Young New Yorker Devin Therriault is unashamed of his love for the city's rock'n'roll heritage: "I pretty much exclusively listen to music that's before my time," he has said. That's apparent throughout his debut album – hints of the New York Dolls and Johnny Thunders, the Strokes and Ramones pop up throughout, along with the obligatory nods to 1960s girl-group arrangements. That's all well and good, but there's a mighty gulf between those acts and scores of garage rockers long since forgotten, and it's one that can only be bridged with the very best songs. And those are what Devin doesn't have. The voice whines, the drums thunder, the guitars roar, but there's no single melody that sears itself into the memory. Pick of the bunch is the album's opener, Masochist, where Devin's phrasing recalls another New York great, Lou Reed, and the clatter of words over the bass and palm-muted guitars in the verses suggests a young man in a hurry, with something urgent to say.