Glam rock should be something electrically grand – and that’s the flavor of Fifty on Their Heels’ heated guitar entrance to leadoff single “”Money, Glamour, Suicide”” on the San Diegan threesome’s debut. From there, the song decides to thrash around in some rusted, dusky punk before another switchup to cowbell taps backed by creamy dance bass.

Calling the band’s flavor a rock composite might be too elegant. Consider it a hodgepodge pastiche of Brit-esque whines, nimble strings and a simple, Sun God-worthy rock-the-fuck-out attitude. The local up-and-comers – who won “”Best Punk Album”” at this year’s San Diego Music Awards – can get kind of messy with all that inexperienced genre mashup, and lead singer Junior Metro’s high-strung crooning becomes annoyingly drab after a few shrill choruses. They’re still a long way from the operatic greatness of the Darkness, but a barefaced, offbeat edge saves them from the lower rungs of bland, cookie-cutter radio repeats like Yellowcard and Fallout Boy.

Metro’s lyricism never falls back on teeny-emo wishwash, instead striking life’s chords with a more obvious cynicism we collegiates can appreciate: “”Well it’s just a job you see/ It don’t mean a thing to me/ An occupation to ruin your life with no time to spend on me,”” he sings on “”Occupation,”” a steely, bumping pout about the ho-hum of that looming nine-to-five all students fear. “”Panic”” blares with more of that naked rock (“”There’s only one thing left to do/And that is dance the night away””) – the unnervingly messy blend of instrumentals bumping, popping and running amok with a hot, sweaty fever.

Boss ditties: “”Panic,”” “”A Good Friend””