An unrequested second helping of vapid remedial rock from a band that never manages to rise above the cleverness of its nod-nod-wink-wink moniker—and that ain’t a high water mark, folks. The album is front loaded with its strongest tracks, but quickly becomes mundane at best. Think The Donnas (although the band is half made up of Dons) along with traces of Veruca Salt, Cheap Trick, Hole and No Doubt. They shoot for the crotch with super sleazy barroom anthems cooed and moaned unconvincingly by lead breasts (and ex-VJ) Abby Gennet, but come off like a talent portion of a wet t-shirt contest. They’re dirty, dirty girls. Yeah, we get it. Just be girls that can write, sing and play—that’d be nice. After all, these days nobody even cares about AC/DC being AC/DC.