The Strokes

Comedown Machine

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