THERE were scenes of mild hysteria and incipient hypothermia in and around the Shepherds Bush Empire as the Strokes arrived to play the first night of a lengthy British tour.
While the hottest band from New York prepared to take the stage, a long queue of media tastemakers shivered outside where touts were offering tickets at more than triple their face value.
The band are here to promote their chart-topping third album, First Impressions of Earth, and the stage certainly looked as if a small spacecraft were coming in to land.
With the drum kit set on a 5ft-tall riser and the stage overhung by a huge triangular lighting truss, there were beams of white and orange shooting in all directions, while banks of candy-striped neon chevrons flashed at the back and sides.
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All of which was in rather stark contrast to the perennially cool, undemonstrative manner of the band members themselves. Still dressing in what looks like thrift-shop threads, and maintaining a bohemian distrust of the hairdressing profession, the five musicians performed with an air of supreme confidence.
The swashbuckling cut and thrust of the two guitars was perfectly matched by the urgent swagger of the bass and drums, as Julian Casablancas sang a string of new songs — Heart in a Cage, Juice Box, Evening Sun — in his distinctively deadpan drawl, while holding on to the microphone stand as if to stop himself being blown over in a high wind.
Musically they were very New York, combining the slightly gormless, punk-rock energy of the Ramones with the sophisticated art-rock pretensions of the Velvet Underground in one seamless package — no mean feat. But for a bunch of street-smart buddies they were a strangely compartmentalised group of performers. In a momentary display of affection, Casablancas plonked a kiss on the cheek of the guitarist, Albert Hammond Jr. But for the most part there was no detectable communication or emotional interaction between the musicians whatsoever.
Casablancas, who writes all the songs, was the only one to sing or say anything, and it was anyone’s guess what he was on about, either in his lyrics or his between-song mumbles. They were just a little too cool to care.
But the songs made up for it and, after a tremendous version of Reptilia, the group surged into a five-song encore that wiped away all doubts.
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A punchy New York City Cops gave way to a banging I Can’t Win before they finished in a blaze of guitar soloing during their manifesto number Take It Or Leave It. We took it. They left.
Tour continues until February 18. Details: www.thestrokes.com