THE Libertines made their name creating the ramshackle sound of a band falling down stairs. But there were already a few groups waiting at the bottom in a fashionably crumpled heap.

One act Pete Doherty might have bumped into amid flying cymbals and creased suits would have been Orange Juice.

Frontman Edwyn Collins mined semi-tuneful songs of fragile beauty from the rugged terrain of early 80s Glasgow. He is recovering after a brain haemorrhage, yet before becoming ill he produced The Cribs, a trio of young Yorkshire tyros well versed in his post-punk DIY ethic.

The brothers Crib - Gary, Ryan and Ross (who boast a combined age of 68) - must also have a well-thumbed copy of Mark E Smith's guide to lo-fi indie sitting alongside Famous Five books at Jarman Towers, Wakefield.

But instead of aping The Fall's anti-commercial tirades, the punk fans have allowed Collins to layer their vitriolic sound with more anthems than you could shake a Buzzcocks best of at. Curtain raiser Hey Scenesters! delivers a desultory sneer at the fashion-conscious Leeds live circuit, with a riff so powerful it could deflect fork lightning.

Better still, alternative anthems in waiting Mirror Kissers and Martell brim with enough handclaps and 'la la las' to fuel a thousand festival lighters, while the incessantly catchy We Can No Longer Cheat You and It Was Only Love impress with their riotous nursery-rhyme charms and spiky riffs. Eleven tracks shoot by in 34 minutes.

This cocksure second album shows The Cribs - surely the tastiest prospect to emerge from Wakefield since rhubarb - are wasting no time cementing their new wave roots.

Updated: 10:52 Thursday, July 07, 2005