On the surface, there's nothing wrong with wanting to revive the gently loopy spirit of early '60s psychedelia. But just because you slap a Hammond organ on top of some garage-buzz guitar, toss in a backward solo, and hand a tambourine to a band member's girlfriend, it doesn't mean you're suddenly the Kinks, or even Strawberry Alarm Clock. Are you listening, Asteroid Numberfour? If you're going to be copping moves from the same moribund genre that spawned "Austin Powers" and his many oft-repeated catchphrases, you'd better have some style of your own to bring to the party.

Bands like the Olivia Tremor Control, Guided By Voices and the Lilys can get away with this kind of thing because they have passion, skill, and the knack for a catchy pop hook. Asteroid Numberfour seem to think that hiring the Lilys' Kurt Heasley to co-produce the five songs on Apple Street will get them by. Well, guys, the genius didn't exactly rub off. At least Heasley did his job well, since Apple Street has enough little flourishes to pass for a reasonably authentic replica. But it never sounds like the band cares at all about originality, or has any remotely compelling reasons for making music.

And that's not even the bad news. You want the bad news? Here it is: Apple Street sucks, and it sucks hard. Not because the music isn't well written or because there's so little effort put forth, but because it's shot through with the kind of sneering condescension and vapid posturing that makes Marilyn Manson seem earnest. Take the tired, by-the-numbers scenester-dissing of "Local Fashion Junky": astoundingly, Asteroid Numberfour makes us feel sorry for the title character when jeering, "If you're feeling lonely/ There's no need to cry, I'll tell you why/ You should hear the way we talk about you." I don't think I need to point out the irony here.

Then there's the sickeningly saccharine flute solos on "Poor Man's Falls" which manage to turn a half-baked portrait of go-nowhere small-town life into something almost reprehensibly exploitative. Why don't I believe a word you sing, Asteroid Numberfour? Perhaps the cynical lyrics and bouncy pop melodies works for countless other bands, but you just fail miserably at it. Get the fuck out of my sight.

-Nick Mirov