The debut album from Britain's Addict perpetuates the stereotype of what it means to be a Brit and, to a lesser extent, what it means to be a commercially successful, American alt-rock band in the late 1990s. Addict is comprised of four pouty lads that play fiercely, then tenderly, with seemingly nothing to say. They cloak their irrelevancy in vague nonsense like, "She's in love/ But she doesn't know what she needs/ Or how to let go/ It feels like being married/ She was too young to miscarry."

In their defense, they've patterned their music after Live, who have had some critical and commercial success in the impassioned "woe-is-me" anthem-chanting arena. But sounding like a band fronted by a bald guy is a criticism, too. What Addict could use is a personality of their own. And why are they so anguished and cynical? They look about 20 years old! Have there been that many youthful tragedies in their lives that they're actually wrought with such torment?

My guess is that Stones is more the product of a slick marketing plan than it is sincere music. It's as staid and staged as another popular British standby, the afternoon tea. You can almost hear the professional photographer taking the obligatory group shot for the liner notes: "Remember-- look pretty and sweet, but like a fierce animal."

-James Coyle