Rewinding the Film

I tend to take a look at the new album releases on Spotimy every Monday and download those that interest me to local Spotify playlists on my iPhone, so I can listen to them at home or on the way to work.  Those of immediate interest this week were the new Sky Larkin and Sebadoh records as well as Rewind the Film from the Manic Street Preachers, to which I've given my first proper listen.

I'm not the world's greatest Manic Street Preachers fan, but they've undoubtedly written some great tunes and I have always admired the cut of their jib.  I have to say, I like the new album and am already looking forward to it's louder angrier twin, apparently recorded during the same sessions.  On Spotify (and I presume elsewhere), Rewind The Film comes bundled with demos of all songs which make interesting listening and, in some ways, I prefer some of them.  This is maybe because the album has a largely acoustic footprint and so the demos don't depart too greatly from the demo recordings.  However, I think it has more to do with the fact that the guest vocalists aren't present.

That said, I don't dislike Lucy Rose's contribution to This Sullen Welsh Heart... her vocals add an airy ambience to the proceedings reminding  me of Agnes Obel.  Cate le Bon's vocal on 4 Lonely Roads is harmless, but Richard Hawley on Rewind The Film I could live without.  Apparently, the song would not have made the album if he handn't agreed to lend his vocals to it, but the demo is much better for me.  The version with Hawley on is a frankenstein of a thing with his sleepy dad vocals slumped up against James Dean Bradfield's raring-to-go input.  To be fair, I don't get Richard Hawley.  I know many people do.

Anyhow, my main observation about Rewind the Film, accomplished as it is, is the fact that the lyrics often jar, not in terms of their content, but in terms of the way they sometimes nestle awkwardly in amongst the instrumentation.  There are many fractured pronunciations and misplaced emphases throughout the album.  In fact, if it hadn't come packaged with the demos, you'd be forgiven for thinking that James Dean Bradfield had been handed the lyric sheet, sight unseen, the second the engineer started the tape rolling.

Over time, I expect these little idiosynchracies will fade with regular listening into the overall feel of what will likely be a widely appreciated release from the Manics.  Until, then I'm quite enjoying revelling in the acuteness of its angles.