"Uh, yeah, that's hot, ummm, yah, Scott Storch, yah" - is the immortal first line uttered by Paris on her debut album. It also acts as a handy summary; it contains a lot of grunting, it's not hot, it's lacking in anything resembling clever lyricism, and we have producer Scott Storch to thank for all this. Storch is actually referenced on more than a few occasions throughout the album - he's clearly quite proud that he's made 'Paris' aurally palatable, especially to its target audience - girls of a certain age and men of a certain orientation. There were times when I wanted to tear up her image strewn inset and ram it in mine ears ('Jealousy' and 'Fightin' Over Me'), and there were even more manic times when I felt compelled to dance ('Not Leaving Without You' - which is reminiscent of Punchanello's dance anthem 'San Transisco').On the whole, Storch has given us a deluge of overproduced and absurdly catchy, bastardised tracks including 'Stars are Blind' - which is basically UB40's Kingston Town - but at least Paris appears to actually lend some vocal talent to the proceedings. He has also given us 'Heartbeat' - a catchy 80s-inspired pop tune, with a permeating vocal melody, sadly momentarily marred by her murmuring "my heart beats like a drum. When I hear you come". Another track of note is 'I Want You', in which Storch saw fit to butcher the horns from the theme tune to 'Grease', add a protruding police siren, and all manner of bells and whistles to blatantly avert the listener from the album's glaring fault; this could be anyone singing. Given the amount of layering, I would be propelled into a severe state of shock if Paris provided all the vocals. At times it appears that Storch coerced a bunch of out of breath Playboy bunnies to purr nonsensically into whatever he had to hand. I clearly haven't wasted too much time on listening to the album, or writing this review, as quite frankly I've got better things to be doing. As does Scott Storch. He should really be spending his time trying to woo back his former muse, Christina Aguilera. As for Paris, one would think she had enough vehicles by which to ridicule herself. But in saying that - this offering could've been infinitely worse.