Michael Notardonato, Aaron Harrington, Charlotte Odusanya, David Garrison, Steven Booth, Avery Elledge, Jim Conroy, Kirsten Scott, and John Wascavage Photo by Carol Rosegg

The authors, Joseph Church (music, lyrics and orchestrations) and Jeff Bienstock (book and lyrics), take aim at a satirical target that's been asking for it for some time: jukebox musicals. Those musical traditionalists among us who prize tight song-plot integration, carefully crafted storytelling, fresh new scores, long ago lost patience with nostalgia fests that arbitrarily insert old hits into the evening to ingratiate undemanding audiences. But Jimmy Pants differs in one important respect: It's an original score. Not a masterpiece of musical storytelling, but a tuneful, clever effort that relies on old rock 'n' roll forms to get us giggling at the well-worn, but undeniably catchy, formulae that had the youth market twisting, shouting, and twitching back when.

So who is Jimmy Pants (an affable Steven Booth)? A teen from Manhattan's "Upper Middle Side" (a typical Bienstock joke), who longs to crash into the pop music scene of 1959. His parents, who hate the idea, sound like the adults in Charlie Brown cartoons, for a good reason that won't be spoiled here. When we meet him he's in the present day, cowering from making a scheduled comeback appearance; and the memories, jukebox musical-style, come back to haunt him.

He formed a quartet with his best buds: Tony (Michael Notardonato), with an Italian swagger that would put Tony Manero to shame; Nicky (Aaron Arnell Harrington), Black, sensible, and blessed with a booming bass; and Bjorgvin (John Wascavage), an Icelandic emigre who talks in a hilarious Swedish Chef-style pidgin. (Church and Bienstock generously give each of them a showstopping moment.) Given a chance to audition for Burt Gromsky (David Garrison), a crasser version of Alan Freed, they land a gig opening for Dora Dell and the Ding-Dongs (Kirsten Scott, Charlotte Odusanya, and Avery Elledge), a girl group to end all '60s girl groups. Dora, a maddeningly assertive do-everything type giving off a Nancy Sinatra vibe with songs like "I Can Do Better (Than That)," hooks up with Jimmy, putting them through an endless cycle of marrying and divorcing that spoofs the familiarity of relationship-gone-wrong elements in so many jukebox tuners.

The spoofing is rampant. On-the-road montages (Burt: "Wouldja hurry up and get into my extremely authentic-looking vintage car?"); "The Ed Sullivan Show"; the son Jimmy never knew he had (a goofy Jim Conroy); and the triumphant finale where all are reunited, though by my count, Jimmy's parents would both be centenarians and Burt would be 126. Church and Bienstock are elbowing us, but in a jocular, friendly way; their script describes their comic sensibility as "This Is Spinal Tap meets The Drowsy Chaperone," and that sounds about right.

The show makes two mistakes. The first is not giving David Garrison enough to do, an occupational hazard in any entertainment employing David Garrison. Give him a song, please! The second occurs about two-thirds of the way in, where the drugginess of late-'60s rock stars is converted into a metaphor involving fake hair. You read that right. Treading lightly over Woodstock-era addiction makes sense, but this isn't how to do it.

The rest is lively, funny, and consistently winning. Much of that has to do with the splendid cast and with the parodistic but very hummable score. Jimmy Pants and the Corduroys, as Burt christens the group, start out with sound-alike four-chord anthems such as "Snappin' for You," "Shruggin' for You," and "Shavin' for You," but their closest thing to a hit is "Tight White Suit," a hilarious riff on the likes of Bill Haley, Frankie Lymon, that bunch. It's complemented by giggle-inducing choreography by Stephen Nachamie, who also directed and who maximizes the many laughs.

We'd love to see a more finished production; this being a New2NY effort, modeled on the York's Musicals in Mufti format, there's no set to speak of and only the most thrown-together of costumes, and the actors carry notebooks about half the time. But Benjamin Weiss's five-piece band teems with vintage-rock energy, Ryan Marsh's lighting has a 1960s Technicolor feel, and Sean Hagerty's sound design keeps most of the lyrics audible.

By the time Jimmy and company are rocking to "Everybody Pants!," you're reminded of all those late-'50s black-and-white B musicals that spurred horny teens to neck in the balcony: titles like Rock Around the Clock, Let's Rock!, and, my fave, Bop Girl Goes Calypso. They were fun in their tacky way, and so's Who Is Jimmy Pants?, only it's much better scripted. Church and Bienstock are on to something here, an antidote to the sloppy plotting and predictable narrative arcs of Mamma Mia!, Escape to Margaritaville, and so many others. In affectionately kidding the cliches of rock and roll, they've also celebrated what's irresistible about it.