Tucked away in the furthest corner of Glasgow's exhibition centre, the sound of America's east coast does not look much like the threat to our children that's been billed. The first surprise is the size of the crowd: there are maybe 2000 milling about in the far-from-packed space.

They would probably have fitted in to Barrowland, which would have made for a more exciting gig.

The second surprise is less of one. There is nothing original about My Chemical Romance. From the monochrome take on Sergeant Pepper in their costuming (or do the jackets look provocatively Confederate in their homeland?), to the bobbing, revolving drum riser, to the pyrotechnics (feel the heat from those flares!), this is rock'n'roll theatre by numbers. They do it damn well right enough - the spectacle of metal's heyday in the 1970s was never this slick, as I recall, but there isn't a new trick in their repertoire. The music is similarly derivative but that does not matter much. Gerard Way is a compelling frontman (and the other members of supporting act Thursday must be hoping that their charmless singer is paying attention) and the obvious reason for MCR's substantial female following. Get the girls and the lads will follow, even if they are secretly a bit sniffy about your band. They supply the vocals by the missing Liza Minnelli on Mama and are word perfect on everything else from The Black Parade, too. The third surprise was the biggest. Their favourite is mine, too - the comparatively throwaway boogie of Teenagers, a catchy classic that sounds just like Sweet as scripted by Chinn and Chapman.