The two most recent Manic Street Preachers albums, ending one era and beginning another.

A new Manic Street Preachers album has been released. It's called Resistance is Futile, and I love it. There'll be more to say about the album at another time; for the moment, here's a glorious song (above) and an excerpt from the review at NME:

A Franz von Stillfried-Ratenicz photograph called ‘Samurai Warrior 1881’ adorns the sleeve of the Manics’ 13th album, ‘Resistance Is Futile’. It’s a snapshot of one of the very last warriors of his kind. Much like the record’s title itself, is this a call to arms in the face of the changing tide, or an acceptance of defeat?

“People get tired, people get old – people get forgotten, people get sold,” pines James Dean Bradfield on opener ‘People Give In’, but rather than collapsing under the weight of the sorrow at how “there is no theory of everything”, the band gloriously rise from the ashes – driven by their hardened will just to exist and grow stronger.

This morning over coffee, my thoughts turned to the band's previous 2014 release, Futurology, and I started thinking about the way certain aspects of your life make perfect sense in an instant, while others take a while. It's especially relevant to me now, with Pints&union just around the corner (cross your fingers for early July).

In 2014, I turned 54, perhaps a bit late for grand epiphanies, but those were exactly what I received, one after the other, all year long.

We closed the original kitchen at Bank Street Brewhouse. My mother sold the house where I was raised, and she moved to Silvercrest. After four years of continental absence, Diana and I returned to Bamberg and Poperinge, two of my favorite European cities, and we also visited Berlin together for the first time.

The album Futurology by Manic Street Preachers was released in July, 2014. It quickly became my preferred soundtrack for the latter portion of the year, and now, when I listen to a track like "Between the Clock and the Bed," it reminds me of how hopeful I felt at the time. All the changes coming down weren't easy, but even then, there was a dawning awareness that they were necessary.

In retrospect, it's clear to me that the year 2014 was about addressing exhaustion, plotting escape and seeking redemption. Numerous challenges were ahead, and I was gathering the strength needed to take a big leap into the unknown, which is exactly what happened in 2015 and the years since.

If Futurology was the soundtrack to the end of an era, Resistance is Futile is poised to serve the same purpose for the start of a new one. This is the effect music has on my brain, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

As an aside, thanks to everyone with whom I chatted last week at the Fest of Ale. It's humbling and flattering that you're interested in the forthcoming pub, and I hope to have a more coherent update about all of it very soon. Stay tuned, and thanks again.

This Sullen Hoosier Heart ... with apologies to the Manics.

You can't ever be sure when a song will come out of nowhere and grip you. It might be the melody, the beat or the words; of course, it might be all three. "This Sullen Welsh Heart" is a current example of such an ear worm, although the words I'm hearing are "This Sullen Hoosier Heart."

I came late to the band called Manic Street Preachers, just shy of my forties in the late 1990s, but the depth of my subsequent attachment parallels David Kitching's:

The Manic Street Preachers have always occupied an unusual place in this continuum. I encountered them as I entered a phase of my teens wherein I sought answers to explain the world around me, as well as the correct questions to ask. I was a fairly bookish kid with a love of music and a nascent interest in how the world was run. For a kid with too many questions, the Manics had something to say. They demanded that we take up arms. Yet this arsenal was not to be composed of bullets, batons or blades. One felt compelled, rather, to build and borrow from armaments of ideas; to read and become better; to cultivate the mind in such a way as to understand the world but still have an emotional resonance with it …

In 2013, the Manics released an album called Rewind the Film, stating that a companion piece, Futurology, would follow in 2014. These songs were recorded in the studio all at once, with guest vocalists brought on board to augment the singing of guitarist James Dean Bradfield, but the mood of each album is strikingly different.

Rewind the Film is acoustic, somber and introspective, while Futurology is electric and clamorous. Numerous arguments have been advanced that Rewind the Film represents the "old" Europe and Futurology the "new," which if true suggests that the group's post-Brexit work will be very interesting. indeed.

Construction time again: The renewal of Manic Street Preachers at festival No. 6, by Craig Austin (Wales Arts Review)

 ... When Bradfield performs the acoustic, and magnificently titled ‘This Sullen Welsh Heart’ it only accentuates the band’s inverse portrayal of fatalistic despair: ‘I don’t want my children to grow up like me / It’s just so destroying, it’s a mocking disease’. In this sense, Manic Street Preachers stand determinedly defiant in their self-imposed pariahdom as the ‘anti-U2’, or as Wire best positions it in a recent interview with John Doran of The Quietus, ‘like a version of The Fall that just happens to play arenas’. Where U2 have perpetually revelled in the earnest mythologising of triumph over adversity, and the supposedly redemptive power of love over hate, the Manics still see no justifiable reason to deviate from their time-honoured palette of turning boredom, alienation and fatalism into an art form; the emancipating gift of personal autonomy, to ‘love your masks and adore your failure’.

In this Quietus interview, bassist/lyricist Nicky Wire elaborated about "This Sullen Welsh Heart":

"The first line, 'I don’t want my children to grow up like me, it’s too soul destroying, it’s a mocking disease', sets the tone for the kind of cruel self examination of the album. It’s about looking in the mirror and realising we’re all 44, and while we’re still deeply enthralled and still in love with the delusion of being in a band and playing to people, and all those brilliant rock cliches which we’ve always specialised in - we probably can’t do it any more. That line, 'I can’t fight this war anymore, time to surrender, time to move on', I don’t want to be like that but I think… it’s better if we are. It’s The Holy Bible for middle aged men - the horror of realising you’re in charge, you’re the grown up. I think our generation hangs on to being young more than any there’s ever been, but it’s fucking hard. Musically it’s very tender, we wanted something very Leonard Cohen-ish with Lucy [Rose] adding those beautiful textures. I think it’s the most sparse start to a Manics album."

There's a lot swirling through my head as I consider the song: Age and the passage of time, demographics and authoritarian America about to be implemented, my own role and perennial status of "pariahdom."

It goes on and on. What I love most about music is the way it can make you think, and sometimes, when the thinking gets to be too hard, the very same music can be a means of escaping thought.

Perhaps as the music plays, the word "Hoosier" supplants "Welsh" because in the context of origins and belonging, I feel like I'm without a home. I've lived in Indiana my entire life, and now I'm as much of an alien here as the numerous preferred targets of emerging Trumpism. And yet, as a straight white male, I might blend choose to collaborate and in with the Falangists, mouthing whatever platitudes are necessary for their amusement.

Fuck them.

Welcome to Indiana,you poor bastards.

We May Write In English But Our Truth Remains In Wales, by Richard King

‘Yes,’ said Alun, enthusiastically this time. ‘Impressive fellow, I thought. He knows his job all right. Very professional.’ Charlie seemed rather doubtful of that one, but then raised his glass. ‘Here’s to us all. Welcome to Wales, you poor bastard.’
-- Kingsley Amis, The Old Devils

‘This sullen Welsh heart
It won’t leave, it won’t give up
The hating half of me
Has won the battle easily’
-- Manic Street Preachers, "This Sullen Welsh Heart"

In The Old Devils Kingsley Amis illustrates, through a series of alcohol-debased set pieces, a glass half-empty stoicism that has curdled with age into misanthropy. Set in a fictional Lower Glamorgan, the narrative follows the return of Alun (born Alan) Weaver to his native Wales as he reacquaints himself with his past lives and the friends who populated them. Amid scenes of relentless and dissolute lunchtime drinking that conclude in half-cut walks through inevitable drizzle, is a keenly observed South Walian humour:

“Don’t let’s think how long it’s been,’ (Alun) said to Peter, genuinely enough. ‘Now drinks.’ While these were coming he went on, nodding at Peter’s paunch, ‘I don’t know how you do it. I suppose it’s just a matter of eating and drinking anything you like.’

‘Yes, (said Peter) but it’s the slimline tonic that turns the scale.’

What all these ruminations seem to address are a handful of knotty questions that have been asked since the dame of time. Who am I, and what do I stand for? Where do I belong? How does the past reflect the future?

Complete lyrics:

This Sullen Welsh Heart

I don't want my children to grow up like me
It's just so destroying, it's a mocking disease
A wasting disease

I don't want my children to grow up like me
It's just so destroying, it's a mocking disease
A wasting disease

Some times I wake up with love still alive
I just want to go to sleep, but I can't, I close my eyes
I can't, I close my eyes

I can't fight this war any more
Time to surrender, time to move on
So line up the firing squads, kiss goodbye to what you want
Go with the flow, go home
You can keep on struggling when you're alone
When you're alone

This sullen Welsh heart
It won't leave, it won't give up
The hating half of me
Has won the battle easily

This sullen Welsh heart
It won't leave, it won't give up
The hating half of me
Has won the battle easily
The battle easily

The act of creation saves us from despair
A phrase that keeps repeating in my head
In my head

It's not enough to succeed others must fail
My unhappy mantra I wish I could escape
I wish I could escape

I can't fight this war any more
Time to surrender, time to move on
So line up the firing squads, kiss goodbye to what you want
Go with the flow, go home
You can keep on struggling when you're alone
When you're alone

This sullen Welsh heart
It won't leave, it won't give up
The hating half of me
Has won the battle easily

This sullen Welsh heart
It won't leave, it won't give up
The hating half of me
Has won the battle easily
The battle easily

This sullen Welsh heart
It won't leave, it won't give up
The hating half of me
Has won the battle easily
The battle easily

This sullen Welsh heart
It won't leave, it won't give up
The hating half of me
Has won the battle easily
The battle easily

No. 1: Roger's Year in Music 2014 ends with Futurology by Manic Street Preachers.

It took only a couple of hours on the ground in Berlin on September 12, near the Tiergarten and Zoo Station, amid the swirling leaves of a gusty, cool autumn day, to convince me that in spite of my best efforts at intellectual equilibrium, returning after a quarter-century to a place that occupies an almost mythical status in the narrative of my adulthood was going to be a deeply heartfelt, emotional experience.

And so it was. I had to grapple with it every minute, and try to wrestle these feelings to the ground. They wouldn’t let me. Two of Tony Judt's Euro history classics and a Berlin Wall book later, the aura’s still there. I can't shake it.

I’d been back to Berlin several times since the critical year of 1989 and my first (and only) look at the German Democratic Republic (East Germany), which came just a few months prior to its collapse. However, my last visit came in 1999, and of course, Berlin had changed immensely.

As it turns out, so had I.

In my life, transformative moments like these always are accompanied by ghosts and music, and as Diana and I took to the Berlin streets for a walkabout on the morning of arrival, phantoms were lounging on every historic corner, and music started playing in my head. The latter kept looping constantly for two solid days, as I suspected it might.

What better accompaniment to Berlin than Futurology, the 2014 album by the Manic Street Preachers, which was recorded partly in the city, and now feels as though it was performed precisely to serve as the sound track of my emotional return. For that reason, it’s my album of the year for 2014.

I began 2014 with a flurry of reading about World War I on its 100th anniversary, and these musings gradually yielded to thoughts about the post-WWII European “Great Power” settlement, which included two German states and a divided city of Berlin, this being the geopolitical status quo 25 years ago when I went there.

Meanwhile, it was announced that a new Manic Street Preachers album would be released, less than a year after the last one, and the advance word was encouraging. Concurrently, we began planning the September trip, and realized Berlin would be the perfect place to start.

Put it all together, and you’ll understand why I guessed Futurology would be my favorite album of the year before I’d even heard it for the first time.

Simon Price (at The Quietus) had the very same feeling.

The first sign that Rewind The Film's sister album would be a different proposition was, again, a visual one. Manics followers attuned to semiology would have spotted the clue when the ads started appearing in music magazines for the band's March/April 2014 tour, featuring that minimalist, pseudo-Soviet font with the backwards Rs from The Holy Bible (stolen, of course, from Simple Minds' aforementioned Empires And Dance), with a triptych of Wire-Bradfield-Moore photos underneath consciously echoing Jenny Saville's Strategy (South Face/Front Face/North Face) paintings, as used on that album. The message was clear, to anyone who wanted to read it: THAT version of the Manics was back, and Futurology was going to be one of THOSE albums.

And oh my god, it really is. There aren't many artists I can think of who are able to deliver something as vital as Futurology on their twelfth studio album. In fact, historically there's just one: David Bowie. And Bowie's twelfth was Heroes. Therefore it's fitting that the Manics actually used Hansa studios in Berlin, where both those albums were recorded, for their own twelfth effort.

According to John Garratt (PopMatters), reflection is nice, but introspective advocacy is even better.

Since it comes hot off the heels of Rewind the Film, it’s easy to think of Futurology as its sister album. It’s likely the songs were written right around the same time, but that’s about all of the similarities you can squeeze out of that pair. Rewind the Film was the album where the Manics’ protagonist poured himself a scotch on the rocks, sat down in his easy chair, and scanned his back story. He looked inward and realized that he missed the Tokyo skyline, reflective stuff like that. Now that Futurology has hit the present, the same man has vacated his chair, dumped the contents of his glass into the sink and left the house in a restless huff. He mutters to himself “What is wrong with everyone? What is wrong with me?”

Or, perhaps the finest review summary, by Joseph Viney at Sputnik Music: "He who controls the past controls the future."

History hangs over the Manic Street Preachers more than most bands.

Be it their combative early days, the disappearance of Richey Edwards or the strong body of work they’ve released while still in their erstwhile guitarist’s shadow, MSP have remained stalwarts of British music despite any number of accidental or self-imposed obstacles.

Their most recent records have leaned very heavily upon the concept of history and the self-imposed mythology that surrounds the Welsh trio. Journal For Plague Lovers in essence put the ghosts of Richey away in a box, Postcards From A Young Man spoke of a group of men coming to terms with the present while Rewind The Film was akin to a OST love letter to a life well lived.

But one of the reasons MSP remain so popular and vital is their steadfast refusal to rest on their laurels. Futurology wraps up the ideals of what has come before it, mixed it with their present experience and forged ahead with songs that demonstrate a group with a lot more life in them yet.

There’s plenty to be pleased about here.

Thanks for indulging my year in music. Verily, it was a fantastic musical year when it comes to the type of music Roger likes. Now, let's go to war and run for mayor.

"Manic Street Preachers still have plenty to get mad about."

To know me is to know how much I love this band. It isn't just the music. It's because the Manics have no interest in their music being about music alone, and the band hasn't ever been hesitant to ponder social and political universals. Substitute "better beer" for music in the preceding, and see the connections. Here are a few informative background selections.

James Dean Bradfield looks back on the band's career

That time when the fascists stupidly borrowed a profoundly anti-fascistic song

A philosophy journal ponders the influence of Nietzsche on Manic Street Preachers lyrics

For capsules of the albums, go here.

Manic Street Preachers: The Complete Guide at Clash Music

Twenty-six years on from their debut single, 19 since the disappearance of Richey Edwards, 12 years on from their first retrospective and only 10 months on from their more acoustic, introverted 11th album, Wales’ finest, Manic Street Preachers, are set to return with one of the best records of their career.

Ahead of the band’s ‘Futurology’ and its triumphant riffery, Clash thought it would be a good time to take a tour through the Manics’ past. From the pomp and arrogance of their early years, through the mid-1990s success during difficult times, up to their latest incarnation, there’s plenty to get to know.