Right down to the Parental Advisory labels, which, like, matter shit, and antiseptic Helga-from Allo Allo with-the hump cover, it's a case of old hands having a crack in sturdy amateurish manner. No doubt it's a dream come true. It's a fair crack at that in a Lita (By)Ford way (well, Sharyn Peach - well...they are from Florida, sort of near Georgia - is blond and it mentions Ford in the typically lame example of biographical prattle that should get ditched at summer school. Example, they aren't 'insanely cool guitar licks' but 1987 by numbers that the most tech-twat guitar mag woulda garotted at a hundredth of a harmonic and one's sardonic doppelganger suspects that their claim that younger bands seem to make up many of their fans suggests that it may be to secure equipment loans at future shows) but it still smacks of them sat around having watched American Idol with their kids and thought hey we could do that but let's do it our way. Because we are rock'n'roll rebels. Forever. Makes up in heart what it lacks in inspiration but it's still insipid and lifeless club-cringe fodder that Peach's platinum-piercing rawk-squawk - Kelly Clarkson could quite possibly stop the ensuing tsunami from whatever erupts outta Yellowstone or somewhere but has it ever crossed your mind to care? - can't lift out of the shiftless embers of stodge.