Know Your Enemy

Know Your Enemy

So many people seemed upset when the Manic Street Preachers finally softened and went sugary and stadium rock, you'd think it was some sort of surprise. But--ironically, for a Manics album--<I>Know Your Enemy</I> should keep everyone happy. It's as big and lush as their recent records, catchy and stirring, but more musically imaginative than anything since the mangled metal of <I>The Holy Bible</I>. Nicky Wire's lyrical pretensions can niggle (he even takes a slurring, atonal lead vocal on the predictably antagonistic "Wattsville Blues," which sounds like the prepubescent Jesus & Mary Chain till James Dean Bradfield's guitar and harmonies bring a shaft of light), but complaining about being irritated by Nicky Wire is like moaning that your cat won't fetch a stick. For the most part, against this fresh, textured pop, his words--alternately nihilistic and impassioned, self-pitying and perverse--come alive again. The real joy is not just that the Manics now want to spice their chromium rock with raspberry-blowing synths, lush and sunny orchestration, and (on "Miss Europa Disco Dancer") Bee Gees rhythms and electro-funk. It's that they're finally confident and accomplished enough to do it well, and with more verve than they've mustered for half a decade. <I>--Taylor Parkes</I>