The Cribs - The New Fellas (LP) - Transparent Yellow Vinyl

The Cribs’ second record, The New Fellas, landed in 2005 on Wichita Recordings and still feels like a living document of a band sharpening its teeth in public. It is the leanest, most combustible version of the Jarman brothers’ chemistry, produced by Edwyn Collins at his West Heath Yard studio in London. You can hear why they chose him. Collins understood the tension that makes The Cribs tick, the way Ryan and Gary’s ragged harmonies scrape against each other while Ross barrels the whole thing forward, and he kept that electricity instead of sanding it down.

“Hey Scenesters!” kicks the door first. It is a rallying cry and a takedown at once, a bratty, serrated guitar line framing a lyric that stares down the indie gatekeepers of the mid-2000s. That stance runs through the album, but the band never forgets the hooks. “Mirror Kissers” shines with chime and spite, a rush of melody that still sounds like a pile-on in a tiny room. “Martell” namechecks the cognac but really it is about swagger and regret, a tight, surging pop song that refuses to behave like one. Even the ballads feel unvarnished. When they pull back, they do it to show more bruises, not fewer.

A lot of records from that era chased the dance floor or leaned into polish. The New Fellas went the other way. The guitars are wiry, the bass tone sits up front, and the drums swing in that very human way that reminds you this is a band that cut its teeth on small stages. Collins and his longtime setup at West Heath Yard are part of the story. His ear for economy, honed since Orange Juice days, keeps each track short, sharp, and nervy. Nothing overstays, and nothing is undercooked. You get the sense these songs were road tested, then captured fast.

The Cribs were already known for their DIY streak and that comes across in the lyrics as much as the sound. There is a through line of calling out cynicism, scene posturing, and the anxiety that builds when your band suddenly has a spotlight. That honesty earned the album a lot of love on release. UK press leaned in, with NME and The Guardian praising the bite and the anthems, and fans locked onto it as the moment where The Cribs found their voice. It is often held up as a breakthrough for good reason. The writing tightened, the choruses got bigger, and yet you still hear the scrappy Wakefield spirit that made their early gigs so fun.

It is also a record that keeps giving on vinyl. The New Fellas vinyl has a welcome midrange growl, the sort that makes “Hey Scenesters!” feel like it is coming off a pub PA and into your lap. If you collect The Cribs albums on vinyl, this one sits next to the debut and sets up the world-beating confidence of Men’s Needs, Women’s Needs, Whatever. I have pointed more than a few curious shoppers to it while crate digging, because it converts people within a side. If you are trying to buy The Cribs records online, start here, then circle back to the first LP to trace the arc.

For folks who obsess over production credits and studios, there is joy in hearing Collins’ touch without any gloss. The vocals still crack, the guitars occasionally flail, and that is the charm. The band’s twin-vocal approach, with Gary’s bass anchoring the melodies and Ryan’s guitar carving lines through them, is captured with real care. Ross’s drums thump and rush, never stiff. It is the kind of performance that makes you nostalgic for tight rooms and sticky floors, even if you’re reading this from a quiet corner of a Melbourne record store. If you hunt for vinyl records Australia side, keep an eye out, as copies don’t tend to linger.

The New Fellas has earned its status as a fan favorite because it nails a rare balance. It is furious but generous, bratty but romantic about the idea of a band. The standouts are easy to name, yet the album works best as a sprint from start to finish. Fifteen years on and more, it still feels like a dare to drop the needle and turn it up. The Cribs vinyl racks are deeper now, and the band’s story has plenty of chapters, including the later Johnny Marr era, but this is the one that proves how much can happen when three players trust their instincts and a producer trusts them back.