Sometimes, like you, I look at Mansun and laugh my zip-covered orange jumpsuit off.
Sometimes, like you, I look at Mansun and laugh my zip-covered orange jumpsuit off. But then I listen to records like this and forget any piddling, snobbish objections to their clothes, hair or regional roots. Like the bumble bee,
Mansun songs appear far too ungainly to fly, but fly they do, right up beyond the official rules of indie cool. ‘Electric Man’ is classic Paul Draper on first contact: queasy and treacle-voiced to begin, huge and persuasive by the end, swept along by the sort of towering chorus which could topple empires. Draper is trying to be David Bowie trying to be Marvin Gaye on ‘Young Americans’, or possibly trying to be Brett Anderson trying to be David Sylvian trying to be Bryan Ferry on ‘Head Music’ – in fact, on strutting newie ‘The Apartment’ he even sounds like Freddie Mercury circa ‘Killer Queen’. But whatever parallels
you lob at Mansun, this is still a mighty anthem of string-kissed, winsdswept soul-rock.
Unwieldy? Overreaching? Pompous? In parts, maybe, but admit it – sometimes you really
feel like an ice-cream sundae with all the toppings.