| Three minutes and 13 seconds. That's how long it took for the Strokes to strike. It's the length of "The Modern Age", the first song that made it to Australia early this year from the sessions the New York five-piece had blasted onto tape in Transporter Raum, a basement studio near the corner of Avenue A and 2nd Street in Manhattan's East Village. Across the Atlantic, Geoff Travis from the Rough Trade label reportedly listened to the demo tape for the first time in his car and phoned the band's management halfway through the song to offer them a single deal on the spot. Despite the subsequent hype that would surround the band, hearing that three minutes and 13 seconds before the publicity hit was enough to indicate something special was happening here. It was all controlled chaos, with feverishly scrubbed guitars, a clattering, sinewy rhythm section, and a vocalist who appeared to be singing through a fuzzbox. The production was almost anti-production, a concentrated core of sound that gave you the distinct impression the band were in the next room. They also sounded like a band out of time, one of the very few rock groups of recent times that didn't appear to be influenced by Nirvana. You had to go back to the Ramones, Televisions and Wire, and then Iggy Pop, the Modern Lovers and the Velvet Underground to gather useful reference points and try to figure out some sort of pedigree. Later, pictures of the band confirmed they looked as cool as they sounded. Drowsy-eyed, tousle-haired, and dressed like they just woken up from a party in the middle of 1977, singer Julian Casablancas, guitarists Nick Valensi and Albert Hammond Jr, bass player Nikolai Fraiture and drummer Fab Moretti were so New York that it hurt. In interviews they called each other baby and kissed each other on the cheek. The English press delighted in reporting that they got into random fights roughly on the hour, something the band vehemently denies. But it made good copy. Here was a group that wasn't just a band, they were a gang. Their debut album, Is This It - notice the defiant lack of a question mark - was released in Australia at the end of July, two months prior to the US date, in order to coincide with a national tour with You Am I. On stage they would play the album from track one to track 11, a tight, taut and terrific set of raw, frantic, intense rock. Hammond held his guitar high on his body, Valensi slung it low - they played off each other rather than settling into set rhythm/lead roles. Fraiture played the stolid John Entwhistle role, pulling off melodic bass lines that danced around the vocal melody, or threaded through choppy guitars. Casablancas very occasionally said thanks, and not much else, content to roar through a killer collection of songs about confusion, lust, boredom and missed connections. Moretti didn't make it out here at all. He broke his hand when he fell out of the tour van in Scotland and Matt Romano was substituted. Just before This Is It was due in US stores, two passenger jets hit the World Trade Centre, and the band decided to pull "New York City Cops" (offending line: "they ain't too smart") from the album. They were no longer an anonymous bunch of guys messing around with guitars in small bars and releasing a low-key CD. From being virtually unknown outside hip Manhattan circles 12 months ago, they became the most talked about new band to come out of America in 2001. Lead singer and songwriter Julian Casablancas, the old man of the group at the age of 22, took us on a guided tour of the trip so far. So you and Albert first met in boarding school in Switzerland? Yeah, but we weren't even friends, because he was two years younger, but he was the only other American dude around. Then he came to New York years later. I was playing with Nick, Fab and Nikolai and we were looking for another guitarist. We needed something more complicated than one guy playing chords and the other playing lead. I didn't like that shit. It was so weird to see him again. He was going to film school, but he said that he played guitar and he rally wanted to do music. And I was like, "Right!" Did you two bond at all over the fact that your fathers were both well-known? (Julian's father is John Casablancas, who founded the Elite modelling agency; Albert's father is Albert Hammond, who had hits in the '70s with "It Never Rains in Southern California" and "Down by the River") Not at all. I lived with my mum. My dad paid for my school and my mum's apartment. For me, my mum's boyfriend was more like my dad. He was an artist and he taught me a lot about art and about the work ethic. You played your first gig on September 14, 1999, and legend has it that there were only six people in the audience. Can you review that night? We didn't even tell many people. We didn't want them to see us. I puked before we went on. We were trying to do something interesting, but it was not good. It was like a rough mock-up. Then we did hours and hours of practice and hours and hours of working on the songs and hours and hours trying to understand the music. Every free second we had, we would call each other up and tirelessly rehearse. You were obsessed. I wouldn't say obsessed. We were friends first. We all got along. We would party and have fun, but when it came to the music we took it seriously. By the end of 2000 you'd worked up to playing a residency at the Mercury Lounge. What sort of place is that? That was like our dream place to play. It's the coolest small venue for local bands. It's actually across the street from the Spiral where we played that first gig. It's amazing how 30 yards can make such a difference. Always in the back of our minds we wanted to play the Mercury Lounge. It has a 250-300 capacity. Some of my favourite shows are from playing there. We did a residency on Wednesdays. When we broke a hundred, we were like, "Alright!" Then it was 175, and we were like, "175? Woah!" And then, "You've sold the place out." We went crazy. The guy who booked the place (Ryan Gentles) is our manager now. When you got to that point did you think you'd achieved what you wanted to do, or had your ambitions become bigger by then? We didn't even have time think about it a lot. We were thinking about the next show and working on new songs. Ryan started sending out CDs and that's when Geoff Travis (from Rough Trade in the UK) called and said, "Let's do a single and a tour." We had this meeting at a restaurant and Ryan said, "Do you guys want to go to England?" We were like, "Oh my God!" Every month we would go, "What? No fucking way. Are you fucking way. Are you fucking with me?" You're touring with Guided by Voices. "What?" You're playing South by Southwest. "Huh?" Is it true that you actually started recording the album with someone else before you went to Transporter Raum with Gordon Raphael? Yeah, after the tour in England, Geoff Travis said, "I know this guy who recorded the Pixies, Gil Norton." We had breakfast with him before we started recording. We talking and I said, "Don't make us sound like the Foo Fighters". It ended up sounding like a bad version of us. It didn't sound like we ever sound. He was actually a really cool guy. We got along fine with him, but the sound was too clean and that made parts sound too pretentious. It sounded like we were trying too hard. You never want to sound like that. We did three songs. What I like about the album is that it has a loose feel to it. It sounds as easy as someone talking to you. |
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