Postcards From South Wales

There is no proper way to start a Manic Street Preachers review. Sure, we could talk about Nicky Wire and his latest over-quoted rant. We could wonder where is No Manifesto and why do they delay its release. We could reveal our unhealthy obsession with everything about the guys and make a joke about Sean Moore’s gun collection or James Dean Bradfield’s love for pies that only hardcore fans will understand. No, there will not be any lamenting over the disappearance of Richey Edwards, deal with it. But what bothers me the most is that I don’t know what to make of the band’s tenth studio album, Postcards From A Young Man.

It is a strange release. Not that it is something (completely) new to the Manics: it is somewhere in the vein of the grand orchestrations of Everything Must Go and the over-the-top choruses of Send Away The Tigers. Sure, it’s nowhere near their previous work, Journal For Plague Lovers, but it shouldn’t amaze anyone as it comes from a different place. We were even prepared for this at times overblown sound by statements like “last shot at mass communication” and “Van Halen meets The Supremes”. (While others might be appalled, we Manics fans giggle with joy when hearing such things.) It is pretentious and tongue in cheek, just what we’d want from it.

And there is no denying it has moments when it outshines all the glitter in the world. The first single, (It’s Not War) Just The End Of Love, is annoyingly catchy and creeps under your skin only like a proper Manics anthem should. Some Kind Of Nothingness features the delightfully silky voice of Ian McCulloch and lovely choirs. A Billion Balconies Facing The Sun builds up tension wonderfully, Duff McKagan’s bass gracing the airwaves. I will even ignore how tone-death Wire is and say that The Future Will Be Here Forever (yes, I am also ignoring the stupid song titles) is endearing.

Truth is, it is a very good album, bar the occasional cringe worthy verse that is, after all, one of the many reasons we love Manics. The trouble with Postcards seems to be how un-engaging it is. Maybe because it comes straight after Journal, a release that takes hold of you instantly and, somehow, I expected Postcard to do the same thing. Maybe some people are right and this album was recorded too soon after Journal. Maybe it just requires a few more plays before actually sinking into its world.