The press release waxes lyrical about the odour of The Beat Up's "stinking" punk rock attitude. Attitude is easy to conjure. Where's the goods, the motive, the indignation and fury and arrogance to prompt all this? Punk, surely, was about crashing through boundaries and taboos, offending and innovating, and stapling yourself brashly on the map.

'All Messed Up' whizzes along at a jaunty, roadworthy pace, but every borrowed chord identifies it as small fry. A love of the Rolling Stones is evident in the devil-may-care guitars and the Jagger-esque vocals but, being short of the prowling, animalistic voodoo charm of the Stones at their most dangerous, it's less Stones, more Jet. The most enjoyable bit is the breakdown near the end, where they strip off all the superfluous shit that sounded tinny anyway and let the guitars cock a malignant, beckoning finger in our direction.

The Beatings - sorry, the Beat Up - have been kicking around for a couple of years now. As an early statement of intent, this wouldn't be bad at all - but after two years as a unit you'd think they'd have carved out a more definite identity for themselves. For a taste of a Kevin Shields-produced album, DiS really expects more. Time to pull your socks up, boys.