Young grungers: rock without soul

"Teenage angst has paid off well/Now I'm bored and old." One of Kurt Cobain's oft-quoted lyrics was true only for him. In the wake of Nirvana, more than a few bands have profited from what Cobain wrought, and neither they nor their fans are bored or aged.

In the Australian trio silverchair, who rattled about 1,500 people at the Eagles Ballroom on Saturday night, no member is old enough to drink. Age is no issue youth is the hallmark of rock 'n' roll. Neil Young, John Lennon and Van Morrison all started early. But while those men ignited their muses, silverchair swipes from other sources and shapes nothing intriguing from them.

It's easy to consider the band Nirvana imitators, particularly because lead singer and guitarist Daniel Johns resembles a baby-faced Cobain. But no, the band is simply playing grunge, which in turn derives energy from '70s white-boy blues-rock and metal. Band members also renew the spectacle of that era, including (but not limited to): Dusty smoke! Lights cued to the beat! Big noise! And it is, in fact, huge. Bassist Chris Joannou and drummer Ben Gillies pound out the kind of ponderous, deep rhythms you feel vibrating you out of your seat, pulsing at the pit of your stomach. Unfortunately, the whole of the music fails to get near the pit of your soul. Silverchair's problem is its superficial approach. Johns doesn't sing much about girlfriends or cars, but his grasp of deeper mysteries is laughable. In "Pure Massacre," he moans, "People dying for no reason at all, doesn't matter if you're large or small," and no one can surely pinpoint whether he's talking about giants and midgets, or the balance of power in some South American country. His personal matter is no better: "Freak," with its chorus of "I'm a freak," is about as believable as whining can be from a successful guy whose pin-ups dot lockers throughout our high schools. Combined with the slow, ponderous musical thunder, Johns can't make silverchair more than a rec-room fantasy that got out of hand. Local H, from Zion, Ill., generates twice the energy and self-loathing with one fewer member. Yes, a power duo, with the emphasis on power and, at its best, velocity. Brooklyn's Handsome resembles L.A.'s Helmet (guitarist Peter Mengede was a member): smart yet monotonous. Both openers seemed more honest and pure than their teenybopper, crowd-pleasing headliner.