The Thrills

The trouble with living in such fast-moving, sensation-saturated times is that under the heated gaze of our media, things seem to rust and rot faster, too. It was only a short while ago that The Thrills brought a welcome shaft of light into alt.country with their West Coast harmonies and sunny disposition. Three albums on, they're labouring to sustain an increasingly threadbare formula, with an inevitable decline in songwriting standards.

Teenager is stuffed with songs obsessing over some romantic break-up, but the band's failure to engage one's interest – or, indeed, locate a decent tune – torpedoes the broader theme of adolescent anomie. By far the best track is "No More Empty Words", a condemnation of "hurtful and misleading" recrimination, on which the sunny harmonies, twinkly guitar arpeggios and buoyant bassline are a winning blend of Memphis and LA. Otherwise, it's all retro-Americana-by-numbers, the usual Byrds 12-string jangle joined here by the Springsteenisms of "I'm So Sorry" – a wannabe Born To Run that never kicks up that essential gear – and by several bouts of mandolin-driven folk-rock.

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