Electric Six
Señor Smoke

THE REVIEW

The rock

In the January issue of “Mojo,” the Strokes are pictured outside the CBGB, with McDonald's on the left and Starbucks on the right, and I immediately felt a connection—I worked at Starbucks too. Two of them are wearing red ties, one a green waistcoat, and Casablancas a yellow jacket. Indeed, it seemed like it had just finished raining: no one is smiling, and they probably got the joke too. When "Is This It" came out, I jumped out of my chair, and I fell for the man in the yellow jacket: if you're still at the bottom, some naïve ideals remain. And although nothing has changed (I still clean toilets in a house with eight people), I no longer like Casablancas.

Back then, if you liked "Is This It," you had to like the White Stripes too; otherwise, the press made you seem like a leper. They were a bit fake as well: the image of the Strokes (five handsome lads dressed in the latest fashion), the image of the White Stripes (siblings? Lovers? Cousins? In any case, in whatever capacity they were getting it on, you knew the bed was white and red with vertical stripes). And although nothing has changed (I still feel like a leper), Jack doesn't convince me anymore: I see him in magazines as a Coca-Cola spokesperson, and at least the Strokes avoided smiling in the photo. During the American tour, he brought the Muldoons as support, and at least he can't be accused of not trying to promote emerging music: the average age of the Muldoons is eight, but the drummer is even better than Meg. They were even interviewed on "Q": the singer said he intended to start a solo career. "What a damn generation!" complains Dick Valentine in the opening track of "Señor Smoke": there needs to be a "Rock & Roll Evacuation!"—and a somewhat silly drumbeat kicks in. What comes next is a festival of the surreal: hookers who owe him money, rockers playing vibrators, Presidents waging wars. “Would you like an epidemic dance with me?” he asks the girls, and I would dance with him too. I've always seen genres (a nasty bunch, you'd agree) less as a musical representation and more as an attitude. I don't give a damn about how many notes you can play; if it's three, it doesn't mean you're punk. When I think of Rock, the leper inside me thinks about forgetting the troubles: make me jump, make me laugh, make me feel good, don't take yourself too seriously, be my certainty, make me scream knowing that we somewhat resemble each other, happy and a bit stupid.

At the time of their first album, Electric Six had two singles that seemed ready to smash everything: in one, they sang about nuclear war on the dance floor, and in another, they said they were going to spend money in a gay bar just to spite me. For the latter, they made a video where they sang as Bush and Blair, and if I were you, I'd make it mine at all costs: truly irresistible. For decades, this kind of people taught me to forget the troubles, and now they let others rob them because Rock shouldn't become extinct. If you're really interested, Electric Six plays a kind of electrocash beast where they mix a bit of everything that could make you move your ass. If, instead, you don't give a damn like me, then in my opinion, they play rock and for me the best of the year.