She may like to think of herself as the black nemesis to California's golden girls, but beneath all that eyeliner, Kelly Osbourne is a fizzy pop chick who just wants to have fun.

Cyndi Lauper is only one of the 1980s pop stars who come to mind when you hear this debut; Disconnected, the opening track, has Kim Wilde's Kids of America bouncing all over it.

Not that Osbourne doesn't do her best to follow in daddy's footsteps. She rants and stomps while guitarist Chris Goercke sets up a squalling riff that seems to charge along relentlessly for 35 of the album's 39 minutes.

That last song, More Than Life Itself, proves uncontrovertibly, if unsurprisingly, that Osbourne is no torch singer, and offers a welcome rest from the hyperactivity that precedes it. It's hard not to think, however, that most people will have switched off before then. Osbourne is a riot in small doses, but you soon wish she would take her own advice and shut up.