I'm not too proud to admit that Jimmy Eat World's Bleed American disc is a guilty pleasure. Sure, The Middle was overplayed ad nauseam, but the rest balanced arena-friendly crunch lite with delectable hooks. And dropping Crimson And Clover and Madness snippets into A Praise Chorus? Genius. Alas, Futures features little of the same ingenuity. Success has made their melodies simpler and boppier, there are more sickeningly cute slow-dance ballads, and the lyrics are dumbed down into a monosyllabic mishmash. In the last third of the album, the Jimmies commit the mortal sin of invoking substance abuse as a thematic trope, in what looks to be their drug track trilogy. They're like the lovable jocks who crush on the non-conformist chick in movies and get into silly scrapes in their stabs to be "different."