Where along the line did it become cool to turn an album into a goddamn recreation of "Saturday Night Fever?"

Honestly, dance this, dance that, shall we dance, dance dance, dead on the dance floor, I can’t take it anymore. And it’s always, always these dime a dozen, here today gone tomorrow pop-rock bands that are trying oh so hard to be edgy and original. Guess what, not working! Ya hear that, Honour Recital, do ya?

They waste no time whatsoever. “Save a dance! Save a dance! Save a dance!” is repeated ad nauseum, until the nasally vocals make their entrance into the grand ballroom, wearing a duct tape prom dress. In keeping with that theme of edginess and originality, you know? And the descent down the staircase takes roughly about 34 minutes. “Save a Dance” is five minutes long, the last 2 minutes of which is nothing at all more than handclaps and the repetition of “Save a dance, shake your body." Where is my puke bucket.

Just listening to some of the riffs on here, I can see these guys having some sort of smug look on their face while they play. Think "Night at the Roxbury" Will Ferrell playing guitar and looking creepy while he checks out girls in the audience, because that’s what I’m picturing. This record is absolutely nothing but “whoa-oh"s, awful lyrics, and uninspired pop-rock musicianship. The songs thankfully get shorter as the record progresses, and there’s only five of them, but it feels like an eternity of bad analogies about dancing, high heels and lipstick.

Even Jennifer Beals would flatulate in the general direction of this album.