Hate Robbie Williams? Detest 'Pop Idol'? Great. You'll love this CD, just over half an hour of sheer rock and roll bliss. Imagine Steve Jones of the Pistols on guitars, overdubbed to the point that they form a tidal wave of sound, a mountain side bigger than the Clash on Tommy Gun, faster than the Ramones. There is more testosterone here than in a thousand Gold's Gyms. Add some rinky dink keyboards for a laugh, over which these huge, huge tunes bump and grind like Iggy Pop's 'Real Wild Child', (or his forgotten classic 1988 "Instinct"album). First albums are often disappointing because the artist's ambition outstrips the available talent. No such danger here: this is a situation where someone has set out to achieve a specific sound and is right on target, right on the money. And then there is Mr W.K. , whose chief preoccupations seem to be partying, girls, and well, that's about it. And the less he is interested in, the better. His vocals are just right: he's enjoying himself, frequently sounding overwhelmed by the sheer power of the genie he's unleashed. He is mining the gold seam of rock and roll and he knows it. In the long history of rock and roll it is frequently the case that coming up with a 'Be Bop A Lula' or a 'Wooly Bully' is a million times more difficult than delivering a self-indulgent, reflective piece of work. This self-penned album strips out any danger of a guitar solo or anything vaguely arty. No ballads, thankfully. The short playing time is a bonus: this really is a case of 'less is more'. Mr W. K. knows the value of economy and is clearly a major talent. Let's hope he doesn't waste it, because in 2002 very few young people have what it takes.