Lost in the latest resurgence of indie music – a massive outpouring of 80’s throwback bands trying their hardest to sound like Robert Smith or David Gahan – is the musical renaissance occurring across the Atlantic.  While every so often small pieces of evidence of this movement float their way into the American consciousness by way of Pete Doherty and Amy Winehouse’s respective drug habits, there is a plethora of talent drawing on Britain’s own illustrious music history to create work that has a level of depth and quality not experienced since Nirvana single handedly destroyed hairspray rock. 

While the Libertines and Artic Monkeys have been the most visible players in respect to the American view point, bands like the Cribs, the Horrors, the View (Scotland), and Dirty Pretty Things have been pounding out amazingly eclectic and inspired rock records since Pete Doherty and company put an end to the Stone Roses inspired Brit pop of the 90’s with a Nirvana-esque finality, ushering in a new era of British music more inspired by Mick Jones than Noel Gallagher. 

Combing elements of the Clash, the Jam, and even America punk godfathers the Heartbreakers, The Paddingtons are the poster children for the amazing British band that has, inexplicably, not been able to crack America’s airwaves nor its frame of reference.

With the release of their first album First Comes First, in December of 2005, the fearsome-five-some — hailing from a decaying relic of the industrial revolution known as Hull, England — declared the return of punk rock’s roots with a rough, street-wise mentality, that fit the personification one would imagine considering their working class roots and upbringing. 

With their explosive – and most notably raw – sound, embodied by their notoriously anarchist live shows, The Paddingtons, absent any fictitiously financed indie image or marketing scheme, announced – rather loudly – a return to an ethos that seemed long lost in the shallow, boy meets girl, power punk, garbage masquerading as punk rock that has overtaken the scene in America. 

With well crafted hooks that sound as if they were written and sung first in a local Hull pub before being laid down on tape; highlighted by signature slashing chords drenched in thick distortion, one might even forget that nightmarish oddities like Emo and Blink 182 even exist. 

As the first chords of Martin Hines’ buzz saw guitar ring out on the album’s opening track, “Some Old Girl,” images of Johnny Thunders are immediately conjured like a ghastly punk rock phantom, snarling at you through your speakers.  The statement that, in quite simple terms, this is a punk rock record is made defiantly clear.