ALBUM REVIEWS
Nicky Wire is mad as hell – and he ain’t gonna take it anymore. “It’s OK to not be OK / Live your best life / Be kind / Have some empathy / Speak truth to power…” No, it’s not an update on Baz Luhrman’s ‘Everybody’s Free’, but a snarky diatribe – set to a stomping PiL battle march – spitting back at the false empathy in social media’s conveyor belt of empty platitudes, leading us to “an aesthetic so bland” and “a cul-de-sac of a non-descript nowhere land”. PARKLIFE!…Nope.
The opening title track of Manic Street Preachers’ 15th album ‘Critical Thinking’ finds the motor-mouthed, sabre-rattling bassist and lyricist Wire aghast and rudderless in a fractured world. The storied, once sloganeering generation terrorists and NME Godlike Genius alumni who barked “You love us” and “I am an arch-i-tect” have come to realise there’s no absolute design for life, but that’s no reason to give up the fight on one of their own. Take ‘Decline & Fall’ – a slab of textbook ‘Everything Must Go‘-sized bittersweet euphoria where frontman James Dean Bradfield sings for the tiny victories won in a waning world: “Society used to be my worst enemy, now I want to build a small one for you and me”.
‘Hiding In Plain Sight’ is another Wire-fronted gem, with analogue-feel ‘80s indie to heighten his reckoning with the man in the mirror: “I wanna be in love with the man I used to be, in a decade I felt free”. ‘Dear Stephen’, meanwhile, sees Bradfield conjure the fretwork of Johnny Marr and sing of Wire’s forever-delayed reply to a postcard he once received from Morrissey when he couldn’t make a Smiths gig as a teen. He longs for the more pure connection he once felt with the controversial quiff-Grinch in his adolescence as he paraphrases the man himself: “It’s so easy to hate, it takes guts to be kind”.
Hope shot through yearning and doubt ring out on the early R.E.M.-indebted nostalgia anthem ‘Brush Strokes Of Reunion’ and the celebration of pure truth in nature on ‘People Ruin Paintings’. Elsewhere, the Bradfield-penned ‘Being Baptised’ more explicitly finds answers among Wire’s questioning: “I can walk in the room and bring the sunshine with me, bring the darkness down on this town.”
Sonically, ‘Critical Thinking’ has touches of the European modernist propulsion of 2014 renaissance record ‘Futurology’ and the graceful ABBA pop flourishes of 2021 predecessor ‘The Ultra Vivid Lament’. But its uplifting warmth met with provocative spikiness feels like an album written staring up at the posters of their teenage art-pop and indie heroes – meant for the crackle of a record or the buzz of a cassette. In that comfort, they find the ammo to protest how only the Manics can: “A single bird sings a sweet old song / A fitting sound for a world so wrong”, as they put it on ‘Late Day Peaks’.
Book-ended with another Wire rallying cry in the aptly-named ‘OneManMilitia’, ‘Critical Thinking’ ends with the acceptance that “I don’t know what I am for, but I know I am against”. Met with the void, the Manics battle on to fill it with beauty and rage.
ALBUM REVIEWS
Grandeur sits at the heart of ‘This Music May Contain Hope’, RAYE’s second album, and the result feels nothing short of breathtaking. On this record, the singer born Rachel Keen explores a wide spectrum of sounds across its 73 minute length, moving from emotional ballads to lively funk moments and the jazz pop style she has become closely associated with. It can feel overwhelming at first, yet the magic that comes from RAYE fully committing to her vision makes the experience rewarding from start to finish.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’, a conceptual project about pushing through insecurity and heartbreak, unfolds like a lavish stage production. RAYE takes on the dual role of main character and guiding voice throughout the story. “Allow me to set the scene. Our story begins at 2:27am on a rainy night in Paris. Cue the thunder,” she says during the opening track ‘Girl Under The Grey Cloud’, which arrives with sweeping orchestral strings. Spoken passages appear across the album, helping shape the narrative and giving the project a sense of direction, almost like hearing the official recording of a Broadway show.
With this framework in place, the South London artist allows herself to fully explore the album’s diverse musical palette, and most of the time it works in her favor. Sometimes she fully embraces the theatrical side of the concept, especially during the closing section of the smooth R&B track ‘The WhatsApp Shakespeare’. Other moments are delivered more straightforwardly, such as the emotional slow building ballad ‘I Know You’re Hurting’. She also revisits her earlier dance influences with the impressive house track ‘Life Boat’.
Across the entire album, two things stand out clearly. RAYE’s flexible vocals sound better than ever, and her songwriting feels sharper than it has before. Take the playful highlight ‘I Hate The Way I Look Today’, a swing jazz inspired track reminiscent of Ella Fitzgerald, where she admits “I’m okay to be lonely / If I’m lonely and skinny / I have such silly self-loathing thoughts, it seems”. Then there is the emotional storytelling in ‘Nightingale Lane’: “It was right there, early June / Next to Old Park Avenue / Standing in the rain, I watched him walk away”.
Despite all the vulnerability and emotional struggles explored throughout the record, RAYE ultimately reaches a place of optimism, staying true to the album’s title. She gathers her close friends on ‘Click Clack Symphony’ with support from Hans Zimmer, finds closure with guidance from Al Green on the smooth seventies soul inspired ‘Goodbye Henry’, and reaches toward something greater alongside her sisters Amma and Absolutely on the uplifting ‘Joy’ as she searches to be “free of all the pain and every fear”. After the stormy opening imagery of that “rainy night” and “thunder”, RAYE eventually realizes that “the sun exists behind the clouds”, as she shares on ‘Happier Times Ahead’.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’ shows RAYE performing at her absolute peak. The album feels huge in scale and emotionally powerful, yet it remains rooted in honest experiences and real feelings. Yes, it asks a lot from the listener, but that is also what makes it so special. Every dramatic moment and musical shift feels like RAYE claiming her independence and finally creating music entirely on her own terms.
