Hot Club de Paris hail not from the raunchy corners of Pigalle, but from Liverpool; nevertheless, the three-piece recognise the value of a little filth. Skip to (deep breath, folks) Sometimesitsbetternottostickbitsofeachotherineachotherforeachother, the standout track on Drop It Till It Pops, which offers a radical approach to family planning as well as a wilful disdain for the space bar. A lively mash of the Futureheads' indie barbershop and the Arctic Monkeys' patter gives backbone to similar rants about everyday life, and swear words - "What's my mother's fucking name?" they sing on Who Am I? - are never far from the fray. But Hot Club de Paris only properly stand apart when their tight, webby guitar lines and mastery of wonky time signatures give the foul-mouthed stuff more power. Listening to 13 tracks of this, though, is exhausting rather than energising.