Weezer - Hurley

It’s definitely not blue, it’s definitely not pink, it’s not green, it’s not even red, it makes Make Believe look like Rubber Soul and despite all that it’s still not Weezer’s most nauseating record - last year's Raditude step up for that accolade. Still, a more fitting title for this eighth album might have simply been Hurl, such is the stench of stale cheddar bursting out of the speakers.

Rivers Cuomo has always been a master of melody but a dubious lyricist - and to think lines like, “I’m dumb, she’s a lesbian” now rank amongst his defining works - he’s been resorting to goofball, skater-boy, 40-year-old-going-on-14 witterings for the best part of a decade now. There's no change here, with his self-loathing on Trainwrecks coming down to the fact he doesn’t update his blog. At least he has some good memories of “playing Hacky Sack backstage when Audioslave were still Rage,” but naming the album after Hugo "Hurley" Reyes only magnifies the fact that Weezer have gotten a little lost in the new millennium.