It has been a dark time for fans of any kind of guitar rock. We've had to witness the proliferation of crass manufactured popteens, as they flood the charts like a tide of sugar-laced vomit. Dance music has mutated into new forms which are produced by - and aimed at - people with no imagination, no charisma, and no rhythm. Under this commercial pressure, punk genius and integrity has been hidden carefully under a fairly large stone. Green Day now sound like the Levellers and the once mighty Offspring are stuck in a moment they can't get out of. Our consolation prize is Fred Durst, a man who thinks he looks cool wearing Bart Simpson's baseball cap.

Legend spoke of just such a dark time. And it also spoke of a time of restitution, when the Once and Future King would return from the mists of a Spanish villa/studio, stand on a stage in a fetching pink skirt and call Anne Robinson a 'f***ing dog'.

And with him would ride a gruff dwarf, who would swing his Les Paul most valiantly in the name of justice.

And by their sides would ride the shy gnome that is called Sean, and he would be too busy worrying about Fidel Castro's intentions towards him to say very much, but he would raise his mighty battle horn for the trumpet solo of Ocean Spray.

After far too long, the Manic Street Preachers are back. And they're angry. They sold their souls when they released their internationally best-selling album This is my truth, tell me yours. And now they're buying them back with sweat, bile and good, honest VOLUME.

The first track makes this abundantly clear. Found That Soul, already a UK top ten hit, sets the tone for the album. A warm, fuzzy guitar part backs singer/guitarist James Dean Bradfield as he screams about vague existential angst before breaking into the first of many mighty choruses on the album. Interpreting Manics lyrics is sometimes a risky business, but this song seems to be a basic introduction to the new approach, an account of the band rediscovering their creative drive and vitality.

The second track is Ocean Spray. The first lyric written by James Dean Bradfield is an unqualified success. The song is about his mother, when she was dangerously ill in hospital. This is the band's answer to Let It Be. Full of sensitivity and emotion as it is, however, the song marks an interesting turning point for the band. For the last couple of albums, songs of this nature were covered with string instrumentals. Sometimes the soaring violins worked, and sometimes they didn't, but they're very obviously not here. The music is kept nice and simple. A single guitar strums through most of the song, with occasional electric support and a mournful trumpet solo. This is easily the most reflective song on the album, but it's harder than almost anything on This is my truth. The lyrics are magnificent, with lines like:

It's easy to see, it's easy to see
To see only light, where colour should be.

I really hope Bradfield writes a few more lyrics in future, because his first effort is a true classic.

Intravenous Agnostic is another great piece of punk rock. The disjointed lyrics hark back to the days before fourth member Richey Edwards disappeared. Bradfield picks up on this, and sings each phrase separately. This doesn't make the song's meaning any easier to understand. I read it as a song protesting against the way society presents us with so many conflicting ideals that it's almost impossible to decide on a belief system. More fuzzy guitar noise backs up this brilliantly inscrutable song with flair.

So Why So Sad. Another top ten hit, and a song which seems to have divided fans and critics alike. Basically, the detractors say, this song is a bit silly and sounds like the Beach Boys. To which all its supporters reply: 'What's wrong with the Beach Boys?' If you're going to pay homage in your songs, it makes sense to nod to the greats. And did you ever hear a Beach Boys song with lines like,

My smile as real as a hyena's
Burns an expressway to my skull.

Didn't think so.

Let Robeson Sing is, in my view, the greatest piece on the album. Some people, including Total Guitar Magazine can't stand it. However, this is one case where the pseudo-intellectuals can sneer at the detractors and say 'well, you don't understand it,' and probably be right. The song is a rousing tribute to great American Communist Paul Robeson. Again, this song is mercifully free of violins, instead it has the man himself, detailing his vision of racial and social harmony, talking about the 'freedom train'. Another simple song, with Bradfield clearly meaning every word he sings. Here are the lyrics:

Where are you now
Broken up or still around
The CIA says you're a guilty man
Will we see the like of you again

Can anyone make a difference anymore
Can anyone write a protest song
Pinky lefty revolutionary
Burnt at the stake for?

A voice - so pure
A vision - so clear
I gotta learn to live like you
Learn to sing like you

Went to Cuba to meet Castro
Never got past sleepy Moscow
A giant man with a heavenly voice
MK Ultra turned you paranoid

No passport till 1958
McCarthy poisoned through with hate
Liberty lost still buried today
Beneath the lie of the USA.

It's an absolutely flawless piece of work, and it's so very nice to hear the Manics actually being nice about someone.

The Year of Purification is next. It's a song that a few people think sounds like REM. I take their point, but I'd rather listen to this than the REM songs it apparently references. Sorry. Anyway, it's a great little song, and marks the first swearing on the album. What was that Wire? 'Moral little sh!t-lickers'. Ah, isn't it cute when he starts cussing?

Wattsville Blues is another song which will divide people. It's the first time lyricist/bassist Nicky 'the Wire' Jones has taken lead vocals. And he's rubbish. No, he is. He can barely hold the one note he sticks to throughout the song.

On the other hand, he can't really play the bass either. Plus, Nicky's charisma does somehow manage to come over through the flat delivery. Partly because it's a very personal song, about the modest house where he still lives in Wattsville, despite being a rock megastar. The very fact that Wire tried also lends the piece a certain charm, because while the man is brilliantly arrogant and abusive, he's never been under any illusions about his singing ability. I think most Manics fans will love this landmark piece of the band's development. Others will certainly wonder what happened to the sensitive and tuneful singing of all the other tracks, but I think it just about stands up to scrutiny.

Miss Europa Disco Dancer can only be described as a pleasant surprise. When I first heard that the Manics were going to do a disco track on the new album, I shuddered with apprehension. I was afraid they'd try and do a U2 and go all dancey on us. But fear not, because this song is very satirical, basically. The intro makes it sound like it's auditioning for a Shaft soundtrack, and the music's defiantly old-fashioned, in true Manics fashion. The dancer of the title is a self-destructive clubber, representing her whole club culture. And just in case we were in any doubt about the song's sarcasm, Wire ends the song telling Miss Europa exactly what he thinks of her and her kind.

'Braindead Motherf*ckers' - as the t-shirts are already reading.

Dead Martyrs After the most eclectic part of this diverse album, we're back to straightforward punk rock, although there's some odd electronic effects in the first verse. It's a very dark song, and I really hope my interpretation of it is wrong. Richey Edwards has, after all, become the band's very own Dead Martyr. Ever since he disappeared, fans have been claiming that the Manics can no longer perform. Richey's shadow has stretched over the band for three albums now, and I can't help thinking that this song addresses a bit of bitterness over this issue.

His Last Painting is one the album's less memorable songs. The lyrics again address the band's crisis over the price of their success, I think. I like the song, but it's not one that really lingers in the memory.

In fact, by this point in the album, there is almost a sense of overload. It's so diverse that there's only so much you can take in when you hear it all, especially with the magnificence of the opening eight tracks. I've taken to starting the CD on Dead Martyrs, and then going back to the start afterwards. Otherwise the greatness of these later songs becomes obscured.

My Guernica is not really one of my favourites. I still like it, but I don't really understand what the song's trying to say. It's quite a miserable, nihilistic song, but I can't really think of anything else to say about it.

The Convalescent is yet another fantastic piece of rock. Starting with a flood of references to film, painting and athletics in typical Manics fashion, the song continues with a quick jibe at Marilyn Manson before taking a more serious note with a comparison between the Holocaust and the conflicts in the former Yugoslavia.

Royal Correspondent sees a return to anti-Monarchy sentiment by the band. While the early Repeat was a direct attack on the British Royal Family, this song sets his sights on the rather sad people that take an obsessive interest in this bunch of inbred social parasites. Once again, what could have been a simple acoustic number gains a crunchy electric edge in the choruses.

You can see me getting more and more brief in my critiques of each track, as this is very wearing and I have an essay to write. Fellow epinioner and Manics fan Winick has a bit of a problem with Epicentre. I quite like it, but not enough to defend it, so just go and read what he's got to say on the subject.

Baby Elian is the most obviously political song on the album. Instead of sniping at general political attitudes, the Manics home in on the abduction of Elian Gonzales from Cuba. The political edge was sharpened further by the fact that the song was first played during the band's Cuban concert in February as an acoustic number. Its lyrics run in the band's great anti-American tradition, with a rousing affirmation of their socialist principles:

We follow a shining path
That you will never destroy.

Right on!

Freedom of Speech Won't Feed My Children. Another political song, and one which I hope they'll release as a single just for the title. It examines the odd priorities of the Western world. Freedom of expression is ultimately an empty right. The reason why Russia teeters around a return to Communism is simply because, whatever idiot politicians said about the USSR, everyone had a job, everyone got housed and everyone got fed. And to swap that for a system under which the shops are empty, unemployment rockets and the economy lies in tatters... All those sacrifices, just so a couple of newspapers can be free from Party control. And in Britain we have the monarchy, an unelected bunch of inbred losers. What difference between the Queen and Stalin?

The conclusion sums up the whole question, and the band's career. Freedom of speech won't feed your children, but it does give us all a clearer conscience.

Finally, there's a bonus track, a first for a Manics album. A cover of We Are All Bourgeois Now. I never heard the original version of this song, I have to say, but basically this is another piece of rock, with a distinctly retro vibe. It's so much better than your average bonus track. How many times have you sat through a ten minute silence at the end of an album just to hear a few drunk musicians frigging about with a piano for half a minute. This is a proper song which, though it doesn't add much to the album, rounds it off nicely after the scathing Revolutionary rock of Freedom of Speech.

How would I sum up this fine album, then? Well, it's a very varied mix, as I've pointed out. There's Beach Boys, REM, Clash, and all sorts of other influences. Its definitely setting sail for seas of punk, but it's a brand of punk that's much easier on the ear than the sharper power chords of your average US pop-punk band. It's also crammed full of provocative politics which, even if you don't agree with them, will give you something to think about.

Basically, this is a storming punk album which is also extremely accessible to people who don't really like punk. It's a rare example of a band consciously reacting against their popular success. They've freely admitted that the 'enemy' of the title is what the band had become around the time of 'The Everlasting'. Instead of trying to force themselves into a radio-friendly niche, the Manics have just had a great time banging out some solid tunes and pretentious lyrics. They've done what they enjoy, what they do best. And it rocks. They are back.

There's only one way to finish a review of this album, and that's to quote James Dean Bradfield after the Cuba gig:

'We are cool as f*ck.'

Recommended: Yes

Great Music to Play While: Exercising