‘Emo-core’ seems to be flavour of the month right now, what with the likes of Finch, Thrice, The Used and countless others basking, Scrooge McDuck-style, in a sea of press cuttings and fan letters showering nothing but praise & acclaim upon their angsty fusion of metal, pop and punk. Not that there’s much wrong with those bands; ‘the kids’ are evidently latching onto something with a heck of a lot more passion and intensity than the likes of Blink 182 or Wheatus.

But it’s when the kids actually latch onto something that the balance begins to tip, when labels become eager to spoil the kids rotten with a never-ending conveyor belt of acts eager for a rented allotment in the hearts of the music-buying, gig-going kids... at least until they’re 16 anyway. However, that doesn’t seem to be at such a crucial stage right now. Right now – summer 2003 – the kids can’t seem to get enough of emo-core, any band with dyed black hair and an Atticus hoodie seemingly guaranteed a rider of groupies before they’ve even released that ever crucial teen-angst single.

So what of Shortie? Ok, so they have the dyed black hair, black armbands, skin-tight tee-shirts, cute puppy-dog eyes, and they boast of having “emotionally-charged songs” and “heart-wrenching melodies” in the style of Thursday and Taking Back Sunday (officially the most name-dropped bands in press releases this year). Anyone else smell a rat?

Well I’m as sceptical as the next journo but, as hard as it is for me to admit it, I actually really love this album. Despite their own descriptions above, Shortie peddle melodic post-hardcore metal not a million miles away from Glassjaw or Finch. But whereas Glassjaw found a foothold in the intense rapid-fire stutterings currently lighting up the metal scene through Poison The Well and Sikth, Shortie seem to have forecast what Glassjaw’s ‘mature’ third album might sound like, incorporating driving, full-bodied Finch-isms with smooth Chino-Palumbo croonings.

Encompassing this, the melancholic anthem of discontent, ‘Waiting’, is reliant less on screaming out words of frustration than just collapsing into a strong melodicism that carries the song through on a wave of bristling emotion. But then, with production duties taken care of by the same Dave Dominguez that has provided the likes of Papa Roach and Staind with their epic stadium rock grooves, that’s no real surprise.

Other tracks ‘Open Season’, ‘Kill The World’ and ‘David Bowie’ (with some viciously rare backing screams), while not veering too far away from their predictable, but still rather infectious style, are just as strong. ‘Worthless Smiles’ - rounded off with a cover of Portishead’s ‘Sour Times’ that edges perilously and startlingly close to Limp Bizkit - is a strong, well-levelled album that’s as heavy as it is passionate. And all those waiting impatiently for a return of Glassjaw, you could do far worse than check it out.