Manic Street Preachers, Barrowland, Glasgow review - elder statesmen deliver melody and sing-a-longs

As you might expect from a Manic Street Preachers gig, literary influences were never far away. A DH Lawrence quote was prominently displayed on the video wall before the group took the stage, and band lyrics would randomly flash up throughout the ensuing performance. This occasionally raised an unintentional eyebrow, as when “Scream to a Sigh” was accompanied by I am a Relic lighting up – somewhat ironic for a group now so long-lasting they’re into a fourth decade.

You could tell the longevity in other ways too, like the voices of nearby fans discussing prior gigs as if they were tours of duty, statements like ‘well, I saw them on the Holy Bible shows” being aired with self-satisfaction and pride while a booming “it’s a different setlist tonight!” was declared with an authority akin to the wisdom of Solomon. In truth, the repertoire barely differed on this second night in Glasgow, save a track from new release "Critical Thinking" – ther 15th album – being dropped for a punchy take on old favourite “Australia”.

That meant the trio, aided by additional musicians on guitar and keyboards (including noted producer Dave Eringa), provided a smattering of tracks from that new record, another handful of more obscure oldies, a few tracks from recent albums and then most of the expected big hitters from the Nineties.

The fresh material was less rousing, more pleasingly melodic, with a sweetness running throughout the opening “Decline & Fall” and the reflective pop of the Morrisery referencing “Dear Stephen”, and while Nicky Wire – shades on, faux leopard print top donned at one point – might have joked about wanting to be back on the booze prior to taking lead vocals on “Hiding In Plain Sight”, the pared back acoustic-led tune managed to cut across a Saturday night dancefloor filled with folk who mostly just wanted to bellow their lungs out.

There was plenty of opportunity for that, though. If the most recent Manics material was enjoyably hummable, then some of their stalwarts were as boomingly robust as ever, from the guitar histrionics that fuelled “Motorcycle Emptiness”, dedicated to a Glasgow café, to the totemic drumming of Sean Moore that underpinned a typically mighty “Design For Life” and the Britpop bounce of “You Stole The Sun From My Heart”. These were hefty communal sing-a-longs led by a fine vocalist in the red-clad James Dean Bradfield, and even a hardened cynic fed up of 90s nostalgia would find it tricky to resist being swept along with the masses.

Wire’s high kicks and Bradfield’s bounces are performed rather more gingerly now, but there is a feisty spirit there that you suspect will never fade. It ran through some of the night’s highlights, beating underneath the way “The Everlasting” switched from acoustic opening to crashing noise, fizzing inside the Skids style pogo of “Walk Me to the Bridge” and, inevitably, emerging on the snap of “Motown Junk”. That was preceded by Wire holding aloft an old T-shirt to recall memories of Richey Edwards. Such days of fire and anarchy are gone, but neither are the group relics yet either – more like elder statesmen with a tuneful bite.   

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