Like the Jam before them, the Libertines were a phenomenon in Britain that never clicked on this side of the pond. The View descend directly from that pissed-off, working-class punk-pop tradition — in fact, their debut owes such a debt to the Libertines, it’s tempting to dismiss them as imitators. But class warfare is best fought by guys whose fingernails are still dirty with nine-to-five grime, and between snarling, desperado salvos like “Superstar Tradesman” and hopeful romps like “Wasted Little DJs,” these young Scotsmen have grime to spare, along with a belief in rock’s power to rescue them from it.