All five members of The Strokes appear to have studiously avoided wandering under a showerhead since birth. Yet in photographs they never fail to appear devastatingly stylish, like a bunch of Bowery James Bonds. This poseurship is just one of the reasons it takes immense critical discipline not to hate them. The Strokes' effortlessness is pure fiction; not since the Velvet Underground met Andy Warhol has a band so effectively been art directed to achieve the look of not having been art directed. But when you hear the Strokes, that cultivated cool disperses with every passing guitar chord, and suddenly, just...
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