Published Nov. 21, 2003, in the Kansas State Collegian

Review by Matthew Webber

Reviewing the Strokes is easy. Separating their highly anticipated sophomore album, "Room on Fire," from the hype machine is impossible.

Deciding whether I even like it is a Sisyphusian ordeal.

The Strokes are five unkempt dudes in a New York garage band who sing about being five unkempt dudes in a New York garage band. In the past month, they have appeared on the covers of Rolling Stone and Spin, both of which praised them with mouth-foaming fervor.

Articles about the Strokes typically follow a Mad Libs formula. "The Strokes are the (superlative adjective) band in (synonym for someplace large). (Hyperbolic description of album). (String of clever, show-offy metaphors)."

Let's try it.

"The Strokes are the raddest band in the northern hemisphere. 'Room on Fire' is without a doubt the finest piece of music ever written, performed or recorded by humans. A new song, 'Meet Me in the Bathroom,' is as explosive as TNT in Wile E. Coyote's paw. The most adept rockers since the Bremen Town Musicians, the Strokes are to coolness as Jonas Salk is to vaccines."

And I have been brainwashed by music magazines.

In their defense, the Strokes are the Rolling Stones of the new rock movement. Like the Stones, they have influenced countless inferior bands, and they keep making the same song.

However, like the Stones, the Strokes have the potential to occasionally amaze. The eighth-note bass notes in "12:51" propel the song's tempo like an Olympic sprinter's footsteps.

The guitar riff and bridge of "Reptila" is as dumb, elementary and life-altering as the blast from an amplifier when its owner discovers volume knobs, distortion pedals and pissing off the parents.

"Room on Fire" is the Strokes' debut, "Is This It," part two.

After experimenting with Radiohead producer Nigel Godrich, the Strokes returned to Gordon Raphael and his clean-but-murky production. Every guitar sounds both crispy and mushy. Lead singer Julian Casablancas still sounds like he's singing into a tin-can-and-string telephone.

The performances would sound sloppy, if they all weren't so meticulous.

Here's why the Strokes frustrate me: They are talented enough to sound like the most slipshod band on earth.