your Enemy, it is both colder than Ultra Vivid Lament and more obviously melodic than Lifeblood, making for an interesting, if slow-burning listen. To that end, while it may be a far cry from the harder-edged rock that some would wish for, it’s no less potent for all of that.
The album opens with the wiry post-punk of the title track, which takes its cues from The Stranglers circa Feline, Joy Division, and Talk Talk, Nicky’s part-spoken vocals backed by heavily processed drums and icy stabs of guitar. It actually sounds huge, although you can’t help but feel that Nicky needs a little more grit and a little less post-modern irony in his vocal approach. Nevertheless, by placing Nicky front and centre, it subverts expectations, while the lyrics lean into a mix of PF Project’s Trainspotting opener – Choose Life and Radiohead’s Fitter Happier, only to find Nicky bellowing “fuck that” at a pivotal moment, his punk rock instincts reasserting themselves as the track finds its conclusion. It’s a strong opener, and it highlights the fact that there are more ways to jab at the status quo than simply unleashing a monster riff.
It’s followed by the soaring Decline And Fall, a pacey anthem that could easily have found its way onto Know your Enemy, although the burbling synths are straight out of the excellent Futurology. Driven by Sean’s rock-solid rhythms and benefitting from a memorable chorus, it provides the sort of melodic lift that was largely absent from Lifeblood, and it paves the way for the colder synth-pop of Brushstrokes Of Reunion. Nicky returns to lead the vocals on Hiding In Plain Sight, a sweeping duet with Lana McDonagh, which leaves James free to offer up some tasteful guitar embellishments that elevate the arrangement nicely. The lovely People Ruin Paintings is up next, another sprightly track with a spacious sonic palette that allows for the sort of light touch guitars and airy synths that lay at the heart of This Is My Truth… With James trying his hand at some very different guitar sounds, it’s an album highlight, while the more open arrangement places a welcome focus on a singer possessed of one of the finest voices of his generation. The first half wraps up with the similarly paced Dear Stephen, a melancholy track built around the central conceit that “it’s so easy to hate, it takes guts to be kind”. It may have been inspired by Morrisey, but the lyric could just as easily be Nicky reflecting on the wildfire pronouncements of his fiery youth as a current manifesto.
Opening side two, the subtle surf influences of Being Baptised once again finds James exploring a range of airy guitar sounds, while the overall vibe returns to Truth, both in structure and atmosphere. It’s followed by one of the album’s hardest hitting songs. With Nicky’s bass prominent in the mix, the airy My Brave Friend is a mid-paced ballad that harks back to Ocean Spray, juxtaposing the most sublime of melodies with the most heartbreaking of narratives. In contrast, the propulsive Krautrock of Out Of Time Revival successfully bridges Futurology with Lifeblood, the band showcasing an increased confidence in layering synths and icy guitars into a coherent whole. Interestingly, while the guitars are still heavily processed, Deleted Scenes at least hints at the band’s hard rock past, even if it’s clothed in futuristic armour, especially in Sean’s arena-sized drums. It’s followed by the restrained Late Day Peaks, a more successful take on the subdued material of Lifeblood. One of those tracks that just doesn’t connect on the first listen, persevere, and you’ll find it starts to creep into the consciousness. It leaves Nicky to close the album with Onemanmilitia, a track that finds both lyrics and delivery connecting neatly to Critical Thinking, while the cry of “even our dreams are intellectual” – set to the album’s heaviest riffing – conjures the ghosts of those Plath and Camus-quoting youngsters who screamed out “you love us” with earth-shattering irony, only to find out that it was true.
Critical Thinking is not an immediate album but then few Manics’ albums, and certainly those of recent years, have been. Yet it’s not without precedent. Drawing on the band’s calmer side, and specifically Lifeblood, The Ultravivid Lament, Futurology, and Truth, it feels like it brings those albums together, making virtues of their flaws, and proving surprisingly rewarding in the process. Still strikingly intelligent, still capable of dazzling insights that sit alongside the spiky music, and increasingly subversive in the way they aspire to no other expectations than their own, Manic Street Preachers remain unique.
The Holy Bible was once described as “a triumph of art over logic”. If that is the case, then you could just as easily apply the phrase to the band’s entire career, for they’ve never pandered to the commercialism that could so easily have become theirs. Instead, they continue to navigate the world alongside their fanbase, bringing a little beauty into a world grown colder, and for that, we should be truly grateful. 8.5/10
