The Strokes – “Reality Awaits”

Twenty-five years into their career, The Strokes have reached the point where nostalgia could easily sustain them. Instead of coasting on the formula that made them one of the defining rock bands of the early 2000s, they continue searching for new artistic territory. Reinvention is necessary for longevity, and Reality Awaits deserves credit for refusing to become a greatest hits retread. Unfortunately, ambition alone doesn’t guarantee success. In trying to push the band into unfamiliar territory, frontman Julian Casablancas often sacrifices the very qualities that made The Strokes compelling in the first place.

Rick Rubin returns to produce after helping guide The New Abnormal, and the sessions began in an unlikely location atop a mountain overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Guanacaste, Costa Rica. That setting seeps into the album’s sonic character. The guitars breathe with more space than previous Strokes releases, while the arrangements often feel airy and relaxed, allowing Nick Valensi and Albert Hammond Jr. plenty of room to weave together melodic interplay. On paper, it’s an excellent evolution of the band’s sound.

The production’s biggest misstep, however, belongs to Casablancas. Throughout much of the album, he leans heavily into obvious Auto-Tune and aggressive pitch correction, replacing his naturally worn, raspy vocal delivery with robotic processing that rarely complements the organic instrumentation surrounding him. The disconnect is jarring. While the guitars remain warm and textured, the vocals often sound detached from the music, as though they belong on an entirely different record. The experimentation becomes more distracting than innovative, preventing many songs from ever fully connecting.

Lyrically, Reality Awaits examines late-stage capitalism, internet culture, aging and artistic legacy through Casablancas’ increasingly cynical worldview. Rather than writing about youthful disillusionment, he’s now reflecting on what it means to remain culturally relevant after a quarter-century. There are pointed jabs at online discourse, celebrity culture and algorithm-driven criticism, including a direct swipe at music critic Anthony Fantano during “Lonely in the Future.” The writing is often clever, but the messaging sometimes overwhelms the songs themselves. It feels as though the band is more interested in making a statement than crafting memorable hooks.

“Dine N’ Dash” stands as the album’s emotional centerpiece. Built around a hypnotic bass line and restrained groove, the song explores the tension between wanting a peaceful adult life while still clinging to youthful rebellion and self-destruction. It’s essentially a midlife crisis wrapped inside an indie-rock anthem, a perspective The Strokes simply couldn’t have written in 2001. Just as importantly, Casablancas largely abandons the vocal effects here, reminding listeners how effective his natural voice remains.

Lead single “Going Shopping” comes closest to recapturing classic Strokes magic. The syncopated guitar interplay between Valensi and Hammond Jr. drives an irresistibly danceable rhythm that recalls the band’s earliest work without feeling entirely nostalgic. Unfortunately, Casablancas’ stream-of-consciousness vocal approach keeps the song from becoming the standout it could have been. The instrumental foundation is excellent, but the vocal performance never feels fully realized.

One experiment that genuinely pays off is “Fruits of Conquest.” Infused with Latin rock rhythms, the track allows drummer Fabrizio Moretti to deliver one of his strongest performances on the album. Rolling percussion patterns, layered rhythmic guitars and a looser arrangement create a refreshing change of pace that expands The Strokes’ sound without abandoning their identity. It’s proof that experimentation isn’t the problem. Execution is.

Elsewhere, “Going to Babble” hints at the album that could have been. Breezy mid-tempo guitars and a beautifully layered guitar solo bridge showcase the band’s chemistry at its finest, creating one of the record’s most satisfying instrumental moments. Unfortunately, flashes like this are too infrequent to overcome the album’s broader shortcomings.

Instrumentally, The Strokes remain exceptional. Valensi and Hammond Jr. continue to rank among modern rock’s most complementary guitar duos, while Nikolai Fraiture’s bass quietly anchors nearly every song with melodic confidence. Moretti’s drumming is understated but consistently tasteful, particularly when the arrangements lean into groove over urgency. The musicianship has rarely been the issue. Instead, it’s the creative direction surrounding it.

Ultimately, Reality Awaits stumbles because Casablancas imports too much of his work with The Voidz into The Strokes. The Auto-Tuned vocals, abrasive experimentation and anti-capitalist cynicism feel perfectly at home within that project’s chaotic framework, but they clash with the melodic, guitar-driven identity The Strokes spent decades cultivating. Reinvention should enhance a band’s strengths rather than obscure them.

There are enough promising ideas throughout Reality Awaits to suggest a stronger album was hiding beneath the surface. The spacious production, adventurous instrumentation and occasional flashes of brilliance prove The Strokes still have something meaningful to say. They simply lose sight of how best to say it.

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