The Fever

The brattiest band out of New York's new-wave punk pack, the Fever definitely puts on a show. What kind of show? Well, that depends. Sometimes, the band's live rendition of the Gun Club-goes-pop material on its debut EP, "Pink on Pink," is so messy and frankly godawful, it makes you want to take mop-haired frontman Geremy Jasper out back and slap him around.

But when everything's going right -- and they are getting more consistent -- their unapologetically trashy yet consummately infectious songs make for the best kind of brainless fun. Just try to resist organist J's barnstorming hooks or the band's take on the Sheila E. classic "The Glamorous Life," which, in the Fever's hands, turns into a swampy, snarling, Iggy-esque masterpiece of hyperactive cool. As with (sigh) the Strokes, when the Fever is at its best, it reminds you of what New York City bands ought to be: young, high-cheekboned, prematurely jaded, more than a little silly, and most of all, out for a good time.