In his caustic riposte regarding A Certain Ratio, Pitchfork staffer Jess Harvell astutely suggested that reissue culture is like archaeology-- no matter how artifact-rich an excavation site might seem, there comes a time when nothing remains but dirt and some rocks. This analogy can easily apply to music of the moment, but instead of "archaelogical dig," think "gold rush" or "dot-com boom." Prospecting magnate discoveres heretofore untapped resource and makes a nice chunk of change from exploiting said resource, and suddenly everyone and their pet therapist is out there with a sifting pan and a domain name, trying to get a piece of the pie.
In case you just joined us: A chic bandwagon to hop on board right now is this family-sized "whatever the hell you want to call the deluge of alternative post-punky new-wave" jalopy. If you're like me, you'll gladly go back for seconds more often than not. If you're like Jess, you'll suckerpunch the chef and piss in the fish tank. And regardless of quality, the signal-to-noise ratio is going to favor the static. For every Killer success or act of Bravery, there are numerous acts that go straight from Boardwalk (or Baltic Avenue) to the dollar bin, left waiting for their reclamation at the hands of next generation's LTM. And, like Jess said, sometimes these folks end up on the margins because they were marginal in the first place.
So, yeah, Hard-Fi: class-conscious lads from the UK with the right records in their collection do it themselves, get the kids and press to sing and dance along, then get a sugar daddy to help them do it on a grand scale despite the dodgy band name. And, hey, now they can add "Mercury Prize nominee" to their CV. One of the first sounds on the album is the toot from a melodica drenched in echo; now you know why I bothered with the introduction. Despite some interesting accoutrements (tasteful trumpets yay, bombastic strings meh) and some game attempts at eclecticism (acoustic pluck wicked, piano ballad oh geez), Stars of CCTV is of a part with the varied guitar-driven stuff that their fellow Mercury nominees-- Bloc Party, Kaiser Chiefs, etc.,-- have offered folks this past year.
Their "Take Me Out" is called "Hard to Beat", which shows that, between shots of Entertainment! and London Calling, Daft Punk has in fact been played at their house. This example notwithstanding, Hard-Fi's attempts to pitch woo to hot girls in love aren't as successful as their paeans to working for the weekend. To wit: "Living For the Weekend", a sonic twin to "Hard to Beat", though its disco magic points more towards Donna Summer than to French guys in Battlestar Galactica helmets. Hard-Fi fight for their right to party ("Unnecessary Trouble"), they struggle to make ends meet ("Cash Machine"), and they yearn to get the hell outta Dodge ("Tied Up Too Tight"). And, occasionally, they wonder about going to war and being under constant scrutiny and ending up in prison.
It's this sense of the personal politic that separates Hard-Fi from the rest of the nu-wave pack. Clearly, the Clash received a few more spins than the Go4. Instead of offering hi-falutin' conceptual treatises, Hard-Fi infuses their message with a grounded sense of place that's not just tied to London. The search for culprits in the wake of the London subway bombings lends a bittersweet taste to the twerpy sarcasm in the album's title track ("We're the stars of CCTV/ Making movies out on the street")-- this sentiment could just as easily apply to any number of invasive acts carried out under the aegis of the Patriot Act. The marginalized West London kids in "Tied Up Too Tight" could be the kids from down the block or one town over. And when HM Young Offender Institution & Remand Centre Feltham sings out, it sounds like the long-predicted riot could begin at any place, at any time. In other words: If you find this in the dollar bin next year, consider yourself very lucky.
