A long, long time ago, when Julian Casablancas was knee-high to a grasshopper and Mars Bars were only 25p, I fell madly in love with a pop group called Garbage. I was reeled in by the sexy voodoo venom of 'Vow' and 'Only Happy When It Rains' and their untouchable gothpopstrumpet danger grrrrrl Shirley Manson. I wanted to BE her. I HAD HER POSTERS ON MY WALL GODDAMMIT! And now what? The new single 'Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go!)' arrives "at the office" wanting a review.

Kids, this is NOT the work of a girl who fucked boys in the McDonalds toilets, shit on her boyfriends cereal and stole knickers from Miss Selfridge. This is piss-poor, humourless, sexless, sub sub SUB Dweeb b-side WANK. “Eek! Are the grown-up’s in the throes of midlife crises?” we ponder in an alarmed manner. I reckon there’s something Samson-esque afoot here. Let’s consider the evidence. Off come Shirley's lustrous mahogany locks and lo! the tunes and the sex and the pizzazz and the rockunroll magic skuttle away with them! And what are we left with? A blonde Billy Idol style scare-do and a bouquet of decomposing Bis outtakes that’s what. Garbage! You’re at least 100 years old! Grab your cash, buy a penthouse in LA and fuck. right. off!