Thirty three years after the release of their debut record, tonight finds us just two months in from the release of the Welsh rock group’s fifteenth studio album Critical Thinking. While we’re going all the way back to 1992 for the release of Generation Terrorist, and almost as far back for the band’s commercial peak in the heady days of Britpop, the acclaim bestowed upon the new album should tell us that tonight won’t just be one of mere nostalgic fare.
Indeed, opening track ‘Decline and Fall’ is the first of five we hear from Critical Thinking. It serves as promising evidence that the band’s customary knack for surging, anthemic rock is very much intact. Something else that remains intact is the famed eccentricity of bassist Nicky Wire’s dress sense; tonight, to start with at least, he’s clad in a long white coat, skinny jeans, chiffon scarf and sunglasses.
Meanwhile, the more soberly dressed frontman and lead guitarist James Dean Bradfield captures the eye – and the ear – via more traditional means. At 56 years old, his barrelhouse rock vocals sound in fine shape and, likewise, his dextrous guitar skills. The oscillating muted riffs of ‘La Tristesse durera (Scream to a Sigh)’ brilliantly evolve into Bradford skipping about the stage as he wields a blistering guitar solo. ‘Australia’ – from Everything Must Go, the band’s commercial zenith in 1996 – is another thrilling rocker, delivered here amidst an effortlessly dynamic bed of sonics.
In declaring that “I can’t freestyle this mother fucker,” Wire holds a slightly oversized lyric sheet before taking over vocal duties for ‘Critical Thinking.’ Given the track’s relative infancy and linguistic density, one can forgive the need for a prompt or two. What perhaps is a little surprising is a significant portion of the audience already being au fait; following the line “Believe in Yourself/Imposter Syndrone…” pockets of the crowd heartily respond “Fuck that!”
The atmosphere within the sold out audience is one of being consistently engaged and enthralled. A couple of Welsh flags are dotted around the room, some fans in the seated tiers at the top of the venue take leave of their chairs, and judging by my own post-gig interactions in a nearby pub, there’s a substantial presence of ultra-loyal, superfans whose attendance at Manic’s shows are, quite unbelievably, in danger of reaching triple figures. This is perhaps best exemplified during the riveting ‘You Stole the Sun from My Heart,’ which induces a bellicose sing along and a sea of raised index fingers emoting each lyric.
Bradfield appears out of breath when he reminisces of a time when he and former guitarist Richey Edwards (who went missing in 1995 and was presumed dead in 2008) attended an Echo and the Bunnymen performance at this very venue in 1985 or 86. Later, Wire adds – before an apposite cover of ‘Ocean Rain’ – that he lamented not getting the invite but, instead, was attending a Whitesnake gig at Hammersmith Odeon.
Though the Manics have extra musicians rotating between keys and guitar, the original members – Bradfield, Wire and drummer Sean Moore – do perform ‘She Is Suffering’ and ‘Peeled Apples’ as a trio. There are a couple of career highlights that, appearing around the midpoint of the set, arrive perhaps surprisingly early; ‘Motorcycle Emptiness’ – with its now iconic riff and Bradfield’s sterling axe work – and the rousing ‘Design For Life.’ During the latter, Bradfield says “You wanna take this one?” and allows the audience to sing the second verse, before two cannons send a large murmuration of white tickertape around the hall.
Elsewhere, there’s the breathing space of a three song solo acoustic set during which Bradfield remarks to the audience that “it’s a great effort to come see us bunch of awkward bastards.” Wire later rejoins sporting a leopard print tank top, and takes up a power stance when delivering ‘Dear Stephen’ – inspired by a get-well-soon postcard sent to him by Morrissey when, as a teenage fan, Wire was unable to be in attendance at a Smith’s show. Wire adds a nice flourish – and offers a small insight as to the rigors of touring in one’s 50s – when he describes Bradfield as having “poetry in his voice, electric in his fingers and cortisone in his knee.”
Dedicated to Edwards, a cover of Bowie’s ‘Rebel Rebel’ is played as the intro to early single ‘Motown Junk’ and, choosing to forgo the façade of the traditional encore, the band stay put for final track ‘If You Tolerate This Then Your Children Will Be Next.’ Leaving around 2,100 people delighted as they exit the stage, the Manics have proved – the odd shot of cortisone notwithstanding – a still vital force in 2025.
Scott Hammond