Yes, they are too pretty. No, they arenít too hyped. (Compared to Michael Jackson or Britney or even Pete Yorn.) Yes, the production is awful. No, they donít sound like Television or even Lou Reed. (The guitars remind me of That Petrol Emotion, of all people, and the white-boy rock Ďní roll soul rhythms remind me of late-period Jam.) There is no way, of course, that any band could withstand the hopes and dreams and attention of a million frustrated rockers looking for the next great band to lead us to the nirvana of a pop scene where a great rock and roll band has the attention of the world. The idiots of the year, of course, were the indie purists who dismissed the band without hearing a note, but if 2001 taught us anything, it taught us that purists of any persuasion should be exposed for the narrow-minded idiots that they are. And where does that leave the Strokes? With a debut album that feels like just the beginning.
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