These British Fall Out Boy wannabes went by the emo-pop playbook for their first couple of albums, making upper-middle-class-pandering fluff-rock that sounded like Goo Goo Dolls for dummies, cruising-and-makeout tuneage redux, absolutely nothing new, although it did evince an awareness of crummy post-radio alt-rock and how important it is to appear to really enjoy committing the odd half-joke Pavement filler crap to disc, because, you know, it’s important, so the Martians know we’re really not worth invading, or whatever the logic is. The line on this third LP was that it would be “heavier” than previous efforts, which they defined as “like Snow Patrol or Coldplay” (um, OK). Now, in the past you may have noticed a Nickelback element to their sound, and that’s the “heavy” element here, really — it’s almost like Creed and Goo Goo Dolls fighting over a few leftover hooks Panic at the Disco decided not to put on an album. No, it’s not annoying, just celebratory of a period that’s already best forgotten (am I the only one waiting for Nickelback to replace Whitesnake as the go-to band whenever someone makes a snarky crack whose punchline requires referencing a band that only social lepers like?). For added moron-power, screamo singer Oli Sykes waddles in to mutilate “Bite My Tongue.” C+ —Eric W. Saeger