strokes

Just picked up the new album by The Strokes, who, like the White Stripes, are currently being deified by the British music press as saviors of rock and roll.
Honestly, do British music mags ever think a band’s just, you know, okay? It’s always “there is no excuse to not be listening to this CD at all hours, even while asleep,” or “let’s start a religion with this band at the center.” It’s like it’s a nation of 13-year-olds suddenly realizing that, you know, “Stairway to Heaven” is, like, really deep and stuff. Nothing wrong with that, of course — when you’re 13. (Actually, I’m as guilty of that as anyone. In my previous life as a Professional Rock Critic, I slobbered way too much over CDs that ended up being just, you know, okay. My apologies to any bands that became too drunk on their own power after reading one of my reviews.)
Anyway, surprise! The hype (some measure of it, at least) appears to be deserved. Sure, the vocalist is a Velvet Underground-era Lou Reed ripoff — hell, the whole band is a Velvet Underground ripoff, with little smidges of Television, Iggy Pop, and Blondie. But since when is that a bad thing? They’re coming to Dallas next Monday; anybody want to come with?
(I’m also rooting for a long and productive career for these guys, because that increases the likelihood there’ll someday be a cover band called the Diff’rent Strokes.)