Question: How do you know if you’re dead inside? Answer: You own a Train CD. If you’ve found yourself cranking the dial and joining singer Pat Monahan in belting out the “heeey, heeeeeeeys” in last year’s torturously ubiquitous triumph of titular misappropriation, “Hey, Soul Sister,” or hollering out the “hey-ey-eeeys” in 2001’s beige-shade-of-bland and more-vapid-than-vanilla “Drops of Jupiter,” then the band’s other big hit, “Calling All Angels,” isn’t a song, it’s a sign. A sign that (spoiler alert!) you are just like Bruce Willis in that one movie about the guy who died and didn’t know he was dead. Normally this would be worth explaining, but you’re dead, so it isn’t. Yes, at press time, Train reigns supreme in the ivory tower of all things milquetoast — they are the Thomas Kinkade of rock bands. So much so that tonight’s live set at Bridgestone Arena is guaranteed to make tourmates Maroon 5 look like Queen at Live Aid. But at least they’re not Evanescence — who also play tonight at War Memorial Auditorium. And if you beg to differ you’re either 15 or stuck in a quasi-goth, most likely meth-induced shame spiral of stunted adolescence, bad poetry and worse singing. And since the plucked-from-aisles-of-Hot-Topic band hasn’t had a record since 2006’s The Open Door, or a memorable single since 2003’s unavoidable “Bring Me to Life,” it’s fair to assume the latter. If you’ve staved off getting into actual music this long, don’t bother, but at least act your age and take Train over a second-string approximation of what Linkin Park would sound like while slowly starving to death.