Review Summary: The best necromancers of the modern era.
We’ve heard this story before. Once upon a time, in the vein of Jet and Wolfmother before them, The Strypes were supposed to be that band that
made rock and roll great again, that ended up decidedly
not making rock and roll great again, and inevitably came out as a hollow shadow of bands that made their mark decades ago. However, with their sophomore release The Strypes manage to defy the main defining figure of the revivalist attitude: the perpetual cycle of releases all sounding the same. Instead, The Strypes transition from standard, derivative blues stereotypes to standard, derivative millennial indie rock stereotypes.
As much as I give them flak, they’re good with their instruments, and the rhythm section in particular has stepped up its game from Snapshot, with a crunchier bass tone and occasional restraint from doing every possible fill at every possible moment. It may be less insipid than it was before, but it's still insipid, and at this point in their career, the main cause of debate – fawning over the contrast between their age and the style of music they play – has inevitably been outgrown, and irrelevant to the discussion. The larger problem that comes from the stylistic shift is that where songs could previously just sound like any bluesy pub band, the songs now sound like other artists more than the genre. With its staccato guitar and consistent tom pounding, “Eighty-Four” could fit on any early Arctic Monkeys album, and album opener “Get Into It” has more than a passing resemblance to Franz Ferdinand’s “No You Girls,” if Franz Ferdinand decided to throw away their quirkiness. Respite comes in the softer cuts like “(I Wanna Be Your) Everyday” and “Three Streets and a Village Green”, but these are few and far between, and still don’t fix the issue lying behind the majority of The Strypes’ output.
A major reason for crucifying the band in the past was the lyrics, and the generic wordplay and subjects (sorry, Mr. Ross Farrelly, but I don’t find it notable to know a ‘Blue Collar Jane.’ There are a lot of blue collars and a lot of Janes.) Of course, with maturity comes the need to address the modern era in a hard-hitting fashion, and yet going through with it with titles like “Status Update” and songs about hitting it off with a girl through online chat (see: “Get Into It”, with a stunning chorus of “Ahh… get into it”) makes it all seem rather disingenuous. With guitarist Josh McClorey making himself more prominent on harmonies, it emphasises even more that these guys agree with each other on singing “I’m at the panic station / Trying to catch a train to relief” with a straight face. By the time “Cruel Brunette” comes around, they’ve exhausted all the objects they could compare women to, including but not limited to: caffeine, chewing gum that “tastes like girls,” and a full cup of tea. Come to think of it, this food fixation is strangely fetishised.
In a disappointing way, The Strypes fall into a case of Jake Bugg Syndrome; whatever potential they have is hampered by an inability to escape the lyrical clutches of evil women, or the excessive fascination with emulating the templates of those before them. The days of being labelled "One Direction with instruments" have long passed, and they're steadily improving - but the banality has stuck firmly in place.
