Fear not, the New York indie legends’ latest LP isn’t as bad as diehard fans feared. It’s much better.
If going off the ever reliable opinions of internet sleuths on Reddit, then The Strokes latest album was set to be a sonic disaster. When the first single Going Shopping was released back in April, the tidal wave of autotune had their indie disciples in disarray. First impressions were generally considered to be a band in the mid-career throes of self-imitation. An anxious wait began to see if Reality Awaits would prove to be the self-flagellating musical trainwreck which many decided was inevitable.
Those hoping for a follow up to the critically acclaimed The New Abnormal, or as it’s otherwise known, the Gen Z reanimation of their iconic debut Is This It, will be disappointed. This is ever quirky Julian Casablancas as his absolute weirdest. He’s no longer the noughties personification of suave; he’s evolved into a fully fledged middle-aged goofball. But as a frontman, he’s not sounded this good in years. Unless you’ve come across his side project the Voidz, then this stylistic shift will likely be a baffling departure from the quintet’s trademark sound. Yes, there’s a lot of autotune – but paired alongside the lyrical work, laden with existential dread lightly veiled in absurd humour, it works. For the most part.
Bearing a legacy as weighty as The Strokes’ comes with a monumental task any time new material arrives. Much like Pearl Jam and Guns’n’Roses before them, it’s unlikely that anything will come close to topping the cultural impact of their debut. It leaves two paths – refine that sound for a new generation and build on the blueprint which they themselves invented. Or, go in a different direction and potentially suffer the consequences. Reality Awaits chooses the latter.
It’s not the first time they’ve gone off script, though. Both Angles and Comedown Machine saw the group veer off into slightly muddled territory, with unconventional song structures and stylistic whiplash between songs which felt plucked from spontaneous creative tangents birthed in studio recording sessions. What’s clear now was that this was setting a formula for experimentation which Casablancas would build upon in the 2010s with his solo work. If The New Abnormal was their return to form, then their sixth album is, if nothing else, a genuinely exciting reinvention. What made The Strokes so compelling from their origin was the way they brought back slick, catchy songwriting into rock music. Taking the reins from grunge and (gulp) nu-metal, their early albums reminded us all, alongside a host of yet to form bands who wouldn’t exist without them, that the essence of rock’n’roll should be fun. And Reality Awaits, bows to this mantra.
Across its 42 minute run-time, there’s a strange cohesivity between the music, even if it sounds unusual and abrasive compared to the comforting familiarity of their best known work. The album’s opener Psycho Shit sets the tone with a rising urgency which crescendoes into Casablancas shrieking like a humanoid lunatic. Going to Babble on is the quintet at their most musically affable whilst The Fruits Of Conquest showcases an intoxicating dubby edge. The production feels tight; working with the ever dependable Rick Rubin has clearly paid dividends yet again, as the group demonstrates the tight pop melodicism which we’ve come to expect.
At times the gratuitous use of autotune and the dialled up peculiarity does feel overwhelming, particularly on the less than satisfying closer Tyrants of the Mellow Moon, which warbles its way to a conclusion. As you might expect given the amount of influence Reality Awaits borrows from Casablancas’ extra-curricular projects, it’s a slightly uneven piece of work which holds together primarily based on the sheer catchiness of the music. The outcome is all the more satisfying given the digital oracles prophesizing it to be the indie-rockers judgement day. Now that foregone conclusion has been dispelled, whatever’s to come is genuinely exciting.
