Hard-Fi - Stars Of CCTV (2LP) - Yellow Vinyl

Hard-Fi’s debut still crackles with the kind of hungry energy you only get when a band has something to prove. Released in July 2005, Stars of CCTV arrived as a jolt from the commuter belt, all concrete glare and late-night trains, and it captured a very British moment with sharp hooks and a reporter’s eye. Richard Archer’s lyrics zoom in on low-wage grind, barked orders from bosses, and the lure of the city centre after dark. It’s social realism you can dance to, carried by big choruses and a rhythm section that understands the push and pull of the week.

The backstory is part of the pull. These songs were born in Staines, not in some big London facility, but in a makeshift setup that famously included a disused mini-cab office. You can hear that resourcefulness in the sound. The guitars are bright and clipped, the drums are boxy but urgent, and the bass often slides into a dubby sway that sets them apart from their mid-2000s peers. It nods to The Clash and the Specials without ever feeling pastiche. There’s a lot of air in the mixes too, which is why Stars of CCTV vinyl is well worth tracking down. On a decent system the low end sits warm under the chime, and Archer’s vocal has that lived-in, slightly nasal bite that puts the stories front and centre.

“Cash Machine” sets the tone with a skint-lad saga that felt instantly relatable at the time and hasn’t aged much. The chorus lands, but it’s the details that stick, like the way the band lets space turn into tension before the last lift. “Tied Up Too Tight” is the great escape fantasy, a blast of speed and frustration that dreams of trading a dead-end shift for the neon sprawl of the capital. “Hard to Beat” is the sparkler on the setlist, all fizzy guitars and side-street romance. It was the one you heard blasting from cars in summer, and for good reason. “Living for the Weekend” hits that sweet spot between sneer and celebration, clocking off on Friday with change in the pocket and a plan to make it count.

They weren’t all about nightlife. “Feltham Is Singing Out” pulls focus towards the local young offenders’ institute and the way a postcode can trap you before you start. “Middle Eastern Holiday” squares up to the Iraq era with a tart riff and a sense of dread that flares into anger. Then there’s “Move On Now,” a piano-led comedown that shows Archer’s knack for bittersweet melody without the rush of drums. The sequencing keeps you moving, but it also gives you space to sit with what they’re saying.

Stars of CCTV didn’t just catch ears on club floors. It was nominated for the 2005 Mercury Prize and went on to hit No. 1 on the UK Albums Chart in early 2006, as word of mouth and those massive singles rolled on. Critics from places like NME, Q and The Guardian warmed to its mix of grit and big-tent choruses, and fans turned up in droves. You still hear these songs at indie clubs, at five-pint singalongs, and, sometimes, coming from the open door of a corner shop on a hot day. That’s staying power.

On vinyl, the album’s personality pops. The basslines have more chew, the echo around the vocals feels intentional rather than a trick of compression, and the little percussive touches jump out. If you’re a crate digger hunting Hard-Fi vinyl, this one earns its shelf space. It also makes sense in a broader collection of mid-2000s UK guitar records, where it sits snug beside Bloc Party’s angular rush and the Streets’ street-level storytelling. If you’re browsing a Melbourne record store and spot a clean copy, grab it. For those looking to buy Hard-Fi records online, keep an eye on reputable shops that specialise in new pressings and back catalogue. Hard-Fi albums on vinyl tend to shift fast, and Stars is the one that everyone reaches for first, whether you’re in London or chasing vinyl records Australia wide.

What makes Stars of CCTV endure is the balance. It’s sharp but generous, cynical yet full of hope every time the chorus lifts. You can listen for the social sketching or just for the sugar-hit of “Hard to Beat.” Either way it stands as a snapshot of mid-2000s Britain, seen from the kerb outside the chippy, watching the cameras blink while the weekend finally rolls in.