Editors - The Back Room (LP) - Clear Vinyl

In the rush of mid-2000s guitar bands, Editors arrived with a debut that felt built for late nights and long shadows. The Back Room landed in July 2005 on Kitchenware Records and quickly earned the band a devoted following, platinum sales in the UK, and a Mercury Prize nomination the following year. That feels right when you drop the needle and hear how fully formed they were. Tom Smith’s baritone sits right in the pocket of those taut, chiming guitars, while the rhythm section locks into a steady, unshowy pulse that keeps the tension coiled.

“Munich” is the hook that grabbed a lot of us first. The chorus line people still shout at gigs, “People are fragile things, you should know by now,” captures the band’s trick of sounding huge without sanding away the ache. Chris Urbanowicz’s guitar is all clean lines and icy bite, but he leaves enough space for Russell Leetch and Ed Lay to drive the song forward. “Blood” keeps that momentum, its clipped riffs and quicksilver tempo wrapped around a melody that lodges in your head and refuses to move out. Then there’s “All Sparks,” a tighter, nervier pop song that proves they could write for radio without blunting their edges.

The darkroom mood never drifts into murk. Jim Abbiss, who produced the record, gives everything a crisp frame, so even the gloomiest corners feel alive. “Camera” chills the room with a careful hush, Smith sounding close enough to whisper in your ear. “Open Your Arms” rises in waves, a reminder that Editors were always aiming for rooms bigger than the clubs they cut their teeth in. And “Fingers in the Factories” is a shot of adrenaline that made sense as a set closer for years, the kind of track that turns a floor into a single moving body.

It’s hard to overstate how this record sat in its moment. Post-punk revival was the tag of the day, and sure, you can hear Interpol and Joy Division in the genetic code. But The Back Room feels less like a copy and more like a city of its own. The songs are lean, never cluttered, and the band’s sense of drama comes from restraint rather than theatrics. That’s why the album plays so well front to back. You get the anthems that brought them to the charts, plus deeper cuts that reward repeat listens. “Someone Says” and “Lights” don’t beg for attention, they earn it. By the time “Distance” closes the album, you’ve traveled from neon-lit streets to a quiet 3 a.m. walk home.

The run of singles mattered. “Bullets” was the introduction, a declaration of intent that set the table for “Munich.” Those tracks brought a wave of press and festival slots, and critics took notice. The Mercury nod in 2006 helped cement the idea that Editors were not just riding a trend but writing songs that would hold up. Nearly twenty years on, this thing still snaps into focus the second it starts.

If you collect, The Back Room vinyl deserves a spot on your shelf. Early pressings don’t linger long in the wild, and new copies tend to vanish as soon as shops restock. That first drop of “Lights” through speakers gives the guitars a sheen you miss on compressed streams, and the low-end throb of “Blood” tightens in a way that flatters the band’s precision. I’ve seen copies disappear fast at my local Melbourne record store, and a quick scan of vinyl records Australia sites usually shows a few copies hovering in and out of stock. If you want a sure thing, it’s easy to buy Editors records online, and it’s worth browsing beyond the debut since Editors albums on vinyl make a tidy run on a shelf. But if you’re starting somewhere, start here.

The Back Room is that rare debut that sounds both of its time and slightly outside of it. Editors caught a mood and put it on tape with no bloat, no filler, just a clear sense of who they were and how loud a whisper could be. It’s the kind of record that turns casual listeners into fans, and fans into people who won’t leave without checking the E bin for Editors vinyl, just in case a copy is hiding there waiting to be found.