One Direction performed âStory of My Life,â from its new album, âMidnight Memories,â at the American Music Awards in Los Angeles on Sunday.  In the current issue of Billboard, at the end of the cover feature on One Direction, there is a cooling mist of reality spritzed by, who else, Simon Cowell, the TV judge-impresario who helped Frankenstein this group into existence on the 2010 season of the British version of âThe X Factor.â  âEventually, they probably will split up and maybe want to have their own careers,â he said, a statement that most likely sent shivers down the tiny spines of One Direction fans but is, of course, merely stating the obvious.  Mr. Cowell was referring to a corollary of the immutable law of boy bands: The bandâs fans age, but the band generally does not.  One Direction may break that spell. Almost from the beginning, its members â Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson â have seemed older than the job required, even though they are just 19 to 21. And continuing to call One Direction a boy band is simply wrong. They play the part almost resentfully, with the mien of people who know better. They donât dance, theyâre not particularly enthusiastic, and though their disdain isnât palpable, their self-awareness always is.  Whether this is transparent to the squealers that make up the bulk of their fan base is tough to tell. The guys are pretty, and maybe that is enough. The credibility of that theory is certainly boosted by the fact that One Direction is easily among the least musically adventurous acts on the pop charts, and among the least sonically ambitious boy bands â that phrase again â in recent memory.  âMidnight Memoriesâ (Syco/Columbia) is its third album, and it establishes how little it takes to keep a global pop phenomenon moving. In the case of One Direction, which became a Tumblr phenomenon in the wake of its âX Factorâ success, and which has had only a handful of genuine hits, not only does demand outpace supply, it may require almost no supply at all.  So itâs fine, in a way, if âMidnight Memoriesâ is uninteresting (though itâs not as blank as the groupâs last album, âTake Me Homeâ). It need only be amiable and keep the flame lit. Maybe the blankness is a strategy. Think of what these songs need to accomplish: They need to give each of the five men a showcase (unlike other boy bands â ahem â this one doesnât have a blatant frontman, though Mr. Styles and Mr. Malik come close), and they need to cast a wide enough net to avoid alienating anyone already along for the ride. Unlike New Kids on the Block, or âNSync or Take That, One Direction makes music that doesnât feel of the moment.  The closest it comes to being on trend is the excellent single âStory of My Life,â which is a clear stepchild to Mumford & Sonsâ power-folk â an odd choice for carpetbagging, though a riskless one, as opposed to opting for a dance-music or hip-hop makeover. (The sound also gets a workout on âThrough the Dark.â)  What âStory of My Lifeâ has is scale, and for a group that practically leapfrogged into arenas, scale matters. It also matters for a group comprising singers whose voices are various gradations of thin. Theyâre good, and sometimes better than that, but none are robust. (Thereâs a reason none of them made the original âX Factorâ cut as solo singers.)  This album is produced largely by Julian Bunetta â he produced the better songs on âTake Me Homeâ â and John Ryan, who are deft in the way they create sturdy sketches that donât ask much of the guys.  Or their lyrics, for that matter. With a couple of exceptions, this is a dimly written album. There are love songs, natch, and there are a couple of songs about the state of crazy the group lives in: âDonât Forget Where You Belongâ and the title track, with the comic lyric âPeople talk â ssshhhh â but we donât listen.â  Most troubling, in a couple of places the lyrics veer toward the seedy, which is probably far more reflective of the group membersâ perspective on their fame than anything else on this album. âI know you want, know you want to take it slow/But think about all the places we could go/If you give in tonightâ: So go the opening bars of âWhy Donât We Go There.â On âHappily,â the message is darker (even if the music isnât): âItâs 4 a.m. and I know that youâre with him/I wonder if he knows that Iâve touched your skin.â  (Oddly, the three bonus tracks on the deluxe edition are more affecting than almost everything on the actual album, especially the stark âHalf a Heart.â)  These are the sentiments of five young men yearning to breathe free, and yet, according to Billboard, One Direction has signed a new contract for an additional three albums â itâs doubling down on its future as a unit. Maybe it is betting on a few more years of evergreen demand, or on the power of inertia.  After all, it hasnât taken much to stoke interest thus far, and One Direction seems to understand that. âBest Song Everâ is the biggest hit from this album. Itâs an implicit commentary on how each generation looks for its own best song, just as all the generations before it did. The slot is always there for the taking. It almost doesnât matter what fills it.  The guys seem to be winking in the chorus, where they sing, âI think it went âoh, oh, ohâ/I think it went âyeah, yeah, yeah.âÂ â Thatâs all it takes, no?
One Directionâs new album has a blankness that perhaps is a strategy: Testing how little is needed to keep a pop phenomenon moving.