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Kearney's major-label debut is slickly produced and hugely mainstream and contains the kinds of G. Love-style faux-rap interludes that make you feel alternately embarrassed for Kearney and just plain angry. There are a few pop gems: Vocally, Kearney is a dead ringer for Chris Martin, and the title track and dimly pretty
U2 rip-off "Crashing Down" seem destined for Top Forty's upper echelons (or at least a sound bite on The Hills). This is uncomplicated, guilty-pleasure stuff sometimes that's all you need.
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