If you were worried that Allstar Weekend’s second album might find them changing their super-bright, super-slick emo pop sound into something a little more mature and seasoned, perhaps to match the bandmembers’ maturation into voting age, you needn’t have.

If anything, All the Way is even more cartoon-like and ridiculously clean-sounding.

Whipped into shape by more producers than would actually fit into most studio control rooms (practically a different team on every song), the album has a radio-friendly sheen that ropes in the silliest elements (samples from Sesame Street, lots of Auto-Tune, clubby four-on-the-floor beats, super-processed guitars, and the occasional boy band-level rap) from every pop genre and melds them into a record so simple and poppy that it should be sold in vending machines at junior highs around the world.

It’s got the energy of pop-punk with no chance of any blood being spilled, the emotional indicators of emo (especially on the sappy ballads “Blame It on September” and “Teenage Hearts”) without any real emotions expended, and the bop and roll of a variety of “urban” styles without any grit or realism involved.

Now if you’re a fan of blood, emotion, grit, or realism, you’ve obviously come to the wrong place, and you shouldn't expect any of that from a trio of guys who seem to have a fondness for Sugar Ray (“When I Get Paid”) and a weakness for very silly lyrics (“Sorry...” or "Mr.

Wonderful,” which contains the wonderfully innocent come-on “We could swim with the dolphins/Go golfing/You could be my wife”), and who basically come off as the second coming of LFO.

Not the one people remember fondly, the “other” LFO.

Apart from the two ballads, which are far too earnest and string-laden to be believed, the album is basically like slamming one of those longer-than-your-arm pixie sticks and chasing it with a giant jug of Sunny D.

Not anything a jaded fan of “real’ music will have much time for, but loads of fun for those who like their pop made as silly and frivolous as possible.