Jimmy Eat World : London The Scala

Jimmys seem less like world eaters, and more like nibblers...

A roiling moshpit lies invitingly at the feet of Jimmy Eat World . The mass of yankophile skate-punkers in the crowd scrum happily, but the four not-so-teen blokes in T-shirts, hammering out accessible power punk, show no inclination to dive into the throng. Their jeans do not hang so low. Their hair is not so spiked. They are, see, uncle-punk kings of avuncular-core; proper tunesmiths with four albums under their belts and, no doubt, memories that stretch back as far as ye olde forebears Husker Du.

You cannot really fault these Arizona escapees for their ability to pack a surging chorus into the nuanced synchro-noise chuggachugga of corporate friendly alt punk. Blast-along tunes ‘The Middle’ and ‘Sweetness’ have full jump up and down impetus and ‘Get It Faster’ borrows grunge, quiet/loud techniques effectively, but they temper the hormonal, make-some-f*****n- noize thrust with slightly yearning melodies, ideal for that phase when

college flippancy fades and real jobs’n’relationships bear down. There are grown up Jimmy ballads too, with true pro harmonies, and in wholesome chap lead singer/guitarist Rick Burch they have a decent lynchpin, a Springsteen like block of energy, flailing and flexing, ripping out appropriately mangled solos and throwing in his amusing sideline in Elvisstyle guitar-dancing. No, really.

It’s a heavily accomplished affair, but as the intelligent agglomerations of thirty years of hardcore guitar invention hurtle by, rendered as hummable, thoughtful, bittersweet insights, its hard not to wish for at least a quick burst of madness, obscenity, nudity, drunkeness, stage- diving or unlistenable genius. Anything to send up a charisma rocket.