By all rights, The Cribs shouldn't really be here. I mean, any band with a distinctly average debut album, not to mention its distinctly average follow-up, who are distinctly average live and who have had consistently distinctly average chart positions (you get the impression) should have split up by now - better bands have fallen, while this fraternal Yorkshire trio stand tall. Now back with their third offering, the Jarman brothers have enlisted Alex Kapranos of Franz Ferdinand on production duties in the hope of lifting Men's Needs, Women's Needs, Whatever above their usual level of mediocrity; unfortunately, Kapranos's clout is either non-existent or simply too reserved for this particular sound, as his stamp is nowehere to be heard. While The Cribs have always employed similar sharp, biting pop riffs to Franz's - even occasionally unearthing a few gems over the course of those two albums - they've always been largely smothered by Gary Jarman's throaty, strongly-accented, and often grating vocals. Nothing has changed on that count with MN,WN,W; Gary's idiosyncratic yelp is unceremoniously splattered across the album in heavy doses. The opening triplet of Our Bovine Public, Girls Like Mystery and Men's Needs are all similar rudimentary indie disco numbers, all zippy riffs and sprawling hollers; Moving Pictures and I'm A Realist are slightly more considered in their approach, with a happy absence of that trademark jarring guitar, while the chugging bassline and swerving melody of Women's Needs gathers momentum as it buzzes along, eventually building to a squealing climax. There's some quasi-clever/amusing lyrics here, too: 'I'm empty because of MTV' (Major Titling's Victory) and 'I'm a realist / I'm a romantic / I'm an indecisive piece of shit' from I'm A Realist. Overall though, it's just not enough to save this album from its inevitable Bargain Bin destination. Closing track Shoot the Poet's folky pop hints at what may have been, but as long as The Cribs stay in their safe zone - and it undeniably seems to be serving the cloth-eared among us well - they'll remain a band that are just.. well, distinctly average.