Nevermind Nirvana: The 10th Anniversary of The Strokes' Is This It?

To rock and roll scribes, the 20th anniversary of Nirvana’s Nevermind has prompted a whirlwind of musings about the record over the past few months, present company included.

And while many writers reveled in the sheer nostalgia of the event, many of them seem too young to fully grasp the impact that Nevermind had on music upon its original release. It’s not that their thoughts aren’t warranted or worthy of your eyes, it’s just that most generations tend to look for their own cornerstones, and I began thinking about which albums released during their time of influence would be counted as vital documents of a younger cultural shift.

So get off my lawn, you kids, and let me return the favor with my own thoughts on which album you should replace Nevermind with.

One of the first albums that came to mind was Neutral Milk Hotel’s In The Aeroplane Over The Sea, Jeff Mangum’s frequently acknowledged classic concerning something about Anne Frank. I must confess, however, that I don’t really understand how or why this record has found its way into so many hearts.

While I would be more than willing to grant this album a five-star review based on its original arrangements and provocative attention bestowed on it, I wouldn’t go as far as to admit that it was immediately recognized as a record who’s influence was so great that it managed to change the course of rock music, even a smudge.

Its subject matter was too historic, its words too academic, and its music too obscure to really grab hold for a country of young musicians to follow the path that it laid out. Hell, even the name of the band screams equal parts inside-joke and pretentious word-play.

OK Computer by Radiohead is sited frequently, but at its core the record is another off-shoot of previous records from other artists in rock’s storied history. As much as I love OK Computer, I feel like spinning Wish You Were Here afterwards, simply because its lineage mirrors the very same classic rock albums that I grew up with.

Plus, it was released not very long after Nevermind, so maybe today’s young adults think of Radiohead in the same terms as I thought of Pink Floyd.
If it were up to me, I would choose a record that is also celebrating a notably anniversary this year: The Strokes Is This It?

The caveat I begin with is that in no way am I comparing The Strokes one-and as of this writing, only-masterstroke with Nirvana’s clarion call. As many scribes have correctly pointed out, Nevermind may be the last record that was album to change the course of rock music because it was the last record that was able to utilize the old-school paradigm.

And since radio has become an irrelevant delivery system, dead from the moment it was purchased by Clear Channel and homogenized from a home office thousands of miles away from its city of license.

And since MTV 86’d music content for Snooki, making all of those Teen Spirit cheerleaders that appeared in the video a relic to their generation only.

And since record labels viewed their customers as the enemies and chose to fight for the same level of profit that they’d always gotten from huge mark-ups.

And since all of these events happened, that old school paradigm is no longer gospel, making it impossible for any act to achieve the same kind of success that Nirvana experience, thereby eliminating any possibility for an event like Nevermind to take place again.

But for a moment in 2001, it looked as though The Strokes may be on to something.
A decade later, we’re still waiting for that confirming follow up, and based on the lackluster albums they released since that time, it doesn’t appear that the band is capable of living up to its original promise.

I would contend that, because of this, even the appeal of Is This It? Has suffered somewhat. We no longer view the record with the same enthusiasm as before, but does that make its impact less worthy?

Hardly. Whether your opinion of The Strokes or Is This It? Is enthusiastic or unfavorable, there’s little in denying that-for a brief moment-the band prompted an influx of like-minded bands or blatant rip-offs, all using the Velvet’s “What Goes On” rhythms underneath a bratty vocalist who wants little more than to get to your apartment.

Bratty is how we like our New Yorkers. Plus, we’d heard little from NYC rock unit for the better part of two decades before The Strokes turned their tiny rehearsal space into the archetypal Butch Vig sound of the new millennium.

And yeah, that sound was sorta important because by 2001, you could buy enough software for your laptop to make your own demos sound like they were done at Smart Studios. Is This It? Reminded us that even upper Middle Class brats needed to rehearse, and you can’t feign rock and roll legitimacy on looks alone.

Naysayers, I know you’re gonna tell me “That’s the problem!” that this band was created on hype alone. For me though-as someone who noticed The Strokes because of said hype-I’d suggest that it was authentic-at least in the beginning, because nowadays, I’m not sure if The Strokes have delivered enough to warrant that Spin cover shot, or even the lead review in your favorite mag.

But a decade ago, I can’t tell you how pleased I was with that first single, with the Capital mid-60’s swirl label and-more importantly-the 3 songs featured within short player. It sounded like the torch that the Velvets passed on to Television were finally getting passed on to the new millennium.

Finally! A new guitar rock band from N.Y.C. that I could feel good about while feeling all warm and fuzzy from those familiar guitar tones and Big Apple attitude.

The fact that they couldn’t keep it up with each subsequent release doesn’t make the debut shine less brightly, and the fact that-since we’re feeling all teary-eyed and retrospective this month, let’s not forget The Strokes’ anniversary for an album that briefly hinted that another cultural shift was getting ready to take place.

Turn Off The Bright Lights-The Fall Of The New York City Promise

It’s official. Thanks to the stunningly mediocre Our Love To Admire, the final New York band from the Class of 01 released an album that failed to come anywhere near the former genius of prior releases.
You see, I am one of those that consider Interpol, The Strokes, and The Mooney Suzuki all released albums of near-perfect status. Sure, all three bands were derivative as fuck and all received their fair share of hyperbole, press, and accolades early into their career.
While sustaining this kind of immediate praise is admittedly impossible, it shouldn’t account for the fact that not one of these aforementioned bands could even hint at their former consistency.
In other words: stick a fork in the entire early aught N.Y.C. rock revival movement.
It’s done.
I’m sure there’s a ton a great bands still hammering away in that city, but the three bands (four if you count the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, I suppose) that held the most promise and demonstrated the most ability to lead have systematically, album after album, let us down with their failure at ushering in the next New York City heroes that were supposed to take over the former shakers that maintained underground adulation with commercial acceptance. Shame on me for considering that The Strokes were going to take those catchier Velvet Underground moments and smack the public around with John Cale’s viola bow. How dumb of me to believe that Interpol may’ve been able to lift a nifty Television guitar phrase and turn it into a heavy rotation favorite. And how silly to think that The Mooney Suzuki’s fist emblem would find itself hanging in suburban Hot Topics, spawning a clique of poseurs set on kicking out the jams for all the motherfuckers.
I was ready and waiting for all three of those bands to make the transition, to leave the nest, as it were, and I was fairly certain from recognizing the greatness of Is This It? or Turn On The Bright Lights or Electric Sweat that these would be the bands that could accomplish such a thing.
So why weren’t they able to?
The Strokes were not only victims of over-saturation, they demonstrated an uncanny ability to contribute to it. With Random Notes snapshot of late night exploits and the obligatory Drew Barrymore handjobs, these brats were able to take sour grape dissings of silver spoon upbringings and turn it into legitimate dissings of silver spoon upbringings. I mean, you don’t let Drew Barrymore anywhere near your cock until album number three.
And they almost immediately followed up Is This It? with a charming repeat (Room On Fire) before succumbing to the “You guys need to demonstrate versatility.” armchair quarterbacks that prompted First Impressions Of Earth.
Interpol managed to initiate their fall from grace fairly quickly after Turn On The Bright Lights; they too chose to replicate the formula of their debut for album number two (Antics) while sounding polished, commercial, and utterly uninspired for album three. If you believed the band’s notoriety for mystery and style, then it must have been tragic to watch them wallow in half-baked and utterly transparent directions that have as much chance of gaining a wider audience as Ian Curtis setting foot in America.
And then there’s The Mooney Suzuki who released the awfully shitty Alive & Amplified with the still awfully shitty Have Mercy. I’m still on the fence about if teaming up with the Matrix on Alive & Amplified was a ballsy decision or an incredibly stupid one, but I do know that the end result was a soul-less endeavor from a band that used soul as a primary selling point.
So now all three bands have a pair of albums since their last acknowledged highpoints and I’ve come to the decision that maybe that’s all we’re really going to hear from each one of them, in terms of certifiable and universally regarded releases.
I played each one of those aforementioned albums and was immediately brought back to the point where I felt something special was about to happen with them (or to them) and I eagerly awaited their next release.
Now, I’ve learned that I know longer need to be eagerly awaiting anything by The Strokes, Interpol, or The Mooney Suzuki. Instead, I’ve learned to stay clear of their falling marquees.

The Strokes-First Impressions Of Earth

I’ve received 318 e-mails asking me for my thoughts on the new Strokes album, “First Impressions of Earth.” Think of this as my first impression of “First Impressions of Earth,” which actually would mean several impressions as I played the thing a few dozen times in the car, which may lead you to believe that I really like the new Strokes album, which wouldn’t be true at all.
It’s not as bad as you might think, and you need to consider the following before continuing:
1.) I bought The Strokes’ debut single when N.M.E. was shitting all over themselves at these spoiled, prep school rock boys.
2.) I spent additional cash to get the naughty cover copy of “Is This It,” an album which, regardless of your own opinion of this band, will continue to be highly regarded and highly influential, particularly across the pond.
3.) I think “Room On Fire” is a great follow-up, one that only suffers from being released immediately after the Strokes backlash began and from sounding too much like, go figure, a sophomoric album.
So what’s a touted rock band to do when poised to release their third album? You expand it. Fill it out. Polish it up.
It starts out great; “You Only Live Once” contains everything great about the band and builds a blueprint of what they needed to do to remain relevant after more print was spent on what The Strokes wear than what they sound like. For sure: when you start reading more about the parties the band attended than a show, a song, a session, it’s not hard to jump on the nuke the Knack bandwagon.
The second song, “Juicebox,” the album’s divisive first single with a Peter Gunn guitar riff underneath a snotty Julian Casablancas delivery, raised a few eyebrows when, by the time of the chorus, he actually sings. And if you recall, boys and girls, Lou Reed never really sang and we tolerated Tom Verlaine’s voice knowing that he was just setting up for an unbelievable guitar solo.

Saint Julian doesn’t play guitar. But guitarist Albert Hammond and Nic Valensi do, and “First Impressions of Earth” is the first Strokes album in which we see how good they’ve become over the past five years. Example: on side one’s closer “Vision of Division” the guitar solo absolutely shreds, and when the racket finally ends, Casablancas mutters “I’m such a success.” Perfect.
When you reach the end of side one, you start to consider that “First Impressions of Earth” is, in fact, a very good album. The problems start creeping up immediately at the beginning of side two. One of the things that was cool about The Strokes was a common complaint lodged by their detractors: they’re boring. Exactly. That’s the point. Boys in their early twenties in New York City that seem positively bored with their surroundings. Huh? Try spending a weeknight in smalltown Iowa, fellas. Now, particularly with “Ask Me Anything,” they seem not only bored with their surroundings, but bored with the notion that they’re supposed to actually deliver a stellar third album. More than ever: this was supposed to be their comeback album, and side two sounds like they’d rather be at a fucking cocktail party instead of being in the studio. Proof? I swear that Julian said something like “Took a shit/It was fine” in the song “15 minutes.” I’m not sure about this. It sure sounds like he said this. The point is, when you start mumbling about bowel movements, maybe it’s time to consider a career change.
Why haven’t they? Julian seems to answer that on the last song “Red Light” with the line “Do it for the people that’d die for your sake/An entire generation that has nothing to say” which may point to why they finally gave up. Why bother striving to release an intentionally excellent album to a fickle Generation Y who’ve already moved on to another next big thing and who will just download your shit for free anyway? The point is, gentlemen, because you’ve got to give us a reason to buy your shit. It seems that everyone but Julian on this album understands that rock music is their fucking job, and while his cynicism is kind of precocious in small doses, over the course of an entire album side, he turns into the guy at work that nobody likes to socialize with because he’s always got a chip on his shoulder. Lighten up, buddy. There’s a lot of us who still dream about fucking models while RCA picks up the bar tab for the entire evening. The frustrating thing is how, if he would have invested just a little more focus on “First Impressions of Earth” the band would have delivered what was expected of them on their third offering.