After an abundance of anti-hype hype surrounding the now-infamous Strokes, I investigated their live act hoping to determine whether this was a case of style over substance, whether the critical acclaim and adulation was deserved, and whether the fivesome could back up their attitude and image with quality and sincerity. In light of the tragic events of Sept. 11, it is reassuring and especially inspiring to see NYC's finest kick out the jams.
Axis, 8 p.m. A troupe sets foot onstage, all-male save for a lone female wearing a Thunderbirds T-shirt and a face childishly painted as a cat. The others in the trucker troupe (one clad in a Spiderman costume, one in a judge's robe, another in a pintucket skirt and fur vest a la Goldilocks) surround the Thunderbirds cat and her companion, a young gent: Huckleberry Finn crossed with the fairy Godmother. Meet NYC's favorite hillbilly junkies, opening band Moldy Peaches, pioneers of "folk-porn."
Their set is nothing short of pure entertainment and laughs. Musically, they sound like an old-school lo-fi wacked-out, cracked-out, sexed-up Beck. Imagine Ween meets the Flaming Lips crossed with South Park. With songs like "Who's Got the Crack," and "Downloading Porn with Davo," many of their lyrics are too explicit to mention in print. For all their juvenile abandon and absurdity, Huck and Thunderbird make a cute duo, like a young Sonny and Cher. For this reason, as offensive and vulgar as their lyrics may be, they get away with it, and retain their innocent cuteness and naivet?©.
Next up, The Strokes...
Not one song stands out because they are all great, solid tunes that are explosive live. The pretty boys deliver, what else is there to say? After being snatched up by Rough Trade after the release of a three-song EP, The Modern Age, they became overnight superstars in England where they reached number 16 on the commercial charts. Now, they look set to conquer this side of the Atlantic with equal prowess and charm. Yes, maybe they do come from privileged backgrounds, and yes, perhaps they do play up the cocky rock star image, and yes, they are five suber-cool, super-slick dashing young lads with matching New York attitudes. But to dismiss them as a mere rip-off band is a great injustice. Although their sound may be reminiscent of early Velvet Undergound fused with Television, Talking Heads, and some Blondie thrown into the mix, they produce an exuberant and original set of suave raw-powered songs.
Their five skinny frames swagger onstage and commence an hour of smooth yet careening jamming. From the Pixies-tinged "Is This It?" to Julian Casablancas' velvety Little Richard vocal inflections in "The Modern Age," to the twangy guitar dance-hall hit, "Last Nite," their underground garage-fuelled drumbeats and dirty upbeat retro-punk melodies get almost all the scenesters, poseurs, and wallflowers dancing.
Casablancas thanks the crowd on numerous occasions, and stumbles over the stage down into the audience to sing to his delirious admirers. The climax occurs during "New York City Cops," which the band hesitated to play at first, Julian explains. After an hour of throbbing tunes and jangling new-wave/no-wave retro dance rock from their debut LP, Is This It?, the Strokes stride offstage, leaving behind a cluster of elated ladies and frenzied fans. Everyone else seems happy, impressed, and pumped.
Is this it? If "it" means one of the coolest bands to have appeared and one of the best albums to have been released this year, then yes, I believe it is.
