![]() He’s long-cemented himself as a fully-formed and recognizable voice capable of iconic, witty, and devastating turns of phrase. His work has been consistently brilliant since he assumed the chief lyricist mantle following the disappearance of Richey Edwards in 1995. Meanwhile, the strange, echo-filled “Diapause” reckons with heartbreak and loss, concluding: “I’ve burned so many bridges but not the one that leads to you.” The resplendent “Quest For Ancient Colour” contains piercing and often sad lyrics (“I used to make sense/but now I am confused”). ![]() “Snowing in Sapporo” is an evocative delight. While there’s nothing to match the tear-stained confessions of This Is My Truth’s “The Everlasting” or the gorgeous splendor of Lifeblood’s underrated “Cardiff Afterlife”, The Ultra Vivid Lament still contains moments of deep emotional resonance. Instead, the best tracks on The Ultra Vivid Lament are the ones that make use of the sublime melancholy that the Manics channel so fluently. They’re a touch toothless – which this is perhaps appropriate for an album that reveals itself to possess a deeply conflicted soul. Whereas the Manics’ most politically conscious tracks were once pointed, scathing anthems, the two here are bouncy, piano-lead, and oddly friendly. The album is littered with references to the confusion and complexity of our current sociopolitical landscape, explicitly evidenced by “Don’t Let The Night Divide Us” and lead single “Orwellian”. It’s easy to read The Ultra Vivid Lament similarly. In retrospect, Lifeblood – the Manics’ first post-9/11 album, felt like the band were crafting an album that was as cold and jaded as the world of that era. ![]() On The Ultra Vivid Lament, there are echoes of the cool modernism of 2014’s brilliant Futurology, a little of the lush melancholy of 1998’s This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours, and plenty of the icy new wave pop of 2004’s Lifeblood. Although Nicky Wire has claimed that the band make “either post-punk or glam albums”, their back catalogue is constantly shifting, flicking between moods and lurching back and forth through the band’s own history, making connections to older approaches, philosophies and emotions. To fully understand any new release by the Manic Street Preachers requires a somewhat holistic approach. The track encapsulates The Ultra Vivid Lament’s broader emotional tenor, which shares something with the confused, rich and jumbled headspace of a dream. Combining ethereal synths and Bradfield’s echoing vocals, it makes for a wonderfully dreamlike and deeply melancholic opening. “Snowing in Sapporo” sees Manic Street Preachers lyricist Nicky Wire (through the voice of frontman James Dean Bradfield) recalling a walk through snow-leaden Sapporo in 1993. Opener ‘Still Snowing In Sapporo’ slowly unlocks a fond memory of Japanese tour in 1993 – “the four of us against the world” – with a taut bass and acoustic interplay nodding affectionately to The Cure, igniting from a reverb-drenched and pared-back introduction.The Ultra Vivid Lament starts in the past. ‘Quest For Ancient Colour’ is sublime, Bradfield’s performance seeming to pull away from the serene backing vocals as he sings of a nostalgic ache for an undefined but easier time. It is also one of numerous moments on this record where Sean Moore’s dexterity and energy as a drummer is prominent. Lyrically, it explores the differing experiences of artistic Welsh siblings Gwen and Augustus John, highlighting their preferred subjects and referencing a transformative event on Tenby beach. ‘The Secret He Had Missed’ is yet another triumphant duet in a remarkable recent run, featuring Julia Cumming from Sunflower Bean and wearing the ABBA influence that can be found on a number of tracks especially proudly. Having spent more time at the piano when crafting his 2020 solo album ‘Even In Exile’, frontman James Dean Bradfield foregrounds that instrument in many of these songs and it serves to open up the band’s sound. ![]() ‘The Ultra Vivid Lament’ is a mutation of several different strands of their musical DNA, evoking some of the melancholic textures of 2004’s unfairly maligned ‘Lifeblood’, the angles of 2014’s ‘Futurology’ and even the luscious Bacharachian harmonies favoured on B-sides from the ‘Everything Must Go’ era. ![]()
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