The Automatic, Audio, Marine Parade, Brighton, April 23

4:48pm Friday 25th April 2008

Even if they never play another note, The Automatic have at least one tune that has secured a small place in the history of British pop music.

Which is great for us, and them, because I'm sure the world would be happier if they never played another note.

Their one hit song, Monster, is a fun bit of froth and will no doubt feature prominently on the soundtrack to all those I Love The Noughties TV shows we will be downloading in a few years' time.

But the rest of their output is pure sub-Green Day drivel.

I don't take exception to the unoriginal guitar thrashing, or that each song is at least one middle-eight and bridge too long, as the band throw in a bit of everything in the search for a radio-friendly hook.

No, it's the cod Californian accents I can't stand. That and the Welsh-based band's stupid, stage school shout-outs, such as "are you guys a party town?" and describing new member Paul Mullin, without irony, as "not a thing...he's just mad!"

To work well, this kind of electro-punk has to be dark and dangerous, leaving a strange taste in the mouth.

Instead, The Automatic are about as threatening as a bowl of blancmange.

Fair enough, I'm not the target audience, which is clearly teenage girls with more eye make-up than musical taste.

And before any of them reply with something like, "I bet he was never even at the gig", I was, and I left after half-a-dozen songs.

I had something better to do - clean my ears out with wire wool.

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