It’s suitable that Harrisons’ debut album should be titled as it is. The international political climate, as well as the domestic English one, encourages the sense that as a dedicated, focused team, we are pro-actively and effectively wreaking havoc. It’s also fitting that Harrisons should adopt such a mantra, as they aim their energy and searing frustration squarely at the establishment.
No Fighting In The War Room leaps into life with the exciting, frenetic Dear Constable, a roaring British anthem driven by an urgent drum and bass interplay and delivered with menace thanks to vocalist Adam Taylor’s barely restrained restlessness and Ben Stanton’s incendiary guitar solo. It’s infectious and angry, and offers itself as a legitimate successor to The Clash’s London Calling. A likely contender for best in show, it perhaps overstates the achievement of what is to come. Whilst the following songs are often burning with passion and smouldering with charisma, they can also be misguided and, well, too distorted.
On the whole, the album suffers from a widespread production phenomenon: everything is just so loud. Subtlety is sacrificed in favour of immediate appeal, as the levels are shoved way up, all the time. Volume has become the most valuable commodity, and the songs suffer for it. The soft parts are as loud as the loud parts, and the loud parts are as loud as the chorus. Sonic complexity, so often the reward for persevering with a detailed record, just isn’t there. Admittedly, this is a post-punk record, and half the time the aim is to slam the listener with noise, but even The Stooges dropped the intensity sometimes.
Man of the Hour is a prime suspect, as is Blue Note. Both songs promise quite a bit. They’re exuberant and strong, thumping in your chest, but never reach the heights that they could. After a powerful opening, everything thereafter is undermined by a blurring sameness – except for rare moments when an unexpected harmony bursts through, or the slamming guitar suddenly drops out. These moments provide an entry point – which is fortunate, because patience here is usually rewarded. It’s just that for the most part, the alienating monotony is too much.
Melodically, No Fighting In The War Room treads a path followed by, among others, British India. A lot of the vocal work enjoys very little tonal difference, relying instead on a captivating yell. British India got away with it, mainly because the rest of the band asserted itself so strongly with spirited and foregrounded musical performances. Here, however, Harrisons have pushed the vocal tracks above everything else, leaving the well-wielded instruments in the distance and their tuneful melodies at times hard to grasp.
That said, thank god for tracks like Take It To The Mattresses. Once again, the brilliant rhythm section – drummer Mark White and bassist Ashley Birch – score first points, grabbing your attention with bouncing power. Stanton’s riff, right out of the Libertines/View handbook, is a whole lot of fun. It also launches an engaging Taylor vocal performance, complete with (you guessed it) interesting melody. In a similar vein, Simmer Away provides a small counter-point in its comparatively laid back, searching feel and raw vulnerability.
In Listen, out comes the acoustic guitar for the intended torch song that just doesn’t seem quite right. Maybe it’s the clumsy lyrics, like “where will you be five years from now/lost on your way knowing what it’s like to be sad”, or the lack of any emotional zenith. Whatever the reason, the track just doesn’t fit. Luckily, it’s immediately followed by Monday’s Arms, a fiery track that sounds more natural and is a lot more memorable.
Final number Come For Me is a heady adventure that could well be from the Kings Of Leon. It’s a worthy closer, interestingly formed. A drifting finger-picked acoustic run emerges occasionally from a crackling soundscape that builds a thrilling momentum. Come For Me solidifies the potential these lads have been showing throughout the preceding 11 tracks.
Hopefully Harrisons come to Australia soon. They seem like a band who would blow the roof off a venue, but who have fallen a little short in attempting to translate that energy onto record. Either way, they’re sure to incite a pulsating dancefloor and sweaty punters wherever they go – and indeed quite a few fans.
