When I was young and it still existed, the Melody Maker got its knickers in a twist about 'rockism'. This was the notion that various acts were snubbing innovation in favour of rock stereotypes (feet on monitors, low slung guitars and the like). Manic Street Preachers often stood accused and a debate raged across the letters page. If those accusers were to hear 'Postcards From A Young Man' they would either keel over in indignation or book a victory party.
The previous Manics' album 'Journal For Plague Lovers' was awkward and obtuse but this new release is so 'rockist' it even features Duff from Guns And Roses. Which means it is an easily dismissed, glib collection of commercial cliche right? Not right.
Sure our heads say 'Plague Lovers' track, 'Mummy What Is A Sex Pistol?' is everything a challenging alt. rock record should be. But our hearts know fat, rolling, stick-to-the-ribs hooks and full-throttle guitar breaks are just as nutritious for the soul. If not more so. After all, an afternoon at the ICA may well make us feel all arch and perceptive, but it can't really compete with the elation of an evening at a West End show. And the first track (and lead single) on 'Postcards' - 'It's Not War' - is every bit as invigorating and charged as one those vast productions.
Now lead singles from any album can often be deceptive. They promise ten or so other tracks just as accomplished and positive, but on purchase, the work frequently delivers all too many fillers and indulgent experiments. Such trickery isn't for Manic Street Preachers. 'Postcards' is awash with tracks as full and fabulous as 'It's Not War' which, not content with taking over the playlist of at least two BBC stations this week, has all but taken over my life.
Clearly, if you're searching for an album to change the nature of contemporary music and force everyone from Portishead to Radiohead to re-consider the whole project, then you're going to have to look elsewhere. But if you happen to be in the mood for head-thrown-back, spine-arching, sky-spinning guitar workouts bouncing on a sea of string sections, trumpets and massive production, you're in luck. In fact, you've never been more lucky.
The Manics have never been about the introspection of emo or the shyness of shoegazing. Their brief has always been romance. Not romatic love necessarily, but the passion and emotion of being a rock band. When Richie Edwards was with us, this veered towards angst, but since he vanished the emotion has been more dramatic, more escapist. Manic Street Preachers never turn away from the giddy fantasy of rock and roll, it is their prime motivator and they wear it on their sleeves. Of course, this leaves them wide open for harsh judgement and ridicule - but that naivety and audacity is at the heart of their appeal.
Although I love this band, I couldn't say they are faultless. They are more than capable of a bad record ('Lifeblood' is overwashed and flat) and bad judgement (playing for Castro), nevertheless this tenth LP is absolutely on target. Certainly more a sizzling Piri Piri Nando's chicken than the tester menu at The Fat Duck - but, be honest - which makes you salivate more?
'Postcards From A Young Man' references older Manics albums without shame and 'Everything Must Go' is the obvious touchstone, but their debut 'Generation Terrorists' is also present. What the band have done is syringe the striking strings and theatrics from the former, drawn the glam punk from the latter and injected the whole concoction into a dozen joyous, thrusting and instantly adoptable new songs, to produce an album only Manic Street Preachers could make, but everyone can love.
That's pretty irresistable.
Magnus Shaw, September 2010
