Strokes rock Axis

In two years, the Strokes have effortlessly climbed the NYC club ladder, gobbled the sweet bait of a major record label and become Europe’s newfound rock pets. They’ve even been declared the second coming of the Velvet Underground. But the hype-for-substance exchange rate last Wednesday at Axis seemed lopsided, at least initially.

Part of the Strokes’ delayed impact was due to supporting act and fellow New York upstarts the Moldy Peaches. Surely emerging fresh from a Garment District spree, troubadours Kimya Dawson and Adam Green caused a sensation before they even opened their traps.

Flanked by an excellent four–piece of similarly oddball costuming, the self-proclaimed “anti-folk” jesters bubbled up singsong lines and disharmonious screams drawn straight from god-knows-where. Dawson and Green were too geeky to come off as perverts, but their material still out-dirtied most political scandals. Ditties celebrated roller skates, neurotic indie boys in tight pants and crazy burgers, and the crowd-clincher was entitled, “Who’s Got The Crack.” It was musical theatre with X-rated Dr. Seuss lyrics — and good, cheeky, unclean fun.

The changeover from cheek to chic wasn’t smooth. Disorientation resulted from The Strokes’ dim decision to open with a strange song called “When It Started.” A last-minute addition to their upcoming American debut, it sorely lacked an ear-catching hook. The plodding “Is This It” and drum trance “The Modern Age” followed, with the sold-out house rightfully sluggish to respond. Unfortunate also was how Julian Casablancas’ lead growl lost its Lou Reedy resonance in transmission from studio to live performance.

Happily, three songs into the 40-minute set, guitarists Nick Valensi and Albert Hammond, Jr. managed to crack open the night with furious strum racing on the Blondie-kissed “Soma.” Immediately, the band’s tame first course was forgiven, just a wee bump on the road to golden rock rapture.

Axis broke loose with the jaunty romp of “Someday.” Sashaying was unavoidable, and many unconsciously mouthed Casablancas’ clever, catchy poetry. “You say you want to stand by my side/ Darling your head’s not right” overrode every strain of lip synching inhibition out there. “Take It Or Leave It” swirled in rousing rounds of both guitar and vocals, and “Hard To Explain” spontaneously matured into the snarling rocker it album.

Shaggy-haired, starry-eyed frontman Casablancas was the quintet’s only flamboyant member, yet guitarists Valensi and Hammond threatened to steal the show on manual flair alone. Though irresistibly poppy, “Last Nite” was a war of the axes. Tinny, feverish rhythm guitar competed with bolts of solo lightning, and a fascinating fusion of pogoing and ’50s sock-hop bopping ensued.

Then, after stating his mission of “having fun,” Casablancas tore into the black-listed “New York City Cops.” With words indirectly poking at the NYPD, the cut was pulled from their forthcoming U.S. disc in light of the recent terrorist attacks. Wednesday’s rendition saw soaring vocals, breakneck guitar work and cynics buckling left and right. Boasting the punkiest chorus of them all, “New York City Cops” was a cathartic, affirmative gig high point.

When the after-show hush descended, everyone simultaneously realized why The Strokes can’t be contained in the pen of indie obscurity. Although a delayed reaction, it was a lasting one; they’ve begun a New York punk and pop renaissance.