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Jimmy Eat World are an alternative rock band from Mesa, east of Phoenix, Arizona. Formed by vocalist and guitarist Jim Adkins, guitarist Tom Linton, bassist Rick Burch and drummer Zach Lind in 1993, they have released 10 albums – including their 2001 breakthrough record, Bleed American. Its hit single, The Middle, peaked at No 5 in the US Hot 100 chart; it has now had more than 1bn streams. The band mark the 25th anniversary of the album with a series of shows this summer including UK appearances in August in Halifax, Cardiff and Gunnersbury Park, London.

Jim (centre)

This was taken right before Bleed American was released. The photographer wanted to capture the sprawl of Phoenix, so the idea was to go to the outskirts where construction was happening. Beyond that, there was no pre-planned concept or specific pose. We probably would have called each other that morning and asked, “Hey, are you wearing blue?” “I think I’m going to wear red.” “OK, cool. I’m not wearing red.”

I’ve known Zach since preschool – his mother was our teacher; I got to know the other guys in our high school years. We were all in different bands before we started playing together. Back then, if you were into punk rock in a town like ours, you quickly got to know everyone else who was, too. Mesa wasn’t exactly a hotbed of arts and culture.

Being in Jimmy Eat World has been consistently fulfilling, though I still look back at the early days fondly – the weeks of being in a van with no GPS, no phones, playing the same basements to nobody. It was cool – but I don’t know if I’d be as into sleeping on the floor now.

When Bleed American took off, I didn’t know how to deal with it. I didn’t want to become an asshole and let it change me – thankfully, the music world is fickle, and I knew that. Every week there was going to be a new band people would call the new Nirvana or whatever, and we just happened to be the one in 2001. As for being considered a “frontperson” – I never sought it out, it just came with being the singer. I was never chasing a rock star persona, and I was never going to host an award show, or become a judge on a singing competition.

How come we’ve stayed together after all these years? It really comes down to two things: being in a band should be fun, and we should feel proud of the work we are doing. If we all feel that, then we can do this for ever.

Rick (on far left)

I’m not surprised we took this photo in front of a wall. It’s kind of desolate in central Arizona – very little interesting scenery. Tom and Zach were smart, as they sat very comfortably whereas I chose to hover awkwardly.

I wish I knew back then that the good moments are fleeting and few – so if something amazing comes our way, I should take a moment to acknowledge it, and show gratitude for the hard work that we put in. Instead, throughout all of our commercial success, we remained in our own bubble and focused on the day’s work at hand. Subconsciously, we were hearing stuff like, “You guys are getting some really good radio play!” but we stayed insular.

The Middle was inescapable, but even after all these years, I never get bored of hearing it. I still love to see how the audience lights up, and would happily play it five times in a row if the other guys would let me.

These days we all have our own families and lives, so the times we come together are for the studio, rehearsals and tours. There’s not often a lot of verbal communication between us – a byproduct of playing on stage together for so many years. We rely on subtle cues, and we know each other’s buttons and can sense when not to press them. My button? I’m easy-going but when it comes to personal space, I do need 10 minutes alone on tour. If someone were to challenge that, I might become irritated, like, “OK, back off!”

Our chemistry with each other has always been about our shared dedication to music. That’s never changed and never will.

Zach (second left)

This whole era felt pregnant with possibilities. We had just signed our deal with DreamWorks after having no label, we felt like we’d made a really good album, and we knew that a lot of other people were excited about it, too. There was optimism in the air.

After three albums and a decade of being together, we were suddenly being put up for incredible opportunities – we opened up for Weezer in the UK, and got to play Saturday Night Live. But having been in a band for so long, there’s a scarcity mentality that protects you from enjoying things too much. The music industry is pretty humbling and expectations can get dashed quickly. During this whole period, we were just putting one foot in front of the other. I do regret that slightly. When I get on stage to play drums these days, I try to take it all in.

In terms of our relationship to one another, there’s not a lot of opening up, emotionally. We’re not dudes that are extroverted – Rick and Tom and Jim are a little bit more guarded than I am, but that’s OK. We’ve also never properly fallen out. Maybe because we know each other’s strengths and weaknesses, we’re all on the same page and we’re all looking to push the bar forward. We respect and trust each other. Now that I’m older, I know not to take that for granted.

Tom (right)

I don’t remember much about this time, other than I was 23 and feeling quite immature. We’d been dropped by Capitol in 1999, but we were largely relieved – aside from a van they’d bought us for touring, the split gave us the freedom to do whatever we wanted as a band. We self-funded Bleed American with no real expectations, having already put out a couple of records that went nowhere. When we got signed again and the album did well, it came as a genuine surprise. The dynamic never changed: we were friends before the band started – I’ve known Rick since we were 12 and Zach and Jim have known each other since they were five years old. We’ve all grown up together and we still had the same goals for Jimmy Eat World.

Being in a band means living with the band, but thankfully nobody has bad habits. Although when we’re on tour, Jim likes to wake us all up on the bus. At around eight in the morning, when we’re still asleep, he’ll start shouting, as loud as he can, “Good morning, good morning, good morning!”

There’s never been any threat of us splitting up, but we sometimes have our little fights. Every tour, some stupid thing will come up, like someone not playing well enough, and it’s always resolved. We’ll sit down and say, “Listen, if there is something wrong, just come up to me and tell me.” When we were younger, that kind of confrontation wouldn’t have been so measured. The feelings would have festered, nobody would say anything, and eventually someone would explode.

Twenty-five years on, they are still all great guys – good fathers and husbands and brilliant musicians. I don’t have anything bad to say about any of them. Although I am probably still quite immature.