Too Much Joy almost called this album Don't Worry, Bea Arthur, and if you don't get the pun – which merges the title of Bobby McFerrin's chipper hit single with the heroine of the Seventies sitcom Maude – you're probably the wrong age. This quartet from New York's affluent Westchester County represents a generation of disco babies who've reached their twenties without producing any notable cultural heroes, unless you count Bret Easton Ellis. Disenchanted and over-opinionated, plagued by girlfriend problems that date back to high school, the band has dedicated itself to re-creating the desperate grudges of adolescence. And while critics likened the band's two previous albums to the Dead Milkmen or Camper Van Beethoven, the members of Too Much Joy distinguished themselves by their love of rap, as evidenced by a memorable cover of L.L. Cool J's "That's a Lie," on Son of Sam I Am, from 1988, and by the set of 2 Live Crew songs they performed in Florida's notorious Broward County, a censorship protest that got them arrested.

The curse of digital-era "value" afflicts Cereal Killers: At fourteen songs, this is yet another release that's way too long. And the grown-up producer that comes with the group's new major-label affiliation upholds the bad reputation of grown-up producers. Paul Fox, whose art-pop credits with XTC and Yes are an instant tip-off, varies the group's proficient garage rock with keyboard asides, including a glockenspiel tossed into a Replacements rip-off ("Susquehanna Hat Company") and fake horns that would make Phil Collins giggle ("Sandbox"). This is mighty cute stuff for a group whose last album took repeated shots at fallen alternative-rock heroes like R.E.M., the Clash and Gang of Four.

There's also a guest sermon by KRS-One and two political "protests" for depth. But immaturity is the band's gift, and Cereal Killers soars when Tim Quirk matches his charmingly defective voice with great one-liners, celebrating temporary infatuation in "Crush Story" ("Better than love") and temporary dementia in "King of Beers" ("I say stupid things/Forgotten them all by Monday/Please don't remind me"). Although Too Much Joy provides a quotable album closer in "Theme Song" ("A great idea when we were smashed/Turning anger into cash"), the real masterstroke is the wildly envious "Longhaired Guys From England," about how the Joy boys can't get laid as much as British musicians. In a just world, the song would become an anthem for the ailing American underground. Unfortunately, alternative-radio DJs have a weakness for ponytails and English accents, too. (RS 601)

ROB TANNENBAUM