Replay: The Vibrators, Pure Mania, 1977

History has slam-danced all over the Vibrators. Formed in the heartburn wake of the Sex Pistols, the fellow U.K. punks have been variously written off as second-string stragglers or praised as unsung heroes who, because they didn't revel in shock and excess, never got a fair shake. In fact, you have to wonder whether the band's residence in the Never Heard of 'Em file has to do with the fact that the Vibrators were so unpunkishly workmanlike. Flexible with lineup changes and consistent as London rain, the band lasted well into the '00s with a stream of releases that revealed a level-headedness and obvious dedication to (relatively) clean living that was downright unfashionable. Wait a sec. Aren't punk bands supposed to explode in a supernova of drugs and vomit? Maybe. Still, while the Vibrators may lack the dirty glory of rock anti-stars, they still boast plenty of power.

The band's 1977 debut, Pure Mania, is a raw, tasty one-two riff-fest, pierced with punk snarl and counterbalanced with a more mature tunefulness, putting the band somewhere between the roar of the Pistols and the more seasoned decadence of the Velvet Underground. The album sits comfortably at the center of a veritable wheel of rock styles: There are groaning guitar mini-freaks like "Into the Future," chooky-chook jangles like "Sweet Sweet Heart" and fanged popsters such as "Whips & Furs."

But maybe the Vibrators' lack of a bust in the wood-paneled halls of punk history has do with the lingering sense of boredom at the bottom of Pure Mania. You get the sense that lyrics--much of them filler on the way to another near-moronically repeated chorus--were a chore for a band that, in the end, didn't have much to talk about. Somehow, the Vibrators never discovered that fourth dimension of active, persistent ennui that could turn having nothing new or interesting to say into an art form--like those other poets of the insipid, the Ramones.--Andrew Kiraly