{"id":39670,"date":"2006-03-07T00:00:00","date_gmt":"2006-03-07T00:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dailyvault.adishjain.in\/index.php\/reviews\/first-impressions-of-earth\/"},"modified":"2006-03-07T00:00:00","modified_gmt":"2006-03-07T00:00:00","slug":"first-impressions-of-earth","status":"publish","type":"review","link":"https:\/\/dailyvault.adishjain.in\/index.php\/reviews\/first-impressions-of-earth\/","title":{"rendered":"First Impressions Of Earth"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/p>\n

In 2001, the Strokes were it. Armed with indie cred
\nfrom a handful of singles that went gangbusters in the U.K., the
\nscenester approval of their native New York City and a hungry
\naudience of college-aged suburbanites raised on a strict diet of
\nfaux R&B and Nirvana knock-offs, they were poised to create a
\nnew monotony for “modern rock” radio.<\/p>\n

The hit B-side “NYC Cops” was deemed inappropriate
\nfor a post-9\/11 stateside release of Is This It<\/i>, which
\nfeatured a colorful Magellan-esque map of the new world, as opposed
\nthe black and white seduction of the U.K. album art.<\/p>\n

Even without the bare ass and velvet glove featured
\non the original cover, the Strokes were legend before critics
\npoured on kudos by the pageful — Julian Casablancas, the
\nfashionably mysterious lead singer; Nick Valensi, Backstreet-worthy
\nrhythm guitarist; the unorthodox windmill-strumming technique of
\nfro-wearer Albert Hammond Jr.; a drummer named Fab; and the quiet
\ndemeanor, but steady bass of Nikolai. So, why blow it with a
\nmundane, intensity-lacking third LP?<\/p>\n

Now in their fifth year of success, The Strokes seem
\nto be missing the well-structured song craft of Room On Fire<\/i>
\nand primal ferocity of Is This It<\/i>. It’s not really
\nsurprising to those who’ve witnessed the live show, or lack
\nthereof, where Casablancas is known to perch on an amp and mumble
\nfor 45 minutes while the rest of the band — especially Nikolai —
\nseem equally sleepy.<\/p>\n

First Impressions<\/i> storms out the gate with the
\n80s-style stutter of “You Only Live Once” and the restless
\n“Juicebox,” which features a Jim Morrison-tinted “Why don’t you
\ncome over here \/ We’ve got a city to love” chorus. “Heart In A
\nCage” successfully finishes off a three-song recap of the first two
\nrecords, but then they head into aimless songstreams that waterlog
\nprevious highlights with not-quite-there crescendos and weak
\nlyrics.<\/p>\n

Casablancas is lacking the twenty-something sage of
\n“And now my fears \/ They come to me in threes” from “Someday” or
\nthe roar of Room On Fire opener “Whatever Ever Happened?” Maybe the
\nband may is just missing the muse of producer Gordon Raphael, who
\ngave the first two Strokes chapters their trademark urgency but
\nonly helms three throwaway tracks here.<\/p>\n

The Strokes as a band are not dead, but the so-called
\ngarage revival they helped usher in is over. The band’s legions of
\nwannabes have given fans of the Nuggets genre years of enjoyment
\nand a measuring stick to rate “rock radio” with. Perhaps now, the
\nband should maintain the barstool slump and leather-clad swagger
\nthat initiated the allure and let their disciples do the
\nexperimenting.<\/p>\n

But, experimenting may be saying too much of the
\nhit-and-miss First Impressions<\/i>, which merely struggles to
\nstick with the band’s enjoyable formula. At least a few cuts, like
\nthe unfortunately named “Ize Of The World” and “Vision Of Division”
\nwill make the “best of” roster when the time comes.<\/p>\n

I’ll forever remember the mid-youth giddiness that
\nsurrounded my first impressions of The Strokes, but in terms of
\nwhat I expect from them in 2006, this ain’t it.<\/p>\n

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