Strokes’ genius is refocused Music
For one of the more juicy and salacious rock and roll histories, try Lizzy Goodman’s Meet Me in the Bathroom. An oral history of the post 9/11 New York music scene, it contains more than 200 interviews and takes its title from a not very romantic song by post-punk pinups
The Strokes. It’s a ride. The Strokes certainly didn’t waste their 15 minutes of global success secondguessing themselves. An instant classic, their debut album Is This It? still burns and yearns as vividly as it did 20 years ago. They knew how good they were and behaved in a debauched manner befitting their status.
After knocking out two more good records in quick succession, and touring the world, they imploded in a haze of drugs and ego, and went into hiatus.
Their second decade was more fractured. Loose-lipped lead singer Julian Casablancas did some weird solo stuff (some of it was really good).
Guitarist Albert Hammond Jr was even more prolific, and the whole band recorded a few times, but nothing seemed to have the same sharp focus as the early recordings.
The New Abnormal is The Strokes all on the same page again. Rather than trying to squeeze into a pair of jeans that no longer fit, they sound laid-back and comfortable.
Rick Rubin has a knack for bringing out the best in artists, and he does so here by honing in on what The Strokes do best, the syncopated interplay between their tight rhythm section and the precision of their guitar riffs. Casablancas is in fine form and ageing appropriately. Not the Same Anymore makes a case for his unfulfilled career as a lounge singer. When he’s in tune and he leaves the broken rasp out of his voice, he really is quite sweet.
As the world went into lockdown, Laura Marling released her new album earlier than scheduled, saying she ‘‘didn’t see any reason to hold back on something that might, at the very least, entertain, and at its best provide some sense of union’’. Thank you, Ms Marling, this is gorgeous.
Cleaner and lighter than her previous work Semper Femina, Song For Our Daughter seems especially stripped back for isolation. There is a peacefulness that pervades these songs. Meditations on motherhood and reckonings with relationships gone wrong are treated with equanimity and beauty.
If you only listen to one song, try Fortune. Transmuting despair into hope with a simple guitar line and some strings, her crystal clear voice shares a tale of strength and quiet determination.
In such turbulent times, and with so much time for introspection, Song For Our Daughter feels like a fluffy cloud on which to lay one’s head.