When the Thrills first blazed out of Dublin in 2002, there was something sweetly charming about a bunch of naive Irish lads writing eulogies to the United States, where they usually went on holiday. However, if their musical homage tastes that bit more bitter with Bush's re-election and every report from Fallujah, to listen to the Thrills you wouldn't know any of this was going on.

Now relocated (of course) to Los Angeles, they are still lavishing praise on American imagery while labouring to get "committee" to rhyme with New York City. As waves of cheers echo the Republican convention, singer Conor Deasy's thank yews edge suspiciously closer to a fake Texas accent. Either Manchester's audience isn't left feeling awkward by the lyrics or they're simply refusing to let British anti-Bush sentiment colour rock's long-term obsession with Las Vegas and Levi's.

The move Stateside means that the Thrills now sound even more oily and American. Petrol is now "gas". When Deasy begs the crowd to "Do one simple thing for me! Make some fucking noise!", he's part-Bono, part-disgraced evangelist Jimmy Swaggart, admittedly with swearwords and pants that don't slip down.

Behind the yawnsome showbiz, Deasy is an insightful writer whose best lyrics concern the places they left behind. Saturday Night offers a withering assault on our weekly urban orgies of kebab-sex destruction while The Curse of Comfort relates the perils of trying to rock out in the suburbs.

Musically, the band employ too many big 1970s California strokes but Whatever Happened To Corey Haim? (about an actor who lost himself in Hollywood) suggests a lurking sense of irony. "I am the American dream ... another hasbeen!" yells Deasy - a line that gives at least a glimmer of hope.

· At Cambridge Corn Exchange tomorrow (01223 357851). Then touring.