The rave:
Okay guys, listen up. We may have deeped the Manics’ entire back catalog, but it was a HUGE mistake. This record is an incredible return to form for a band who’ve been mucking around with new age adult pop a lot longer than any of us would like to admit. If this stuff doesn’t sound like the 15-years-later sequel to The Holy Bible, I’ll be god damned. All lyrics on this record penned by MSP’s MIA-since-’95 fake rhythm guitarist and psych ward posterboy Richey James, and it fucking shows. Considering the unearthed lyrics could have been a terrible media ploy/gimmick/disaster, they do the kid honest justice. Better than -- they turn out the finest album they’ve done as a three-piece.

The review:
I can’t think of any bands that sound quite like the Manics. Glam punk meets combat rock, perhaps. Discordant, tangled, abrasive, but undeniably rocky, and with lyrics that will make your skin crawl (provided you can decode the Welsh accents). Clangy angular guitars & really strong, quirkily-annunciated vocals. Political, pissed, philosophical, nihilist and literate as shit. Sure, it’s not immediately accessible, and you might not like it on your first listen, but it’s made to make you uncomfortable.

The disclaimer:
Do I love the Manics no matter what? Yes. Would I hype this record even if it was trash? Yes. But. Is this the best Manics album to come out in fifteen years? Why yes. Yes it is. If you’re late to the party, get the hell on it! And if you’re a Manics fan, let it be said: This is it. This is what we’ve been waiting a decade and change for.

FCC: 2, 9
try: (ALL of the cuts are good) 3, 8, 14, 4, 1

*1. starts with a christian bale spoken sample from the machinist (ballsy, no?). deep insidious bass & clangy oppositional guitar. power rock chorus. tears it up, hugely.
2. FCC (“fucks” 2x) upbeat, poppy, soaring guitar. doubled guitar/vocal melody: “oh mommy what’s a sex pistol?”
*3. starts with spoken sample. awesome wailers, fills & slides. rocky anthemic verses. slow, soary mellow choruses.
*4. strummed solo acoustic and echo-phone vocals (remember how elliott smith used to harmonize with himself?) builds into haunting string section ending.
5. sound of shuffling papers till :09. upbeat, laid back rock with bright bass line. carried by the pop-rock guitar riff.
6. upbeat, strutty. anthemic power rock chorus. a mental hospital rant.
7. fade in first 6 seconds. picked acoustic, pretty vocals. (yes, that’s english he’s singing: “this beauty here dipping neophobia”) goes minor etudey for the last bit.
*8. drum machine. fast, swirling minor-key crunch rock. about marlon brando & james dean. ends with brando sample.
9. FCC (“fuck yeah” once) downtempo steamroll. down-cycling piano, hangman drums & crasher cymbals. lays on the religious imagery. a wailer.
10. fade first 7 seconds. ripply lead riff. means-business drums & sharp, angular, oppositional guitar. the lyrics are great.
11. starts with solo lead and fill-heavy drums. loud, angular, upreaching chorus.
12. poppy lead guitar and sung-through-the-teeth chorus. upbeat, happy (ish).
13. suicide note set to music. mostly acoustic + hi hat, builder orchestration midway. nicky wire sings this. the weakest track, but somehow necessary.
*14. underbelly bass. trademark angular guitar. a big, loud, angry, despairing rant. fucking great.