The Wake

Josh Hartnett must be one of the luckiest bastards in Minnesota.

Not only did he score tickets to The Strokes’ sold out show at First Avenue on April 25, he managed to weasel his way in the VIP Lounge by virtue of his star power alone (I saw him do it with my own eyes).

The rest of the 1400 audience members weren’t so fortunate. They had to suffer heady pulse-pounding sets from both The Raveonettes and The Strokes from the floor. Oh cruel fate. I didn’t hear much complaining from them, however.

The opening act, The Raveonettes, touring all the way from Denmark, entranced the crowd with their spacey, edgy brand of rock. I mean that literally, too. Never have so many people been so still at one time.

The crowd of gently bobbing heads and crossed arms looked bored but broke out in raucous applause at the end of each song. Does Minneapolis suffer from some Napoleonic complex that breeds this “too-cool-for-school” kind of apathy?

It wasn’t for lack of effort on the part of The Raveonettes either. Singer/front woman Sharin Foo, dressed in an innocent red and lace cowgirl shirt, offset by thick raccoon eyeliner, matched the vigor of her male counterpart Sune Rose Wagner. Blondie analogies come readily to mind, both in terms of style and substance.

Despite their charged harmonies and shredding guitars, their on-stage charisma was not enough to breath life into the listeners. The Raveonettes put forth a rocking show that would have had people in any other city dancing to beat the devil. I guess artistic, well-played music just isn’t enough sometimes.

I could only hope that The Strokes would shake the audience from its stupor.

One of the current “It” bands, The Strokes are still flying high on the success of their latest album, Room on Fire. Many critics agree that the strength of the album lies in the fact that it sounds almost identical to their first album. They didn’t fall prey to the “sophomore slump.”

Ironically, the strength of their live shows lies in the fact that they sound just like they do on their albums. With most bands, you expect to get something different from a live performance. In times when so much music is over-produced with software like Pro Tools, anyone can be a recording artist with a top-forty style CD.

The pitfall of this technology, of course, is that such sounds are difficult to reproduce in a live venue. Unless you’re lip-synching, chances are you’re not going to sound as good when you’re on stage (are you listening Britney?). The fact that The Strokes can take their recorded sound and replicate it on stage speaks well to their musicianship.

Leaning into his microphone, singer Julian Casablancas sounded gritty and desperate like a man living on borrowed time. Hardly an inch separated him from the mic in between songs, distorting his voice to point of incoherence. Anything he said to the crowd was almost impossible to understand. I caught him saying, “You want the hits? We’ll play the hits,” as they launched into one of their newest singles, “12:51”.

The rest of the band played right on par as well. Albert Hammond JR’s luscious chords were the perfect complement to Casablancas’ intense vocals. Nikolai Fraiture’s simple, yet powerful bass lines could not be overlooked either. Their spartan music, which wouldn’t translate well in large arenas, makes them especially well suited for smaller clubs like First Avenue.

The audience was finally moving, particularly when they played popular songs like “Last Nite” and closed with “Take it or Leave it.” Arms flailed wildly and people pogoed for all they were worth. It wasn’t quite the circle pit I was hoping for, but it was better than nothing. I didn’t see Josh Hartnett dancing, though.