Manic Street Preachers, Send Away The Tigers

The Manics never quite disappear from the radar, do they? After James Dean Bradfield released his recent solo album, you wondered whether the Manics would ever put out another album, let alone play another tour. The greatest hits has been and gone and there’s nothing more portentous than a solo album to signal the death of a rock band. It’s easy to imagine James travelling around the world, collecting vintage guitars and doing the odd cameo on a Super Furry Animals album. Likewise, you expect Nicky to pack up his mascara, guitar and Larkin paperbacks and disappear further into the depths of the Welsh countryside, popping back to civilization only to visit Sean’s up-market chippy…

But here they are, indie legends fighting for recognition once again in a musical landscape which hasn’t seen James, Nicky and Sean do anything truly remarkable since 1998’s slogan slathered This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours. Even first single Your Love Alone Is Not Enough harks back to 1998. The airy, giant larynx of Bradfield stomps out an epic chorus while Nicky and Nina from The Cardigans tweet away in the background, as delicate as Norah Jones’ backing singers. There’s a lyrical snatch of classic track You Stole The Sun From My Heart and it weighs heavy on the soul of anyone who has ever witnessed a Manics live show: an assault of riffs with hooks so big they threaten to pull your lip over your head, the scream of a vintage Les Paul guitar and a swirling, cross dressing bassist as your host. Nothing here manages to trigger the excitement once unleashed by a leopard skin Nicky slapping his bass to the opening marches of anything from Everything Must Go. No amount of slogans, make up or revisiting GNR riffs for Manic devotees can save the bulk of the track listing from the Radio 2 playlist. Title track Send Away The Tigers is as close to cock-rock as the Manics have ever come. At points it sounds like The Darkness and occasionally like Bon Jovi. It’s an anthem which only Jeremy Clarkson could love.

Nobody was expecting a revolution, but the will to fight, to be different and create a record to upset your parents disappeared a decade ago. Imperial Body bags is a token war comment, but there’s nothing deranged, no talk of serial killers, taking over the world or the death of your babies. Whether Nicky Wire has anything left to fight for or a controversial bone left in his body is up for debate. Album closer Working Class Hero is a slow, bluesy, desperate cry for help and you can’t escape the feeling that the cover comes directly from the heart of a tired and worn Nicky Wire, changing gear to become more like Neil Young plotting a course for a band that look as dated as the Holy Bible era reverse ‘Rs’ that adorn the album cover.