This record is fun, it’s exuberant, and it’s diverse – and yet nothing sounds unnatural or feels crowbarred in.
The Strokes will never get back the raw magic of Is This It? but, with Comedown Machine, they’ve cast a different spell entirely – one that’s almost joyful.
They’ve played around, tested themselves – unburdened themselves of anyone’s expectations other than their own – and won.
The Strokes' most mature music yet, Comedown Machine is a solidly enjoyable album, even if it lacks some of the band's previous spark.
It’s flawed, it’s imperfect and it’s downright odd at points, but it is packed with belting tunes. Most of all, it’s fun – a great achievement considering it hasn’t looked like fun being in The Strokes for years.
While Comedown Machine sounds—and more importantly flows—like Angles, it finds some new charms.
Their best songs pack more riffs, eighth notes, energy, spunk, and humor into three minutes than most fit into a whole album. Comedown Machine doesn’t so much combine those factors as it does spread them out unevenly.
True to the album’s title, it’s comfortable and less persuasive. The risks feel warranted, even if it doesn’t result in something that’s sticky or punchy. This might explain why the album doesn’t carry a single hit.
As long as they keep stumbling into the same studio every few years, The Strokes will probably continue making albums like Comedown Machine: reliably solid, mostly enjoyable, slightly disappointing for reasons that are difficult to articulate.
While Comedown Machine drags itself through a number of dead zones (most notably the dud pair of the title track and “50 50”), there are moments where they recapture some of what made them a great band.
The limitations of Comedown Machine's protracted diversity all come back to Casablancas, a man with wide range as a listener and extremely narrow range as a musician.
As it is, Comedown Machine is an effort where successive listens and dissections of the songs ultimately reveal more meaning and comprehension. Good, not magnificent.
A scuffed-up but fine-tuned power-pop band that's never been less than the sum of its influences casts its net wider, or maybe just into different waters.
If this is all they can muster, their future looks anything but bright, and the most damning indictment is that they sound bored by the effort.
Overall, it might not be fair for The Strokes to have to live under the shadow of their own previous successes. But when you know a band can be that good, it's frustrating to hear the same band put out an album this forgettable.
Just like the band itself, it presents something of an ongoing identity crisis for the band, one that hasn’t figured out how to advance their sound except to put more meat on the bones
#41 | / | NME |
#47 | / | Q Magazine |