On Critical Thinking, the Manic Street Preachers are back on their soapbox

Yahoo

25-02-2025

'I don't know what I'm for / But I know what I'm against,' announces Nicky Wire on One Man Militia, a fierce post-punk crash and burn rant that concludes the Manic Street Preachers excellent 15th album, Critical Thinking.
Conjuring impotent rage at the information overload era, it forms a ranting bookend with a similarly fierce title track that features Wire fuming about the blandness of self-help sloganeering in times of global peril. Or at least I think that is what he's getting at when he rattles off obtuse lines about hurtling 'down the avalanche / To the cul-de-sac of a non-descript nowhere land / Where JG Ballad once took a stand.'
Bassist and lyricist Wire is 56 but still communicates with the convoluted ardour of a teenage politics and philosophy student who expects listeners to familiarise themselves with the footnotes. I don't always claim to understand what the Manic Street Preachers are getting so agitated about, but it is such a pleasure in this anodyne pop age to hear a band not just with the courage but the imperative to express complicated ideas and opinions. Particularly when they do so with such a compelling mix of musicality, melody and virtuosity, much of it located in the dazzling playing and singing of guitarist and multi-instrumentalist James Dean Bradfield and powerhouse drummer Sean Moore.
Wire sings three of these songs, but Bradfield takes the lead on the rest. He possesses such a gloriously tuneful voice he apparently has little trouble bringing emotion to a song that opens with the uninviting couplet, 'Within multiple narrative graphs / I'm told I'm a symbol of the past' (Deleted Scenes). The rippling guitar and piano lines that weave glittery hooks throughout Critical Thinking are an absolute wonder.
The Manics may be a passionately driven, politically fierce agit pop rock band but crucially they rarely lose sight of the pop element in that equation. Choruses ring out, hooks flash and entice. The anger that burns in Wire's often quite nihilistic lyrics is offset by the sheer joy and melodious flow of a trio who have been playing together since the 1980s. The lovely Dear Stephen is addressed to disgraced indie idol Morrissey, the Manics' affection for the Smith's outsider oeuvre enforced as much by waves of twisty, jangly guitar as it is by a lyrical appeal to their misanthropic hero to embrace 'repentance and forgiveness'.
The Manics' pre and post date Britpop, so whilst this typically fine album might receive a boost in a year of Oasis reunions and 90s nostalgia, it more than stands on its own merits. They are a very singular group, apparently as utterly committed to each other and their various causes as they ever were in their firebrand youths. Fortunately for listeners, their greatest cause seems to be making pithy, imaginative, catchy, arty alternative rock bangers. Even if they are merely preaching to the converted, I am delighted that they are still on their soapbox, giving it loads. Neil McCormick
Automatic, the fifth album from US folk pop duo The Lumineers, is anything but automatic. It is the work of two men utterly engaged with their art and craft, shifting through many gears, from soft and sweet to edgy and tough, from introspective and reflective to amused and sometimes bemused. These are carefully and precisely handmade songs of astute observation, emotional truth, sprinkled with hard-worn wisdom, everyday bafflement and lots of little jokes.
The Lumineers are a duo from Denver, Colorado, comprising vocalist, guitarist and lyricist Wesley Schultz and drummer, pianist and co-songwriter Jeremiah Fraites. They have been writing and playing together since 2005 but only broke through (with former member cellist Neyla Pekarek) in 2011 with rumbustious single Ho Hey. In that first wave of fame, they were often compared to an American version of Mumford & Sons, partly because of an air of direct acoustic vigour allied to a folky, singalong spirit. They remain a hugely popular arena touring act with an expanded lineup who perform with crowd-pleasing swagger, but subsequent albums have revealed them to be much more intimate and introspective with a tendency toward quite spartan arrangements that focus intensely on the duo's songwriting skills.
Some of the songs on Automatic reflect the duo's journey and dependence on each other. Same Old Song conjures the anxieties and rewards of a struggling band, redeemed by the power of music and the belief that 'any of us could make it big or could end up dead on the pavement'. 'Twenty years and no one gives a damn,' Schultz sings on You're All I Got, fighting ennui from the other side of success, a world of 'lawyers fees, stretch limousines' that is only sustained by the love of music. The 'you're all I've got' refrain returns on Keys on the Table, facing another crisis of faith in a long relationship, with a subtextual struggle to retain unity and integrity in a cruel world: 'I feel ashamed to breathe / I can't believe we lost to the machine.'
America in the news has become a scary place, with its despot president, starkly divided politics and violent edginess of a country at war with its own ideas of itself. It is a setting that forms an anxious backdrop to these songs of love and interdependence. The title track conveys an air of disconnection – 'Shooting stars / Eating at the salad bars / Driving your electric cars / Praying for the rain' – a whole nation running on automatic. The spookily sensuous Ativan is named after an anti-anxiety medication and holds out the empty promise of numbing yourself against the daily drama of a perilous new reality 'on the bullet train to Neverland / Your enemy with benefits'.
Nevertheless, there is an underlying tenderness to the Lumineers' oeuvre that makes every song sound like an act of soulful resistance. It is a sense of heartful community and care perhaps implicit in the folky, singer-songwriter form, digging into roots of Americana. In the stark, melodious simplicity of the Lumineers' songcraft every detail resonates. These are uncluttered but very refined arrangements, with Fraites's rhythm parts and piano work pinging precise hooks into the spaces between Shultz's sweetly fragile vocals.
Automatic is a lovely thing, made with understated soul and humour. Asshole is (despite its title) a very tender and thoughtful love song, built around the observation 'The first we ever met / You thought I was an asshole.' The singer agrees this notion was 'Probably correct' but there is an empathy and wisdom at work here that gives the lie to such self-deprecating wit. Automatic is a very human sounding record, a manual transmission in a digital world. NMC
You may well be flummoxed by the deluge of archive releases from Neil Young these past few years: another month seems to bring yet another unreleased album from the 1970s. So, how many LPs did he actually make in his heyday? Did the total run into three figures?
The truth is, there have only been three or four complete salvage jobs with a substantial amount of unreleased songs aboard. 1976's mostly acoustic Hitchhiker had been deemed more like a collection of demos by his record company at the time, while 1975's Homegrown and 2001's Toast were most likely shelved by Young himself after having second thoughts about revealing so much about the crumbling of his relationships in them.
Latterly, he hasn't been unearthing lost compositions, so much as regrouping previously released ones, both well-known and relatively obscure, in running orders which he maintains were considered back in the day, often using early or alternate versions for aesthetic unity – as on this album.
Oceanside Countryside captures the maverick Canadian songsmith in relaxed mood, as if strumming by a campfire on California's Pacific coastline, mining his influences from arcane folk music (Captain Kennedy) to jaunty country & western (Field Of Opportunity, which even has a fiddle solo).
Those deep-pocketed obsessives who've managed to keep pace with Young's reissues may be disappointed to hear that most of the raw versions of these songs have appeared before.
But for more regular fans, the music on this album is wonderful. It's supremely chilled yet deeply soulful, a dream soundtrack for early-summer evenings – should we ever scrape clear of this bitter winter. Andrew Perry
It can often feel like the joyful, sample-crazy energy of pre-millennial rap has long since drained out of hip hop. In that context in the early 2010s, British duo Rizzle Kicks were a breath of fresh air, bringing back the irrepressibly bouncey vibe of rap-influenced early-90s pop acts, before the fame-ravaged angst set in.
They topped the charts as guests on Olly Murs's Heart Skips A Beat (2011), and almost matched that achievement with their Top Five album the same year – Stereo Typical – which included hits Down With The Trumpets and Mama Do The Hump. Jordan Stephens and Harley Alexander-Sule, both BRIT School alumni, looked hard-wired for long-term success.
However, their second outing, 2013's Roaring 20s, never quite caught fire, and the pair went their separate ways, the garrulous, driven Stephens branching out into TV as both an actor and a presenter, while Alexander-Sule comparatively retreated to co-write with other artists, and release music incognito as Jimi Charles Moody.
As this first album in twelve years frequently reveals, both have been through the mill in the interim, Stephens coping with ADHD and a drug habit, while Alexander-Sule battled anxiety and depression. 'A day without an existential spiral is a rare one,' notes Stephen on Pleasure & Pain, a track directly chronicling his lifestyle changes.
Very much the product of young men maturing in their thirties, Competition Is For Losers unfolds at less racy tempos than before, befitting of its more reflective themes, but it's no less enjoyable. Teaser single Javelin has all the care-free falsetto groove of an outtake from Daft Punk's Random Access Memories, while New Energy recalls the beatbox soul of Marvin Gaye, circa Sexual Healing.
Ultimately, you emerge feeling that Rizzle Kicks have faced challenges and this sage and mostly triumphant comeback record, replete with self-help mantras and positive reinforcement, is the very sound of their overcoming them. AP
by Poppie Platt
Addison Rae, High FashionHaving swapped a lucrative TikTok career – consisting mostly of contrived dance routines and sponsored Outfit of the Day videos – for the big leagues of pop music and film (including a $2 million deal with Netflix), Addison Rae's new single is a deliciously subversive slice of all-American pop from the wannabe lovechild of Britney Spears and Lana Del Rey.
AJ Tracey (featuring Jorja Smith), CRUSH The West London grime rapper serves up another addictively nostalgic, Noughties garage-influenced banger, anchored by a guest turn from Walsall-raised R&B singer Jorja Smith, her versatility on full display as she pivots between rapid rap and soulful reflection as she sings of a relationship in its dying days ('I listened when you told me / I cannot be sorry, boy, I've tried').
Girl Tones, I Know You KnowGrunge lovers will lap up the latest single from this rising Kentucky duo – made up of siblings Kenzie and Laila Crowe – which showcases their knack for fusing stripped-back, almost ethereal vocals with fiery riffs.
Sabrina Carpenter (featuring Dolly Parton), Please Please PleaseFresh from a triumphant Grammys (two wins for her album Short n' Sweet, and the best pure-pop performance of the night), Carpenter teams up with the country legend for a barn-stomping remix of her hit 2024 single, proving, once again, that she's the hottest commodity in pop right now. The video is great fun, too.
Thom Yorke and Mark Pritchard, Back in the GameA brilliant surprise for Radiohead (or The Smile) fans – Thom Yorke teams up with electronic musician/composer Mark Pritchard for a pulsating, mind-bending psychedelic odyssey; Yorke's digitally distorted vocals adding a further layer to his famously emotional, anguished tones.