And so, it’s here. New York’s finest playboy punter-satisfiers, the quintet that trades as The Strokes have delivered their new album early in 2006. It’s a move that ensures that the band’s new album – their most diverse yet, and certainly not a reworking of their debut – is the first big-hype release of the year, but also ensures that there’s not much new around to compare it to. Nervousness about the material? Possibly – but when you’ve carved out a niche as completely as these guys have, it’s probably understandable that there’s nerves involved, especially considering the critical pasting they received for Room On Fire, their second album.
Clocking in at around the 50-minute mark, this album is the first to show The Strokes at full stretch. While their earlier success had been constructed on razor-sharp tunes and a fine line in sneering, the band has, over the past five years, picked up a couple of tricks along the way, and it seems that the grooves of First Impressions Of Earth is as fine a place as any to show them off.
It’s also the first album of the band’s to feature a much-deserved increase in the level of bass used. David Kahne’s production and Andy Wallace’s mixing combine to give the band a feeling of bottom end that’s long overdue: now there’s a nice kick in the arse to offset the occasional high-end moment. It’s something that immediately gives the group feeling of more punch, of less sloppiness. Furthermore, it’s something that makes you feel the album, rather than just hear it. (Earlier discs have, it seemed, been a bit shy of the lower end of the spectrum.)
Opener You Only Live Once is an indicator that we’re not really hearing The Strokes of yore. It starts off with a bit of an Urge Overkill beat, before the twin guitars of Nick Valensi and Albert Hammond Jr entwine with a certain swing, while Julian Casablancas sings of wanting to just be able to get along with people. Huh? It’s certainly not quite what we’ve come to expect from the band, but as the next song – Juicebox – rolls up, it’s clear that the opener’s merely been a sucker punch: a feint to ensure that the listener’s unprepared for the energy that follows.
Juicebox, the tune you’ve probably heard flogged to death on your local radio-for-the-young station, is interesting, as it seems like a melding of the Batman theme and a Franz Ferdinand tune. It’s curious, as I’d initially have thought that the Scottish band were a little to populist for the premier bunch of NYC hipsters to have taken much notice of, but Julian Casablancas’ vocal delivery is very reminiscent of Alex Kapranos’ turn on tunes like Darts Of Pleasure. And you know what? It works. There’s enough of Casablancas’ tired grit as he calls out that
we’ve got a city to love
to counter the subdued vocal elsewhere. Rather than disaffection – which isn’t entirely excised on this album, thankfully, as it’s perhaps the trait that best describes the band to some – there’s a sense of passion and urgency that’s refreshing. (Franz seem to be an influence elsewhere on the album, too – Ize Of The World has a bit of a FF vibe to it, though it’s not entirely successful.)
Vision Of Division is about as close to the ‘old’ Strokes as the album comes. It’s a fairly racy number that features some of Casablancas’ most controlled vocal straining to date. What lifts the song above the mundane, however, is the truly startling Indian-influenced guitar work, which perches atop Moretti’s insistent drumming like some kind of evil, rabid monkey, livening up proceedings immensely.
Vocally, it seems that Casablancas is coming into his own a little more. There’s a much greater feeling of control in his singing, both with the rough and the smooth. He’s still channelling a bored Lou Reed on occasion, but there’s a lot more to like on this outing.
Musically, the band’s as tight as it ever was. Tighter, even. Fab Moretti’s drumming’s so solidly rhythmic that it could be manufactured by Boss, while Nikolai Fraiture’s bass is given more of the attention that it deserves. Hammond and Valensi’s guitars sound like extensions of the same mind for the most part – combining for chordal assaults and separating for serpentine riffs with a seamlessness that’s pretty appealing. True, it’s a factor they’ve used from the outset, but now it seems a little more complimentary.
Casablancas might write the words and (most of) the music, but it’s the members’ arrangements that really click here. Increasingly, this is music that’s resulted from playing together, rather than from being constructed. The difference here is that none of the songs are built around giant-killer, super-single riffs, which means that the swag of songs on offer aren’t quite as immediate before. Yet, with a little extended listening, the tunes sound better than some of their other work, as the interplay between the members is a little more noticeable. A grower? Most certainly.
There’s a difference in attitude on the disc, too. Human frailty and uncertainty make more than a passing appearance on the album, with the idea of keeping up appearances being harpooned for the most part. Redlight’s opening thought that
Two can be complete without the west of the world. Do it for the people that have died for your sake.
seems to carry throughout the album. On The Other Side sees the vocalist singing that he hates all the people he knows, all the people he has seen – but that there’s redemption, that there’s someone waiting for him on the other side. Curiously, it’s also the tune that sees the singer remark that he’s tired of being so judgemental: something that many thought they’d never hear.
Of the tunes on the album, Heart In A Cage is the song that indicates that most strongly deals with dumping, and how the city’s strains have been taking their toll on Casablancas. It also features the best Mike Oldfield knockoff guitar solo I’ve heard in a long while, which – when you couple it with the intro riff that’s borrowed from a Smiths recording – which makes it nigh-on unmissable. Lyrically, Casablancas claims that he’s not a city boy, that he belongs in a field, and that he’s generally fucked up:
I don’t feel better when I’m fucking around
And I don’t write better when I’m stuck in the ground
So don’t teach me a lesson that I’ve already learned
Yeah, the sun will be shining and my children will burn
And for all the world, it sounds like the flipside of Iggy Pop’s The Passenger, both in urgency and feel.
Elsewhere, Razorblade mixes poppy lightness – replete with a sense of arse-shaking – with a dissection of love as a razorblade. The movement of Casablancas’ lyrics through the song are great, as it reflects the growth-by-paring of love: from
Oh no, my feelings are more important than yours
Oh drop dead, I don’t care, I won’t worry
to
Sweetheart – your feelings are more important of course
Of course!
The growth is visible, and amusing. Painful? Yep. But that’s love – and the humour and honesty and changes wrought by the emotion are expressed with a precision that’s undeniable.
Ask Me Anything, a stripped-back tune that sounds almost like something from the Penguin Café Orchestra, melodywise, is perhaps the best expression of the malaise that’s hardwired into this disc:
God is trying to talk to you. We could drag it out but that’s for other bands to do…
I’ve got nothing to say. I’ve got nothing to say. I’ve got nothing to say.
I’ve got nothing to give.
Got no reason to live.
But I will fight to survive.
Oh, I got nothing to hide.
Simple, direct and unaffected. Look to yourselves, listeners, seems to be the message, and it’s an appealing one, coming as it does from a group that’s been heavily involved in the business of bullshit and PR for most of its career.
The artwork on First Impressions Of Earth is also worth noting. In refreshing contrast to the trend towards simple design throughout, this album features a combination of minimal and over-the-top artwork. It’s a step away from the folksy mosaic of Room On Fire, and really harks back to the ‘70s in terms of effort put into an album’s look. The cover, all Saul Bass angularity, seems almost too close to the Franz Ferdinand neck of the design woods, but the medieval-instruments layered across the disc, and the record-player inlay give a nod towards the musical growth the band’s experienced of late. Inside the booklet, there’s portraits which vaguely echo Kraftwerk shots, while the songs are lavishly illustrated with the sort of attention to detail that used to only show up on Who or Yes albums.
Somewhat similar in places to Smashing Pumpkins’ art for Melon Collie And The Infinite Sadness, the illustrations echo the increased depth the band’s attained on this release, and it proves surprisingly satisfying to read while listening. One can only imagine how the vinyl edition would look. Superb! (Unsurprisingly, it’s a James Bellesini – from Love Police – design, who’s also done work for The Vines, Jet and You Am I, amongst others.)
While there’s nothing as immediately balltearing as Room On Fire’s Reptilia – though certain songs will take a strong hold on you - this album’s solid, and its Pollock-like feeling of plan, and approach of lumping almost everything decent from the 1970s and ‘80s rock worlds into the mix is a winner. In all, First Impressions Of Earth is a Strokes album for people who never really liked The Strokes. It’s their psychedelic album – a collection of tunes that exist precisely to mix up what you think you know about the band. Rather than working on just bravado, there’s a real sense of achievement, of this being something that’s actually important to the guys in the band. As a former Strokes hater, this is a good thing to note, as it signals the day that people like me have been waiting for – the day when all that bullshit hype around their rich kid, quasi-boyband status drops away in the face of some damn good songs. With First Impressions Of Earth, the band has dumped their one-trick-pony tag for good, though many record critics will hate ‘em for it.
(And yes, they still do dress better than you.)
jbs101
said ages ago