New Orleans’ Mutemath are a depressing reminder of how record execs with fangs for teeth and cement for soul see ‘gaps in the market’. Gaps which the normal, record-loving public don’t even begin to contemplate. You see, MM effectively plug the yawning chasm between vomit-rockers Hoobastank and spleenless morons The Feeling.

Dr Frankenstein never made anything as evil, sinister and deliberate as this wafer-thin debut that’ll probably sell buckets. Either way, it stinks worse than Jamie Klaxons’ sweaty plaster cast. ‘Typical’, ‘Chaos’ and ‘Notice’ are all a contrived slop of Maroon 5-esque drivel dressed in waistcoats and marketed as ‘rock’, when what they mean is heartless gloop. “Give me hope somehow” coos insufferable spokesman Paul Meany on ‘Chaos’.

We’ll give you a full tank of petrol and a 10-second headstart, Paul. Now scram!

Greg Cochrane