Well, the good news is that lead singer Brendan Brown and his boys once again serve up more than enough "quarter pounder with cheese and a large soda please" friendly teenage daydream party tunes to have misunderstood urban kids everywhere simply creaming in their underwear.
Actually, such a gratuitous metaphor proves particularly apt with Wheatus intent on raising the explicit content stakes.
Investing their snotty sensibility with a potty-mouthed turn of phrase ("The Song That I Wrote When You Dissed Me", "Freak On") this is one band who clearly has their sights set on trying to get their original fan base to grow up with them.
Problem is, this kind of frivolous fare runs the risk of sounding oh-so obviously past its sell-by date.A preponderance of frothy dick-waiving affairs ("Lemonade", "Whole Amoeba") soaked in infectious fuzz-pop melodies never quite climax into full-blown dirty assed guitar grooves. So even their ironic approaches struggle to remain erect.
In fact, the far too tongue in cheek attempts to pisstake their own un-hip status - by lamenting the fact that they "play in a band that has no fans" ("American in Amsterdam") - come across as mere flaccid damp fizzles. So, not quite the perfect soundtrack to the next teen movie blockbuster, but still a suitably MTV wannabe friendly dose of fluff.
You'd think that a band that delivered a generation defining adolescent anthem of the delirious pop punk calibre of "Teenage Dirtbag" (2001) would experience something of a writer's block when it came to the next album.
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