STILL capable of releasing the kind of album that Bush - the band, not the president - would only dream about, Nickelback remain the missing link between Kerouac and Korn.

It is a Levi-clad, check-shirted, big booted formulaic area where Americana folds into aging grunge and, from a British perspective, it might seem bewildering to note that All the Right Reasons, initially issued in 2005, has sold over nine million to date.

Perhaps the success is justified. Every song here works perfectly, if consumed in isolation. All are laced with colourful and, surely fading, memories of teenage forays into adventurous sexuality, with colouful lyrics screaming from the heart of each song.

As such, it is an album filled with tales of Californian queens, trashily exotic darlings and encounters with old flames.

It's certainly pleasant enough and, I can vouch, pumps nicely at high-volume from a Vauxhall Astra.

However, the production sheen gives the game away and sends these neatly buffed nuggets hurtling towards FM radio playlists. Safe to the point of pedestrian, dusty and dull.