Harrisons No Fighting in the War Room by: Ed Butler Sat:15-Mar-08 Label: Melodic Year: 2008 WB rating 67 out of 100

It’s so easy to be scathing of the music industry: the production line band creation, the pretentiousness, the fads, the fashion, the snobbery and Jet. The music listener is routinely treated with veiled contempt by the recording industry machine, expected to pay for what is served up, then shut up and enjoy the tripe that it often turns out to be. And probably the greatest sin the Men in Suits commit is to reproduce bands. That is, once one band makes it big with a new sound, every bunch of no-talent, three chord goons with a big enough amp who are willing to ape those trailblazers gets signed, promoted, sent overseas to tour, then tossed away like the pawns they really are. It’s hard not to feel sorry for the poor kids. Until you hear their record (The Wombats, anyone?).

Similar sympathies should be extended to Harrisons, the next bunch of lively lads to emerge from Sheffield (land of those sub-zero primates) sporting thick accents, chiming guitars, post-punk aesthetics, and thinly veiled new wave references. So take the Arctic Monkeys’ urgency, Bloc Party’s social conscience, and Franz Ferdinand’s dancefloor sensibilities, and you’re most of the way to understanding Harrisons’ sound. However, these guys just don’t quite feel worthy of cynicism. There is an earnestness plastered all over No Fighting in the War Room that makes criticisms of their potentially derivative sound inconsequential.

But herein lies the problem. They are late. Last past the post. Much of what one hears on No Fighting in the War Room has been heard elsewhere on superior records. The aforementioned Bloc Party, Arctic Monkeys and Franz Ferdinand debut albums were all the vanguard, and the apogee, of their particular sounds. No one has done the new-wave dancefloor shaking beats of Franz Ferdinand, while Silent Alarm was a thumping shot of commentary wrapped in Matt Tong’s pounding rhythms. All this makes an unbiased, even-handed assessment of Harrisons’ debut ever more problematic. Because it’s quite good.

The punk-inspired rhythms drive some catchy-as-all-get-out melodies with frontman Jubby’s typically northern vocals, the slower numbers contain some genuine pathos, and, in ‘Monday’s Arms’, they have created one of the best disco rock anthems since Electric Six’s ‘Danger: High Voltage!’. Like almost all debut records, brevity is a byword on almost every track, and good ideas almost never overstay their welcome.

‘Simmer Away’ is a heartfelt paean to the lot of the prisoner, channeling the late, great Johnny Cash’s legendary regard for convicts, while opener ‘Dear Constable’, the most Arctic Monkeys-esque number here contains a bit less childish observation and more serious contemplation on the corruption of street cops in the power they wield over ordinary lads. No “His way or no way, totalitarian/He's got no time for you/Looking or breathing/How he don’t want you to” here, instead, there is “You’re full of false promises/All we’re looking for is a change”.

But it’s not quite enough. It’s too late. Half the reason 2005’s British new, new, new wave was so thrilling was that it was fresh, taking classic music from a bygone era and smacking the crap out of it with two fully charged defibrillator paddles. Two and a half years later, and Harrisons are on the scene, and it feels like that scene from every medical drama ever made where the heroic doctor refuses to believe his patient is dead, and keeps yelling ‘Clear!’, despite his colleague’s best efforts to gently restrain him. Whether this metaphor implies that Harrisons are the doctor or the corpse is up for debate, but all the talent in the world doesn’t quite remove the musty, mothballed odour that hangs around No Fighting in the War Room.

All that said though, as the chorus hook from ‘Little Lost Boy’ jangles from the speakers, it feels fresh enough. It’s not a classic, it certainly isn’t rewriting the rule book, but these guys can write a decent song. Maybe there’s life in the old girl yet. Clear!