Manda and the Marbles

I’d say that the Go-Go’s must be rolling in their graves, but since they’re still alive, I’d have to say that they’re probably wondering if one can sue for breach of cliche. With the ’80s-rock revival quickly reaching a point of pure regurgitation, it’s not surprising that this kind of hollow, blow-dryer girl rock would make its undead return. Manda sounds like a parched Belinda Carlisle or Susanna Hoffs, only without a butterscotch core to paper over the fact that she has no range other than a thin emotional one: pout, angry pout, resigned-but-bitchy pout. The forgettable pop rock can’t be saved by its inexplicable indie pretensions — not to mention that it sounds like it was recorded in a rest-area stall with a junior-high jammer.