The current, post-Libertines vogue of observational British barstool-punk is starting to feel a lot like the indie rock equivalent of reality-television, with the novelty of examining the mundane minutiae of the common bloke becoming ever more diminished by an over-saturation of low-budget bards who think they have something to say about nothing.
Barely out of high school, Scottish wunderkinds the View already seem late to the game, though the overly familiar nature of Hats Off to the Buskers probably also accounts for its recent ascent to the No. 1 position on the UK charts. The scenes here are as typical as wood paneling in a local, from the sloppy but spirited skiffle-punk clipped riffs to the thick regional accents to the live-forever anthems that valorize the working-class heroes ("Superstar Tradesman") and weekend warriors ("Wasted Little DJs", which in contrast to Jet's "Rollover DJ", actually praises the titular spinners for playing "the same record 16 times"). But the flipside to youthful exuberance is limited life experience, and for every keen characterization ("You have a house in the Ferry/ And a new guitar/ That's never been played before/ And it never will"), there's a chorus that hinges on a throwaway line like "Look at the streetlight/ What a pretty sight."
The copious UK press comparisons to a younger, hungry Oasis are reinforced by the presence of that band's one-time producer Owen Morris, but there's a crucial difference between the two bands' debuts: Where Oasis aspired to-- and, through sheer bravado, achieved-- a classic rags-to-riches triumph, the View seem content with just the rags. A noble stance, sure, but it doesn't make for the most compelling, inspiring rock 'n' roll. Their response to the uncertainties of the modern world is to be as proudly ordinary as possible, as illustrated by "Same Jeans", an agreeable folk-rock mission statement that seems destined to join James' "Laid" as a perennial bar-jukebox pint raiser. "Everybody's dressing up/ I'm dressing down," frontman Kyle Falconer sings, and as if there was any doubting his purism, he actually punctuates the sentiment by blowing on a harmonica.
Like so many debuts, Hats Off to the Buskers is ultimately a document of a band searching for their own voice in those of others. Falconer can do Liam ("Don't Tell Me"), he can do Pete Doherty ("The Don") and even Steve Marriott (the incongruous, sub-Stooges thrasher "Comin' Down"). But I'd like to hear the band do more berserker punk rave-ups like "Skag Trendy", which is sung by bassist Kieren Webster in a voice that playfully slips and slides up and down his register as the song's tempo accelerates and lags in random fits. It's one of the few moments here that doesn't seem so beholden to a specific Britpop tradition-- and suggests the View have it in them to drop their blinkers.
