With the students back, parliament in session and that Killers album slowly being revealed as an overwrought dud, what better time for the greatest minds of their generation to go down the pub and invent a new genre? Cheers, then, to an apparent alliance of the NME, a few people in London's trendy E1 district and some dumb young musicians, because "New Rave" is upon us, and there is apparently no stopping it. In a slightly patronising way, I approve: a media life devoid of the pleasure of inventing a supposed youthquake is no life at all, and I have the trophies from such piss-poor attempts as "the New Eclecticism" (rap-rock for cult-stud undergrads, circa 1993) and "the New Wave of New Wave" (Britpop without the good bits, circa 1994) to prove it.

So, what have we got with New Rave? The essential idea, it seems, is to tap back into the spirit of the pre-Britpop years, all gurgling keyboards, cut-price drugs and secret parties, only this time with more guitars. Here follows a cut-out-and-keep guide to all this, written with the aid of a few promo CDs and MySpace, so: scissors at the ready, and let's get it over with.

Shitdisco are from Scotland, sound less like anything "rave" than like the unremarkable row once made by such rock-groups-with-a-synthesizer as Classix Nouveaux, and will surely all be over by Christmas. Trash Fashion reek of east-London trendiness, are chiefly famed for a song called Rave Dave ("And then my friend will sort you out/ 'Cos that's what raves are all about") and may yet turn out to be a scam. New Young Pony Club sound quite good in a Talking Heads/Grace Jones kind of way, but Lord alone knows what they're doing lumped in with any of this stuff. And then there's my own personal favourite: those Worcester-based jokers Analogue Domestos, who are about to release a single entitled I'm Mental, and do weekly slots at the voguish London club Byte Slasher. (One of these is made up - there's a free lightstick if you can spot which one).

The leaders of this sea change, however, are a London-based trio called the Klaxons, who have recently been posing with Acid House-esque Mr Smiley faces. Clearly, they've surmised that if a pop-cultural wave comes along and life on income support is starting to pall, you may as well surf it. I don't mind the noise they make - scabrous electronics meets vaguely indie-sounding rock. But two minutes into their hot(ish) new single Magick, you suddenly realise the flaw in their plan. They sound a bit like those American gadflies the Bravery, and that is not good at all.

As for the "rave" aspects of all this, it may seem like a laugh now, but just you wait. Some of us remember Old Rave, and what with all those white gloves, whistles and regular tales of some hapless young person losing their sight after doing nine Es, we do not want it back. Remember, though: in the dark days of 1991-93, it looked like the guitar really was extinct, but rock bit back and eventually won. Who now listens to such rave milestones as the Prodigy's 1992 hit Charly, the entire oeuvre of Altern 8 (two blokes who essentially released the same record over and over again - what cards!) and Shaft's 1992 smash Roobarb and Custard? Only very strange people.

Then again, perhaps folks like me are taking all this far too seriously. "This country needs to party," reckon the Klaxons, which may be a very reasonable point, and rather makes me want to paraphrase an old David Bowie song. Sorry and all that, but the pun was too good to use: Genre? I'm only dancing!