I'd never really paid much mind to The Strokes before a close listen to this record. Oh, I'd heard their songs, in bars and coffee shops, in movies and TV commercials and such... But while I was listening intently to their contemporaries Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and Interpol, The Strokes somehow passed by without much notice on my part. Or perhaps I might have just dismissed them along with other "garage revival, or, y'know, whatever" acts of the time, like The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Jet. And if that's the case, I'll be the first to admit, ten years along, that I was the poorer for it; turns out, I'm never as cool as I think I am...
That having been said, this is a strong record, though that assessment comes with some caveats... Musically, the minimal production of Is This It serves The Strokes and their debut well, showcasing their capable approach to the time-honored formula of charismatic frontman, clean and creative guitar hooks and solid yet dynamic rhythm section; it's pure rock and roll, the pieces are firmly in place, and therein lie the record's strengths. While The Strokes wear their bubblegum, no-wave and post-punk influences on their sleeves, the result is less derivative than compellingly constructive: the siren-like urgency of "Barely Legal" yielding to a bombastic cymbal crash chorus, and the buzz and slash guitar of "Last Nite," buoyed by its walking bassline, serving as just a couple of examples... Lyrically, it's another story. The record opens with a somewhat confused, mid-tempo meditation on the idea of friends with benefits, which might suggest some sort of epiphany or mission statement coming down the pike... As it happens, there isn't one. Julian Casablancas leads his band through one after another slice of a hip and detached NYC life, free of consequence and recalling the vagaries of love and lust as if they were nothing more than the days of the week. A woman comes, a man goes; a heart breaks here or is broken there, only to be renewed by way of the next conquest, or redeemed via the next defeat; and so it happens that casual sex and even more casual emotions are painted with a broad brush as the province of the young, which, to be sure, they are. But there's little to indicate on The Strokes' debut any understanding that the balance of youth is ultimately settled by age, indeed that any consequences exist at all... In fairness, that was perhaps a bit beyond the scope of The Strokes in 2001. But they seem a smart bunch, and by now they're at least ten years older. I'll reserve judgment, and look forward to hearing what they've done since.
#366, Mott the Hoople's Mott: Word has it that fist fights broke out in the studio over the recording of this, Mott the Hoople's self-produced attempt to prove that they weren't a creation of David Bowie (which, it bears mention, they were not), and it's not all that difficult to imagine the scenario. Mott is a far from cohesive record that practically throws punches at itself. "All the Way From Memphis," "Honaloochie Boogie" and "Drivin' Sister" could, by themselves, anchor a straightforward blues rock record, while "Hymn For the Dudes," "Ballad of Mott the Hoople" and "I'm a Cadillac..." present a perfectly viable template for the navel-gazing arena rock that would dominate the '70s... Unfortunately, the two approaches just don't work all that well together. Not surprisingly, Mott was the band's last studio release.
#365, The Smiths' Louder Than Bombs: Have you ever been struck by a desire to listen to twenty four songs in a row about how miserable Morrisey was as a child? Yeah, neither have I... It would be one thing if Louder Than Bombs were a Rhino re-issued anthology or some such, but the reality is that it was thrown together as a promotional tool for an upcoming record, which never materialized because the band broke up before they could record it. So basically, The Smiths' last record was a self-indulgent exercise in marketing... Way to go out on top, guys.
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