If hype is a gift, then the Strokes are as privileged as their white-collar, prep school upbringing implies. But as that hype becomes a weight, the band seems poised to suffer from its namesake.

Following a 2001 debut, the act was christened both the savior of contemporary rock ’n’ roll, and more difficultly the heirs to the Velvet Underground and Television atop New York City’s musical thrown.

Yet as quickly as historians hoped Julian Casablancas’ tailored croon could knock the radio polish off the Big Apple, those same critics blasted the band’s under-appreciated follow-up for sounding too similar to the album they praised two years earlier.

On the quintet’s third release, the NYC blue-bloods do what they have always done – ignore the peripherals and play music they enjoy. For the oddly-titled “First Impressions of Earth,” Casablancas and his bandmates commissioned producer David Kahne to spice up their sound.

What seemed like a poor choice – given Kahne’s reputation as the man who urged Wilco not to release “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot” because of its challenging nature, as well as his history of working with uber-glossy artists like Sugar Ray and Orgy – at times worked in the band’s favor.

Kahne stretched the band’s chops to include surf guitars (“Juicebox”), ballads (“Ask Me Anything” and “15 Minutes”) and to tone down Casablancas’ trademark vocal distortion. By taking the sound beyond a song-writing comfort zone, the always-tight musicianship from those infamous 10-hour rehearsals, is brought to the forefront.

And it has to be, to follow suite with Casablancas’ tendency to wear his exhaustion on his sleeve. Not afraid of sounding simplistic, the 27-year-old front man has never been a lyrical genius, but he’s always been honest. So when he claims “I’m through/ sit me down/ shut me up” (“You Only Live Once”) we have no reason not to do it. And when he says “I’m stuck in a city/ but I belong in a field” (“Heart in a Cage”) we can almost picture him bolting from the New York skyline for Midwestern corn and solidarity – especially when he claims “I’m tired of everyone I know/ of everyone I see/ on the street and on TV,” (“On the Other Side”).

The casualness of Casablancas’ disinterest in himself, and more importantly in his music, is why this 14-track experiment sounds less like a first impression and more like a final one.

Northern Star, Jan. 19, 2006