Dirty Vegas are this summer’s bland, mellow dance ‘sensation’, storming through the Stateside charts in a blaze of boredom. ‘Days Go By’ and ‘Ghosts’ are already on heavy yawn-a-minute rotation, their soporific emptiness infesting the airwaves like last year’s chill-out plague. This debut is little more than eleven cuts squarely aimed at the ‘mature’ clubber who has retired from the package holiday pack to save for that extension out the back. This is ‘lifestyle’ music and it sucks. Close your eyes and you can almost hear the advertising executives salivating.

To be fair, the production is good. But a polished turd is still a turd. The vocals sound like a boy band trying to be Massive Attack – all cinematic-by-numbers meandering with no meat or ideas. Balearic beats needn’t be such a bore. We all want to kick back in the sunshine and feel the breeze, but give me some Zero 7 or Lemon Jelly – some natural sunlight, not a voucher for a sunbed session.

Dirty Vegas is bereft of ideas but high on ‘atmospherics’. The same kind of atmosphere you get at a party you know you shouldn’t have gone to.