First things first. The Strokes are still really hot. Though it’s bullshit to dwell on their clothes and their soft pan-national faces in an album review, it’s certainly not when you’re trying to describe the experience of being ten feet away from them. And their unsubtle stabs at greater popularity on First Impressions of Earth certainly didn’t seem to get to their stage pouts (with any luck, though, Tiger Beat will print a Julian Casablancas poster by March!)
But back to the music. This was The Strokes’ first show behind FIOE, an album that RCA hopes will shed the completely inappropriate “saviors of rock” albatross and let audiences treat them like five dudes. So the band was all too willing to play their past quasi-hits—validated by the first ten rows’ wailing and pogoing to “New York City Cops,” “Whatever Happened,” and “Hard To Explain,” their anthemic, wallpaper best—and the new ones that sounded most like them.
After opening with the Iggy-esque “Heart In A Cage,” they rolled out a passel of FIOE’s Cars jams; naturally, their “Mandy” redux (“Razorblade”) was crooned right back to them by the kids who waited with bated breath for the album to leak, and FIOE opener “You Only Live Once” strutted like it didn’t know it was the ninth song of the night.
All of which was wonderful and a lot of fun, but it begs the question: if The Strokes are ready to show America that they can cut the mustard as a live act, shouldn’t they be able to show it to an audience of eager 16-year-olds at a radio station promo gig? Where was the “new” Strokes sound (essentially, more impressive guitar solos and an increased fascination with “Guns of Brixton” dub) that was supposed to prove them to the kids already bored with Franz Ferdinand? The Pogues-y punk of “15 Minutes” aside, they were short on FIOE’s relative indulgences. And the most noticeable different in their live act, replicating the pop production of FIOE with vocals and riffs further up front, wasn’t going to win them any new fans. Neither was an album promotional set that was half culled from their first two albums.
But it’s a bit early in The Strokes’ career to imagine them to be resting on their laurels, especially after the all the tours, videos, and late night appearances RCA has in store for them. And the audience was completely sold—every song worked, new and old presented as their body of work and not some as a radical departure. At least they aren’t messing up guitar solos anymore—de rigeur for their boozy performances during the Room on Fire tour—and Jules now makes just enough chit-chat with the audience.
“This one’s an oldie but a goodie,” he muttered just before “Last Nite.” This song, a rougher glance at “American Girl,” was The Strokes’ first American single, a first taste of the band that was supposed to restore the pop landscape to its rockist roots. Watching them play it now with a laugh, in the face of the biggest challenge of their careers, I can only hope that America might finally recognize their swagger as intimacy.
The Strokes played for 75 minutes at Chicago’s Park West on January 3. This was the first show in their “secret club tour” for First Impressions of Earth.