How can you write an objective review of the Manic Street Preachers? How can you separate their truth from yours; their sorrow; their rage and their defiance from your own? No band has ever sounded so successfully like themselves whilst simultaneously sounding like nothing they’ve ever done before and the reason is simple – the evolution of the Manic Street Preachers is also the evolution of the listener. We scrawled on our T shirts and read obscure literature whilst listening to ‘Generation Terrorists’, dressed in boas and raged at the dying of the light around the time of ‘The Holy Bible’ and wept as the ghost of Richey hovered over the lavish glories of ‘Everything must go’ and ‘this is my truth…’ We even, much to our own despair, found our dress sense changing as the rigours of work took over from the lazy days of school and somehow we found that the Manics reflected our lives back to us in a way that no other band ever has or could. Fly-by-night fans came and went, but we were there all along, finding sense in the cold, art-pop brooding of ‘lifeblood’ and regaining our sense of righteous indignation on ‘send away the tigers’, always waiting for what would come next and wondering if the band could recapture a previous sound as if, by doing so, they could also turn back our own clock and make us young and naïve again rather than old, cynical and lost in a world of commerce. That the Manics can never go back should be obvious. There is (and never will be) a ‘Holy bible 2’ because it would no more ring true for the band than it would for the audience who believe, misguidedly, that it is what they want to hear.
It is true, of course, that the very title of the Manics’ eleventh album, ‘rewind the film’, references the past but there is no desire on the band’s part to do so musically. Rather this is an album that captures the band, and its audience, looking back across a life strewn with events. Here you will find failure, love, life and loss. You’ll find rich, textured songs that draw upon the epic sensibility that informed ‘everything…’, ‘truth…’ and ‘…tigers’ and the tortured ambience of ‘there by the grace of God’ (a song which turns up in live form on the bonus disc) and while the album fights shy of the wild guitar heroics that mark out James Dean Bradfield as one of the finest musicians of his generation, it is thematically and melodically weighty enough to get under the skin in a way that only the Manics seem able to do.
As ‘rewind the film’ opens you’d be forgiven for thinking the Manics have discovered folk music. A truly gorgeous lament featuring only the lightest touch of organ and a simple, picked melody, James sings, in that wonderful voice of his, “I can’t fight this war anymore, time to surrender, time to move on” whilst Lucy Rose adds harmonies that threaten to split the listener’s heart clean in two. It’s a song that captures the sentiment we all face at one point or another, that we have somehow subverted our foolish dreams and let ourselves become so accustomed to the ravages of compromise that all that is left is the gentle flame of rebellion, lodged deep inside ourselves and never quite going out despite our feeling that it should. Nicky Wire has never written better lyrics than here, the sparse nature of his prose perfectly capturing a feeling that most people shy away from, preferring to ignore it than to confront it. In contrast ‘show me the wonder’ is a bright, breezy single filled with gleaming acoustic guitars, glorious brass and a chorus that positively explodes with hope. The title track, featuring a stunning contribution from Richard Hawley, is part Nick Cave, part Leonard Cohen and it is also one of the most atmospherically charged songs the Manics have attempted, Nicky’s throbbing bass recalling Angelo Badalamenti’s work on the Twin Peaks soundtrack even as the guitars twitch and weave around the central melody. It is the logical continuation of the sound the Manics first developed on ‘there by the grace of God’ and it’s wonderful piece of music.
‘Builder of routines’, perhaps, highlights the theme of the album in the clearest possible terms – no obfuscation or metaphor here, just the tragic declaration “How I hate middle age, in between acceptance and rage” set to a tune that sits between the ambient melancholy of Massive Attack and the Levellers. The album’s stylistic departures don’t finish there, with ‘4 lonely roads’ featuring yet another guest (this time Cate Le Bon) on a track that is part music hall oddity, part folk ditty, part Sonic Youth-gone-acoustic art-rock all at once. It shows the Manics at their inventive best, as does the album as a whole, and the Eastern vibe that permeates the echoing, widescreen soundscapes of ‘(I miss the) Tokyo skyline’ further highlights the band’s seemingly inexhaustible muse on the record. One of the few songs that sounds in any sense ‘traditional’ is the acoustic lament of ‘Anthem for a lost cause’ which sounds like Spiritualized covering ‘suicide is painless’ in the style of ‘a design for life’ and the result is a classic Manics ballad that leaves nothing to chance with its ambitious, kitchen-sink arrangement and huge chorus.
The final third of the album is no less inspired and is introduced by ‘As holy as the soil (that buries your skin)’, a song that takes Ash’s ‘shining light’ as a melody and reworks it as a gospel/blues number with piano taking the lead, as unlikely as that might sound. ‘3 ways to see despair’, with its minor key melodic shift and powerful acoustic sound is a compelling mix of Radiohead, Pink Floyd and Alice in Chains and is one of the highlights of the album. It is the Manics embracing the grandeur of the progressive from and running with it, James’ guitar-work as thrillingly excellent as ever. ‘Running out of fantasy’ is a simple piece in the vein of ‘small black flowers…’ as James sings “my ecosystem is based on hatred…”, once again echoing the thoughts of the audience even as he delineates his truth., but it’s Manorbier’ , a rare instrumental track that twists and turns through the echoing glass corridors of the memory, and leaves you wondering exactly what the band were up to on their post ‘national treasures’ hiatus. Again, as with ‘3 ways…’, the band edge successfully into progressive territory and it is surely the most unpredictable song of the band’s career. The album ends with ’30-year war’, a searing, trumpet-led indictment of English political system that recalls the Levellers circa ‘mouth to mouth’ with its phased synth lines and taut rhythms, whilst packing a serious lyrical punch that shows that even at their most relaxed, the Manics are far from stripped of their venom.
‘Rewind the film’ is a genuine treasure of an album. A bold stylistic departure that sounds like no-one other than the Manics, whilst simultaneously pushing into whole new musical vistas, ‘rewind the film’ is both musically and lyrically a triumph. Nicky Wire has never written better than he does here, the lyrics riven with pathos and striking closer to the bone than ever. The fierce intelligence of the band has never been in doubt, but coupled here with some of the most strikingly beautiful music of the Manics’ lengthy career there is no escaping the conclusion that ‘rewind the film’ is one of the band’s finest albums. Once again the Manics have proved that their longevity is the result of their ability to entirely sympathise with their core audience, and the result is an album that is refreshingly genuine. Far more concise than ‘…truth’, melodically more memorable than ‘lifeblood’ – its two nearest relatives in the Manics canon – ‘rewind the film’ is a beautiful work of art from a band who have somehow sat in the mainstream without ever having compromised an inch. ‘Rewind the film’ is not only a highlight of the band’s career, but also of 2013 and it is an unqualified joy from start to finish. Can I be objective about the Manics? Perhaps not, but this is my truth, and if you have ever loved the band it is likely to be yours too.
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