Time to cut through the hype and hysteria for the latest crop of next big things and scenester darlings, and call it like it really is. Every week we cover the best and brightest of the musical world for you, and now we're switching tracks to meet the lame-train head-on and take the biggest sonic offenders to task.

Wolfmother

Remember that song "Woman" from a couple years ago? Be thankful if you don't. Despite an onslaught of media hype suggesting otherwise, this hyperderivative band - and their new album, Cosmic Egg - is headed for the trash heap of mediocrity and failed rawk revolution. Prime festival placement and relentless marketing won't save this band, who are only recognizable at this point because their singer's hair looks like an electrocuted mound of pubes, and because lesser music sites don't have the balls to call bullshit on this completely unoriginal '70s rock throwback. Ultimately, Mike Patton said it best. 

Passion Pit

This band is pure buttspray. Passion Pit doesn’t really write songs so much as string together lame hipster clichés over a steady beat. With a name built for cross-promotional appearances on pseudo-reality shows featuring post-teen consumer-culture parasites, Passion Pit push the boundaries of violence instigation through sound as a concept - and that's long before you even get to the vocals, which consist of ridiculous falsettos seemingly designed for the sole purpose of enraging the listener.

Grizzly Bear

Precious darlings of the indie "rock" scene (though there's nothing even remotely "rock" about them), Grizzly Bear's existence is a celebration of banality and soulless "experimentation". Jay-Z and Radiohead may have offered their seal approval, but bland honky meandering does not make a groundbreaking band, regardless of hype and music-blog delusion. Finding a sonic home between a Danny Elfman film score and Brian Wilson's worst self-indulgent nonsense isn't our definition of genius. Don't buy into this baseless hype.

White Lies 

When even Pitchfork isn't buying into your schtick, you know you're in trouble. This 80s-influenced dance rock has no authentic flair, no original angles to throw into the expired-scene-mining formula. The UK scene used to be home to Joy Division and The Clash and Jesus and Mary Chain (ok, they were Scottish). Now they've got White Lies and their infinite identical counterparts to carry the torch. Let's just stab out our eardrums and call it a day.