I'm making things simple here. Usually, I'll come upon a rating by judging the relative quality of an album along the Pitchfork scale of complete hideousness to absolute genius. Failing that, I'll begin with a 10.0, and subtract points for the various flaws I encounter, implementing a sort of reverse SAT system. However, I've come up with a new system specifically for Shalini's We Want Jelly Donuts. Desperate times require drastic measures.

Instead of subtracting, I'm starting at 0.0 and adding points for the good qualities of this album. The first is that, with a name like Shalini Chatterjee, this album ought to be at least remotely good. I'm talking literally, though; I mean that it's a cool name to have, not that her tenure as frontwoman in Vinyl Devotion has given her any respectable prominence.

The second is that the title of the album is pretty cool in itself, despite having nothing to do with the actual album. When read as an acronym, it spells out W.W.J.D.-- that ever-popular Jesusian mantra. I'm all for the subtle or not-so-subtle derision of the truck-stop and t-shirt promotion wing of mainstream Christianity.

The third is the fact that there are some pretty decent, even ear-turning arrangements on this album. Little instrumental parts-- incorporating vintage- style textures such as lap steel, analog synthesizers, Chamberlin, and electric harpsichord-- are dolloped liberally in just the right places to elevate these songs to previously unattainable heights. I credit most of these effects to producer Mitch Easter, who co-wrote four of the album's five redeemable songs. I regard the surprisingly appealing "Around the Eyes," the singular decent Shalini-penned track on We Want Jelly Donuts, as a fluke-- a kind of talent osmosis.

So, working backwards, what's taking the other seven points away? Oh, just paltry little things like the songs themselves, and Shalini's grating vocals. The songs range from '60s-influenced dream-pop ("Telepathic World," "Get Free") and near synth-pop pastiche ("Emotion Bomb"), to fairly generic pop-rock. But for all the on-paper variety, these songs simply aren't that distinguishable from one another. Clichéd? You bet your sweet, sweet can!

The vocals, while not terrible on the level of, say, your average middle school chorus, are bad enough to distract from the songs themselves. Shalini's pretty consistently off-pitch in a fey, cutesy kind of way that nauseates in ways never thought possible. These songs might sound alright if someone like Sarah Shannon were singing them, but nothing could ever make them actually good.

So, to recap: songs bad, gloss good. Unfortunately, this isn't so damned pretty that I can ignore the poor writing and vocal performances. Actually, I can think of precisely zero reasons for this album to exist, and that's enough for me to make this anti-recommendation.

-Craig Griffith