(released on RCA, 2011)
Review by Michael Bird
2.5/5
There’s a restaurant I used to take girls to on dates that weren’t particularly important. It might have been hastily organised last-minute dinners or relatively unimportant first stops on long nights out, but the attraction was the minimum fuss, decent if uninspired menu and consistent mediocrity. There’s nothing wrong with mediocrity, of course, in the right context. Unfortunately, someone in the management chain decided that a facelift was needed, and the restaurant became a weird, quasi-Hawaiian themed joint with off-putting staff and strange menu items. There was pineapple everywhere.
I don’t think I’m alone in saying that all I ever really want from a Strokes release is a good time. Casablancas et al. have never been at the cutting edge of creativity (or the cutting edge of anything besides consummate pilfering of the coolest trends from bygone eras), and the big drawcard for the Strokes has always been their ability to turn out solid, catchy as hell garage-pop songs. However, on Angles, the band has changed their menu somewhat. The blueprint remains the same, and there are some cuts that are arguably right up there with ‘Reptilia’ and ‘Someday’, but there is definitely pineapple that’s come with the introduction of new elements. A lot of pineapple.
There have been hints of every-second-beat, lite reggae/ska feel in a few Strokes songs of years gone by, but no one would have accused The Strokes of being terribly experimental before now. Vocalist Julian Casablancas did explore some new-ish territory (new for him as a recording artist, certainly not new in a ‘Michael J. Fox playing Chuck Berry’ sort of way) on his solo release, but for the most part, Strokes albums have been consistently safe affairs in terms of texture. The tropical guitar chirps deployed in ‘Machu Picchu’ are a surprise then, but like most new directions explored in Angles, the novelty wears off quickly and the experiment pales in comparison to the more familiar parts of the song.
The 80’s reverb and quite ugly drum production that dominates the verses of ‘Two Kinds Of Happiness’ is an unwelcome distraction from the chorus/instrumental break that follows, likewise for ‘You’re So Right’ in its entirety, which must be trudged through before album highlight ‘Taken For A Fool’. It’s a snappy pop number about girls and bars, ‘Taken For A Fool’: truly classic Strokes. Casablancas has never had much to say that was particularly deep, so why bother? There might be one group of kids who gets high and discusses the insipid lyrical turns of ‘Games’ for every thousand discussing Lateralus, it’s just not The Strokes’ market.
Casablancas does display some growth in his singing abilities, mostly in terms of range. The tinny vocal distortion that became his trademark is gone, and there’s even some multi-tracking (which might become a problem in live performances, we’ll see come next festival season). The disparate, disconnected manner in which the album was apparently recorded seems too easy an excuse for the schizophrenic nature of the songs; it’s really something that can wait for the bands’ obituary to be discussed at length. Who didn’t always suspect that Casablancas was a bit of a dick anyway? The best songs on Angles are those that live up to this and other myths (true or not) about The Strokes, those that sound like they were written and recorded after rolling out of bed, having a smoke and a beer for breakfast, donning out of (and thereby in) fashion jackets and shades, and swaggering a little. Classic Strokes has some swagger to it, and not enough of this album does.
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