Shut Up is one of those albums it's very, very easy to sneer at. Sure, Kelly Osbourne would probably have never got a record deal without her infamous dad and that TV show. True, she herself is not a particularly distinguished singer. But this project was clearly never meant to be anything other than good, harmless fun - and only a terminal cynic could deny that it delivers that in spades. The title track, which is probably blaring out of a radio near you right now, is absolutely typical of what's on offer here: raucous, cartoonish punk-pop, filled with adolescent angst and best played at top volume. Osbourne herself, meanwhile, emerges as a likeable personality who at the very least proves that you don't have to have a 24-inch waist to get into the charts. Her vocal range is, to put it politely, not very wide, and it's hard to see her sustaining a long-term career. But these are her 15 minutes of fame - and the sensible thing would be to enjoy them with her. Meanwhile, if Daddy isn't proud of her, he should be - she's got at least as hard a neck as he has.

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