The greatest lyric in the history of Pop is "Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah." All of Pop can be condensed into that one word, whether it's a transcendent cry of joy, or the downtrodden, sighing whisper of 'yeah.' It is Pop in diamond form. Johnny Boy understand this and take full advantage of it, leading to a magic point two minutes into You Are The Generation That Bought More Shoes And You Get What You Deserve where the song lingers on "Yeah! Yeah!" just long enough for you to swoon.
It's the way the title makes the entire career of the Manic Street Preachers seem irrelevant; a gloriously pretentious slogan that eclipses anything that Nicky Wire could imagine (and James Dean Bradfield knows this, as he co-produces this single). It's the way that the song has a perfect structure: opening with the Be My Baby drum beat, a beat so Pop that it shimmers with the gleam of stolen jewels, so pure, so right. Then glockenspiels, a firework across the speaker channels, before Lolly sings the first verse and chorus in the sprit of a 1950s singer, gently introducing us to the Wall of Sound, and then singing the whole first verse again with the backing of the Wall. It's the way that the Wall is dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st Century, given an injection of THX to create something more than just a Wall; this is a Tunnel. And yes, it's that point two minutes into the song where it decides it's through playing games and throws you at the walls of the Tunnel, into Sound Itself. It's reflecting back at you, refracting all around you, changing with each listen as "Yeah! Yeah!" and "oo baby" echo in your soul. This is Pop. This is Magic. Then, just as soon as you decide you want to stay there forever, the song pulls you back out, back onto the rails for the abrupt finale, leaving you thirsty for more. And then you play it again. And again.
Lyrics? Partly lost in the production, becoming signs on the Tunnel that you glimpse as you rush past, but when you catch one ("this frequency's my universe", or "sleek mystique reversed"), it is celestial ; a call to arms, against consumerism, to watch meteors streak across the night sky, for the end of the night, when even though the world is shot, you just can't help agreeing with the opening lyrics of "And I just can't help believing / though believing sees me cursed". And the choir of church bells, chimes, and the synth from Soft Cell's Tainted Love makes it shine even brighter. Indiepop for the masses; a mad mix of ideas, trampled jam tarts, razor-sharp nail polish and cherry lipstick, throwing the zombie corpse of Paul Weller into a Car Wash.
You need this record in your life. But I can't give it to you here. And there's only 3000 copies of the single. Email me.