U.S. Crush are a let's-make-it-big bunch from Orange County, Calif., hot on the punk ticket. They could just taste it back in 1997, when, known as the Clash-meets-NOFX combo Kickball, they had Los Angeles' KROQ testifying and a slew of major labels believing. After signing with a label that pulled a Chapter 11, leaving them $5,000 in debt, they took DJ/producer/Smash Mouth friend Jim Pratt's advice and ditched the neck-snapping beats of the Fat Wreck Chords' sound, slowing things down to a churning viscera, before rebounding as U.S. Crush.

Their Pratt-produced Virgin/Immortal debut swims in studio sterility. The guitars are as processed as Cheez Whiz, the band's performances are lifeless, and the backups are way too choirboy for U.S. Crush's spiky-hair cool. Their flimsy wallop is O.C.-brethren derivative, a marriage of the seesawing riffs of the Offspring and the hummable urgency of Social Distortion. "Jimmy Crack Rock" (RealAudio excerpt) will get them laid, since Third Eye Blind pop ballads make knees go weak. And although 7243 8 48868 2 0, as it will probably be remembered by label bigwigs and the U.S. Crush-Jim Pratt alliance, is a decent product, you know it won't be long before the boys are juggling table-waiting jobs with focus meetings again.