It's far too tempting to compare Dogs to the likes of the Libertines and Razorlight but it's also difficult to class them as anything else but part of that whole scene. The Strokes also come to mind, though Johnny Cooke and his motley crew of mongrels are at least more genuinely interesting than most of that overrated bunch.

Cooke hails from Cambridge, while fellow Dogs are from Buenos Aires, Blackburn and Leeds, though London is where they all headed to in their search for streets paved with musical gold.

Unfortunately, as their bio says: "London wasn't interested, it kicked them in the balls and told them where to go. And so, naturally, they licked their wounds and regrouped."

Naturally, they are also rather angry young men, particularly Cooke, whose lyrics spit out bile at London, various girls and anyone else who has ever annoyed him. Ironically, on tracks like She's Got A Reason, his vocals sound like a punky Mike Skinner, although without the cheeky intelligence of The Streets.

Singles London Bridge and Selfish Ways kick off the album and both are interesting enough in their own ways, while neither are exactly barnstorming. Donkey is actually much more memorable, perhaps because it seems to have the best production on the otherwise deliberately ramshackle album.

It's Not Right is also a decent effort, with more than a hint of the Cockney Rejects (appropriately enough) about it as Dogs turn up the guitars and thrash away. Previous single Tuned To A Different Station has a lively chorus, but Tarred and Feathered is a bit more by-the-numbers without any kind of spark to lift it above the mundane.

Red quirkily starts with a bastardisation of Here Comes The Bride, but manages to be both epic and dull at the same time, a bit like a gritty but vacuous Coldplay song. And here is where the problem is for Dogs, as they are neither catchy or pretty enough to appeal to the mainstream or clever or unique enough to do anything other than trail in the dust of Razorlight et al.