Damned if you do, damned if you don’t; that’s the byline on this review.

A world full of wrinkly ex-punkers collectively groan at the mention of another Buzzcocks release. But they can’t have it both ways, dear reader; they can’t not have a new release. Yes, it repeats the same old formula – short sharp mouthfuls of buzzed-up love and lust songs. Yes, it recycles past glories – if that’s the way you wanna see it. These, then, are the very same ears that groaned when Pete Shelley teamed up with Howard Devoto ater all those years (since the Spiral Scratch EP) to release their ditties of computer based noisery. They can’t have it both ways and so they choose to have it neither – instead of having a listen, they’ll neither put on Singles Going Steady nor Flat-Pack Philosophy. They will just bitch to their mates (over a pint at some Irish theme pub, listening to The Subways). So, reader, have you decided: which side are you on?

Let me prod you. Whilst playing the Jenny Lewis solo album one day at work, someone was heard to groan when her version of the Traveling Wilburys’ Handle With Care came on. And within five seconds, mind you. This theatrical groan can be paraphrased thus – I am old enough to remember the original and I want everyone in this room to acknowledge that. I want you all to know that I know this is not original and so even if I do hum along to this vastly inferior version it is not because I am enjoying it. I know both versions too, and for my money, it’s a great version. Sassy, catchy, and you know, you could dance to it (your choice). This person I mention, also, can’t have it both ways; if you see what I mean. And so, the Buzzcocks release another new album and it’s a ripper. Even if it is less Orgasm Addict and more Going Underground (but more on that later).

Imagine, if you can, that Flat-Pack Philosophy came to us without baggage and without the implicit history. If this album were the Buzzcocks’ year zero (say, an Up The Bracket or Whatever People Say I Am…) you couldn’t but expect a salivating reception across the British Isles. Sadly for all involved – and the band and label are doing themselves no favours this time round – that is impossible. Most media concerns their impressive lineage, their status as punk’s great survivors, their unmatched run of (how many? seven? eight?) classic singles, the hundreds of thousands of pimple-splattered bedits soundtracked.

Taken in isolation, Flat-Pack Philosophy is an awesome heartfuck of an album. It sounds like (classic Buzzcock tracks) What Do I Get or Love You More yet played but a wiser bunch of heads. As if The MGs, or more specifically The Jam circa All Mod Cons, were let loose on the Singles Going Steady songbook. This will be seen not as punk that is a living breathing social sliver, but punk as a wax museum (some might say mausoleum). Hell, this unwieldy paragraph merely confirms that!

Yet the more you dig into Flat-Pack Philosophy the more The Jam reference sticks glaringly out. Weller was always the most ‘mature’ of the class of 77. He seemed able to understand the roots of rock went beyond Gene Vincent leathers and New York Dolls personality crisises. Shelley/Diggle may have taken longer to get there, but get there they eventually have. And mainly care of Diggle’s tunes – Sell You Everything, Sound of a Gun and Big Brother Wheels. The lyrics even borrow from Dostoevsky and Orwell, not sticky-backed mags. Shelley, on the other hand, is still not ready to let both hands outta the trousers.

Reconciliation and Wish I Never Loved You could be, as mentioned earlier, any of their classic 7”s. The title track and God, What Have I Done (an archetypal Buzzcocks song title if there ever were one!) meanwhile hint at what they did best on their ‘real’ albums (ie. Another Music From A Different Kitchen). Which is not a hell of a lot different from the singles, that wouldn’t surprise you, would it? Add some guitar interplay and last for longer than two minutes. Their recent albums have seen them play to this strength but until Flat-Pack Philosophy there was a sense they were trying too hard to seem like a proper band, rather than the messy romantic kids they have always been.

To the point, then: Flat Pack Philosophy is a Buzzcocks record. If you grew up on a steady diet of Orgasm Addict, Oh Shit, et cetera, but find these days it makes good listening purely for nostalgia’s sake, then look again. It is more of the same, but with soul and technique. Still doesn’t excuse Buzzkunst, though.