Review

Think of them as the band that duped a nation - or at least the British music press. Admittedly, the latter is hardly a feat (Robbie Williams, anyone?), but as Manic Street Preachers and their latest effort This Is My Truth, Tell Me Yours continue to rack up praise and awards in the UK (they were voted "Best Act in the World" by Q magazine's readers), the band has been largely ignored in the United States.

"Too clever for America," the Brits proclaim - a battle cry conveniently appropriated from the Blur defense movement of the mid 1990s. It's an explanation that rings somewhat hollow coming from the nation that spawned the Spice Girls and Take That - and especially hollow in defense of a band whose bassist once said publicly that he wished Michael Stipe would die of AIDS. Unfortunately, none of this rings quite as hollow as the record itself, which begs the question "what good is cleverness when it's only for its own sake?".

This Is My Truth... starts promisingly enough. Both "The Everlasting" and "If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next" are well crafted and sonically pleasing - even thought-provoking - but things quickly take a turn for the worse with "You Stole The Sun From My Heart." Arranged and produced with all of the energy, gravity and grandeur of the first two tracks, this piece is little more than dressed-up arena rock, reverberating off barren concrete walls (perhaps recorded live at one of their empty U.S. gigs). From this point on, the Manic method emerges to dominate the remainder of the album: melodically sparse song structures propped up by studio produced guitar and/or organ effects, overwrought string arrangements and "ahhs" from James Dean Bradfield, and lyrics that go from banal to purposefully obtuse. Only "My Little Empire" stands out from the clutter. In the end, it seems as if the band tries to convince the listener that each track is the most important song ever recorded. The drawback of such an approach - guaranteed failure - is fairly obvious.

The album's specific shortcomings do not alone explain the band's lack of commercial success in America, however. After all, Americans have demonstrated a sickening willingness to indulge in even the most meritless imports (Bush, or the aforementioned Spice Girls). The root of MSP's trouble lies in the fragmentation of the U.S. market, and the fact that their sound manages to slice many commonly mated genres into mutally exclusive segments. The expansive arrangements, cybal-heavy percussion, melodramatic choruses and shrill chords of Bradfield's voice evoke a late eighties arena rock sensibility - something that American alternative enthusiasts have rejected for years. However, the sometimes programmed beats and wet guitar and keyboard effects, especially when coupled with more complex (and I'm being generous here) lyrical content, tend to evoke a more modern, alternative sound - something traditional rock fans reject. The result is a band that's too clever for Damn Yankees fans, but not clever enough for Pavement fans, too soft for Metallica fans, but to hard for Beck fans, too righteous for Offspring fans but too hollow for U2 fans. As for the R&B dominated pop charts, forget it. How many Britney Spears fans care about what three British blokes are agonizing over? Add to this the band's utterly humorless demeanor, and you've got a recipe for commercial disaster.

Artistically, Manic Street Preachers may seem to aim high, but the emptiness of their specious, manufactured grandeur will leave most U.S. listeners - regardless of their IQs - thirsting for something a bit more genuine.