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There’s a time and a place for everything. There’s a time, for instance, for sitting in the dark and listening to music that makes you feel all dark and angst-y. Angstiness can be just fine—in moderation. But then there’s also a time for having your friends over for drinks and listening to fun music—like the stuff you’ll find on The View’s album, Hats Off to the Buskers. Of course, those are the times that you may not remember much the next morning. You’ll wake with a bit of a headache and that pasty taste in your mouth, but you’ll be pretty sure you had a good time anyway.
That’s kinda the way it goes with Hats Off to the Buskers. The songs by this Scottish quartet may not be all that memorable. The majority of them probably won’t permanently plant themselves in your head, and you may not find yourself singing them in the shower the next morning—but it’s definitely fun while it lasts.
The View’s music is typically light and bouncy, with the carefree feel of a crazy Saturday night at the pub. Though the songs have punk undertones, the band tends to add their own flavor—a little pop here, a little ska there. Sometimes they rock it out, and sometimes they strip it down. And they mix in a plethora of influences. The lighter “Same Jeans” is reminiscent of Cornershop. And from time to time, you might pick up a little Stone Roses or Oasis. There’s a ton of Brit-pop influence on the album—but the guys are usually able to take their influences and mold them into something new.
Hats Off to the Buskers isn’t necessarily a lyrically-driven album. Sometimes, you can’t really tell what the guys are singing about—and the liner notes don’t necessarily help, either, since the lyrics are all scribbled in sloppy high-school-boy handwriting. But the lyrics that you can pick out only emphasize the band’s carefree attitude and healthy sense of humor. You’ll find plenty of songs about hitting the pubs and the clubs—not to mention a little bit about the morning after. One of my personal favorites (the melody of which I can’t get out of my head), “Don’t Tell Me,” talks about those painful morning-after revelations—but without too much remorse (“I don’t intend to stop my drinkin’ / I know I should and it’s clear thinkin’ / but don’t tell me…”).
A powerfully memorable album it’s not. It’s not deep or meaningful or especially thought-provoking. But Hats Off to the Buskers is just the thing to pop into the CD player when you’re getting ready to go out. And I dare you to try to make it through the entire album without bouncing. I’m pretty sure it can’t be done.
