THIS IS MY TRUTH TELL ME YOURS
by
MANIC STREET PREACHERS
At the risk of adding further to the already overflowing amounts of prose written about the Manic Street Preachers and their new LP, here comes another
review of "This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours", the 5th LP from arguably the most important group in the UK today.
I was there, desperate as all the other fans, clutching my copy of this CD on the day of release and hurrying home to play it, ready to lose myself in yet more glorious hymns to the useless generation. Slowly however, my disappointment grew as the tone of the LP washed over me. Where were the crashing glamourous torch songs, the powerful pop pogo rushes and the epics for wasted society? Here instead was a collection of filler material; slow-paced, self-pitying and tedious. Was this really the Manic Street Preachers? Shurely shome mistake. But then I listened to it again. Same response. Then again. Hmmm. Then, on the fourth listen, the songs on "This Is My Truth..." shed their initial layers of disappointment and underwhelming weakness and blossomed into marvellous things instead: truly beautiful pieces of work that on several occasions made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Here then is the LP that the word "grower" was invented for.
It starts off deceptively normal, with the programmed rhythms and sweeping grandeur of "The Everlasting", a "Motorcycle Emptiness" for the present, resplendent in shimmering chords and glittering vocals. Classic Manics, in other words. Only the lyrics ("In the beginning when we were winning, when our smiles were genuine") foreshadow thing to come. Then follows "If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next", its by now familiar chiming opening serving as a comforting welcome as the LP appears to get into its stride with this achingly affecting and effective tribute to those that fought in the Spanish Civil War. Then "You Stole The Sun From My Heart" rips loose, a grandoise bluster of histrionic noise and crashing guitars in a chorus lovingly-crafted by the gods. Hoorah! The Manics are back! It's "Everything Must Go" all over again!
Then the mood - albeit hinted at by the first two tracks - takes a definite downturn, and the tempo follows suit with half a dozen songs that, given the right atmosphere, almost drift up from the recording like angels and breathe the scent of heaven into your face. These are the best pieces of art - songs is too small a word for them - that the band have ever created. "Ready For Drowning" is first, the hymn-like quality being emphasised by an affecting piece of church organ. Taking the theme of being Welsh and using the motif of an abandoned valley village being "ready for drowning", it haunts with its understated melodrama and subtle force. Catatonia it ain't.
"Tsunami" follows, upping the tone a little with a mix of electric sitars and an escalating, spiralling tune, topped off with a horizon-fixed stare of a chorus, similar in style to a lot of material on the previous LP. Then things get really low, both in terms of subject matter and tone. This is the difficult section of the LP, and not one that you'll be listening to before going out on a Saturday night. But don't - as I nearly did - let that put you off.
"My Little Empire" is a moving song of self-loathing and disgust, shot through with a cello that repeatedly pierces your heart with its mournful tones. Vocals shared by James and Nicky (although the latter is very low in the mix), its lyrics ("I'm fucked with being fucked...I'm happy being sad") serve to illustrate that it wasn't just Richey that created the previous credo of alienation, boredom and despair. "I'm Not Working" underlines this further - "petrified for the millionth time, slowly my soul evaporates" - but is most notable for the heaven-breaching chorus that is quite simply stunning. Next up is the harrowing "You're Tender And You're Tired", an extremely difficult listen wrapped up in a deceptively glittery, almost Suede-like tune, once again with a stellar chorus. Completing the quartet of the LP's unsettling and startling core is "Born A Girl", an acoustic-led number, the spaces of which James' strong and emotive vocal fill admirably. Lyrically it deals with the feeling of being trapped in the wrong gender's body, and as such it is a close companion to some of the more bleak moments on "The Holy Bible".
It has to be said that if there is one area that "This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours" does not excel in, then it is the lyric-writing. Nicky takes wordsmith duties on all tracks here, and does a pretty good job - damn good when compared to most other bands. But whereas Richey's lyrics tended to be multi-dimensional and precision-crafted polemical poems, Nicky's are sparser, simpler and a lot less accomplished. Fortunately, songs like "Be Natural" are so strong musically with its twin tempo'd majesty, that lyrics like "you keep giving me your free air miles, what would I give for just one of your smiles" can pass largely forgiven.
Following on from the sparkling "Be Natural" is "Black Dog On My Shoulder", the LP's weakest track, a shuffling number that is pretty much disposable that deals on the surface with the pros and cons of pet ownership. Then the Manics treat us to a big budget widescreen guitar blockbuster with "Nobody Loved You" (that "air miles" lyrical culprit), a tremendous crashing crescendo of a song that has shades of "Little Baby Nothing", "You Love Us" and several hundred other essential classics. A small part of you will probably wish that the band released an LP full of such songs, but a couple of listens to the previous seven or so tracks should convince you otherwise. However, "Nobody Loved You" is an undisputed highlight.
Things end on a down note, about as down as is possible. "S.Y.M.M" (South Yorkshire Mass Murderer) deals with the Hillsborough disaster in a relatively unstructured and mesmerically funereal tune, all backwards-drumbeats and echoing chords. As it fades out with amost dissonant guitar and diminishing soundwaves, you realise you've been listening with your mouth open.
If I'd written this review last night, all I would probably have awarded "This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours" would have been 2 - possibly 3 - out of five. As it stands now however, after having allowed its power, beauty and emotion to take hold and grow upon me and it proves itself worthy of all the hyperbole and praise I've lavished upon it, there is only one possible mark it can be awarded. Toleration be damned - love this record instead.
