These gothish survivors still play to vast live audiences, though they're now comprised mainly of teenagers, who see singer Brian Molko as a kind of tantalising Uncle Debauched. An older crowd, though, would see through the boasts of dark dabblings and 48-hour benders and recognise the band as wistful voyeurs rather than genuine baddos. If by chance songs such as In the Cold Light of Morning - the latest version of the drug-comedown track that crops up on most of their albums - really relate first-hand experiences, they only highlight the banality of decadence.

Hammily trilling about forgetting to take his "meds" in the title track, and the pitfalls of a drug-dependent relationship in Post Blue, Molko aims for film-noir sleaziness, but barely warrants a parental-guidance sticker. (On Meds, the Kills' Alison Mosshart sounds filthier than he does, murmuring, "sex and drugs and complications" in a morning-after slur.) The music is dependably downbeat with perversely singable choruses - the main redeeming feature.