Based on something I posted a few days ago on the japan-pioneers list, my initial impressions of Manafon have remained quite consistent.
As an early response (after 5 listens) I must say Manafon is impressive indeed. But I do say that with considerable reservations.
In the same way I find it difficult to explain most gallery artwork which resonates deeper than the superficial and familiar, I find it difficult to explain exactly why and how Manafon works so well.
Contrary to a number of other reviewers/posters, I find the instrumentation on Manafon for the most part incredible - atmospheric and moody, filled with the unexpected, and of a wonderfully narrative nature. Filmic indeed.
I actually have a singular difficulty with the work - I find Sylvian's vocals to a great extent purposelessly intrusive.
The sheer prominence of his vocals in the mix demands one's attention, but this attention is often unrewarded - firstly there are far too many dull and uninspiring third party descriptions and commentaries. I understand from Sylvian's own comments in interviews that he currently finds third-person lyrics the most effective way to work, but from the context of a listener who wants to engage with the work, it blocks access.
Secondly, and for me more importantly, the vocal seems to me to consist of mostly near-tuneless dissonance or repetitive but uncatchy or simplistic motifs. The Greatest Living Englishman is a case in point - not only lyrically an unengaging essay/story/rant but also with a cold, elusive non-melody going on and on for almost 11 minutes, yet which can't be ignored. Certainly it's not random, but it's so untuneful that the listening experience is grating. I acknowledge that edgy music can be powerful sometimes, but only if the listener is left with some reward - one's thoughts provoked, or a lingering emotional atmosphere which one can dwell in for example. But in this case, the experience is wholly unrewarding.
I'm left with a similar feeling to when I sit in a bus, forced to listen to someone jabbering banalities into their phone for the world to hear:
"hello? hello?....yeah, it's me...sorry, what?....oh, ok, right....yeah, what happened...I dunno....is he going to be there?....yeah, that's what I said....yeah, later tomorrow....it's next to the door....no, no......she thought it was like Andrea's....ahhh, alright....did you talk to Rod? What did he say?.....when?....Tuesday's no good, I'm at the centre....yeah, but.....I told her already....did you see that? Good, eh!.....yeah, yeah tell them both too......hold on, let me look.....yeah, it's here.....".
Unignorably, unwelcomely intrusive. I'd rather he shut up so I can listen to the fascinating and engaging sounds of the street, or in Manafon's case, the music.
On Manafon, the vocals on the Rabbit Skinner - Senseless Violence - Englishman - Spheres sequence all fall into this category. In contrast, the vocals on the remaining tracks while certainly not catchy or entertaining, have enough of a hook to hold one's focus and allow one to wallow in the intense atmosphere of the soundscape, and to engage with the work.
Like an art exhibition which provokes thought and the imagination but one wouldn't want to hang on one's own wall, Manafon to me is something of a sonic equivalent.
About half of it is chin-strokingly interesting to have heard a couple of times but doesn't encourage repeated listening.
There really is some incredible stuff on Manafon, and Sylvian could have made a startlingly compelling 25 minute EP here, but to me (as the Derek Bailey pieces do on Blemish) too many tracks dilute and distract from the strength of the remainder.
And to me this time, it's an issue with the vocals rather than the music.