Well, from the band's namesake alone, we already know what to expect: a King Crimson-soundalike or, possibly, a barely-audible slowcore outfit modeled after Low or Mojave 3, perhaps? Yeah, right. The Idols are young, attitudinal Nashville greaseballs that grab us by the belt loops and shake our emo-deadened asses up-- in the attempt to convince everybody that not all Nashvillians are Power For Living types that vacation in Branson, Missouri and think Ray Stevens is a real hoot.

Upon first listen, they remind me of an uptempo, less world-weary Social Distortion-- you know, if Mike Ness and Co. had turned to coffee and Jolt cola instead of self-pity, smack, and booze. But I think a Ramones influence wins out here, as the guitarist, Phillip, reels off those lightning-quick Johnny Ramone chord changes like he was born to do it. And he even takes a few rare solos that aren't all that embarrassing.

The band also boasts that undeniable Arthur Fonzarelli fashion sense: the studded black leather over the white t-shirts. They've got the greased-back duck-tail hair-sculpting thing going on, the cigarette behind the ear, the requisite array of arrow- through- the- heart tattoos, and cartoon characters. Oh, and for all you truck-stop chauvinists out there, get a load of the chick bass player-- the busty stereotypical blond with the pouty lips, tight t-shirt and painted-on patent leather pants. Looks like she might enjoy bouncing around a lot on stage.

The Teen Idols' approach to songwriting is every bit as obvious as their image and band moniker would suggest. So I'll mercifully spare you any unnecessary bullshit analysis. As predictable and intentionally unoriginal as this punk-pop with a bubblegum center is, maybe I can still direct you to a few "standout" tracks. Take the title cut, for starters; it's a feisty little kiss-off to two-faced brown-nosers. And "Insanity Plea" is powered by the Idols' characteristic muscle-chord strength and bruising bass drum kick. Then you've got the fast 'n' furious (and especially comical) ditties about the Information Age's mechanically-dependent robo-children, "Virtual Loser" and "Test Tube Teens." One of the things that sets the Idols apart from your average testosterone-fueled grease-rock outfit is a much-needed dose of estrogen in the vocals-- big-boned, velvet-throated bassist Heather combines with the fellas for some of the strongest guy/gal harmonizing around.

Unfortunately, Pucker Up, with its one-dimensional slant on punk, is capable of yielding too much of a good thing. Some of these three-chord, pedal- to- the- metal stomps have plenty of acceleration, but lack that key melodic line or hook that really burns rubber in the subconscious. And I'm not sure why so many bands, Teen Idols included, get a such a chuckle out of tacking on pointless filler towards the end of a particular disc. Here they include silly-ass studio bloopers and other moronic chatter during the final ten or so minutes of the album. I guess it must be some desperate need to communicate just how freaky, spontaneous and fun being stoned in a recording studio can be.

The Teen Idols have enough up-yours attitude and sense of fun to be, I would imagine, a truly great live band. And now that the old guard of punks like Social Distortion and the Ramones have aged and petered out, and young fogies like Green Day have become self-righteous acoustic-plucking auteurs, we could certainly do worse than a little Teen Idolatry.

-Michael Sandlin