WERS 88.9 fm - Album Review: Manic Street Preachers - Journal For Plague Lovers

August 5^th, 2009

Very few stories are as compelling as the history of the Manic Street Preachers. This Welsh band started off as a quartet, churning out sweaty glam-punk that reeked of lipstick, spit and middle fingers. From the breakneck-speed anarcho-party of their first couple records in the early '90's, the band was then led into darkness as their third record, 1994's The Holy Bible, explored a variety of morbid themes through the graphic songwriting of Richey Edwards. Edwards' lyrics in that record ended up being a sort of self-moratorium, as he mysteriously disappeared in early 1995, never to be seen again. Although his musical contributions to the band were minimal, Edwards' disturbing lyrics as well as his demeanor and style gave the band an image that helped earn them legions of fans worldwide.

Most bands might have called it quits after such a traumatic personal crisis, but the Manics perservered as a trio, and for 5 albums between 1996 and 2007, the band became a whole new monster, leaving behind glam and misanthropy in favor of grandiose, hyper literate arena rock. Even if their constant name-dropping of philosophers and political figures often proves futile, their musical chops have remained sharp throughout. James Dean Bradfield's distinctive voice, dabbled in a shrill snarl, with a knack for experimenting with annunciation, coupled with his instrumental virtuosity, has made him an icon. Since Edwards' disappearance, the songwriting of bassist Nicky Wire has served as the band's brain, and the consistently precise work of drummer Sean Moore has given them stability.

For the Manics' latest record, Journal for Plague Lovers, the trio decided to attempt something on the controversial side. For the first time since 1996's Everything Must Go, they were going to use the lyrics of Edwards. A risky move, no doubt, seeing as the album's predecessor, 2007's Send Away The Tigers, was somewhat of a mockery of their early days. Things started to fit together positively, as it was announced that no singles were to be released off the album (because it's to be listened to as a whole), and it was also going to be produced by Steve Albini, the analogue pioneer who produced JFPL's closest aesthetic relative, Nirvana's In Utero. The enormous pressure upon the band to provide the lyrics justice must have placed an unfair weight upon their shoulders. Not only have they done the lyrics a service, Journal For Plague Lovers is so gracefully executed and unpretentious that it rises up triumphantly as one of the best records of their career.

The best thing about JFPL is that its aesthetic is difficult to define. On past Manics records, a listener could quite easily summarize the feel of the album in a word or two. On JFPL, there is absolutely nothing by which anyone could ever form a preconception. Whereas the current Manics lineup has become used to producing far glossier sounds than their early days, a juxtaposition is placed between the band's stadium-ready compositions and the push-and-pull of the band's muscled-out sound.

A perfect example of this aesthetic amalgamation is on "Jackie Collins Existential Question Time." Starting off with a reverb-drenched hair metal riff, "Collins" launches into a bouncy, post-punk glide before Bradfield's guitar cascades into a lurching pre-chorus, and everything collides together into a spontaneous, blistering final verse. This dexterity is not universal throughout the album, but it's appropriate for the song, as its lyrics change tone quiet drastically. Also staggering is the eulogistic "Marlon J.D." which transforms a drum machine backbeat from a synthpop staple into a deadpan undertone for the song's tragic folklore. Springing from the programmed drum, guitars howl and whine as Bradfield sternly snarls one of the best opening lines in recent memory: "He stood like a statue/As he was beaten across the face/With a horsewhip/Where the wounds already exist". The pace is maintained and the story is straightforwardly delivered, and is topped of by a quick yet typically intricate Bradfield solo at the end.   Structurally, it hearkens back to "Elvis Impersonator: Blackpool Pier" from Everything Must Go; its lyrics only concern one certain subject and the musical palate is uniform, but the song is impossible to forget as its mood leaves a irreparable mark on one's spirit.

Looking at the album within the context of the band's canon, especially records put out during this decade, you notice something truly remarkable about JFPL. In recent years, the Manics have tried their hands at shameless genre hopping (2001's Know Your Enemy), Coldplay-esque pop gloss melodrama (2004's Lifeblood), and a phoned-in parody of their own beginnings (SATT). Some of the ideas they've tinkered with in recent years led to a critical backlash, signaling that they might have been getting too old, or their ideas too stale, placing their relevancy as a band in question. After JFPL sinks in, the decision to resurrect Edwards' final lyrics is nowhere near the cheap publicity stunt some might have believed it to be. His words have singlehandedly restored this band's ability to craft songs without regard to preexisting aesthetics and without risk of cheapening their collective talents. The true artistic core of the Manic Street Preachers is alive and well on Journal For Plague Lovers, and although Richey Edwards is nowhere to be found in body, in poetry his genius has returned once more.

-Jon Gabso