Ever since a group of shaggy haired boys (you have heard of the Strokes right?) stumbled onto "the" scene, critics have been looking for the next big thing from New York City. As many artists as there are in the Big Apple, it's kind of hard to follow up the hype and deserved praise of Spin's artist of the year.
Until now.
About halfway into NYC natives Yeah Yeah Yeah's debut album, Fever To Tell, the listener will begin to realize something -- the band is going to be huge or at least believes in its own grandeur.
Lead singer Karen O., a cross between Gwen Stefani and Chrissy Hynde, screeches and howls her way through the first half of Fever To Tell like a rabid cat in heat, but somewhere in the middle, the rage queen flips into a breathy nightingale.
Tracks like the opener "Rich" portray a front woman who probably cuts herself with stuff like Iggy Pop did, guitar power chords that beg for a mosh pit, and a live show that's probably as intense as Mike Tyson in a bar fight.
But it's not only energetic punk rock, "Rich" starts out with a gentle arpeggio that morphs into a keyboard riff, and molds Yeah Yeah Yeah's sound with a creative flare.
"No, No, No" is like if The Pretenders were really hammered on Jagermeister and decided to de-tune its instruments. Yeah Yeah Yeah's guitarist Nick Zinner usually shreds through bar chords, but in "No, No, No," he bends notes beyond comprehensible pitches, using it for a build-up before Karen O. decides to break another beer bottle over her head.
But after "No, No, No," the album does a complete turnaround. The once self-confident Karen O. no longer yells, she no longer howls. She bats her eyelashes like Debbie Harry, and moans about how, "They don't love you like I love you."
It's as if the punk rock queen starred in a Freddie Prinze Jr. movie and got a makeover before going to the prom. This newfound vulnerability fuels the tracks, "Maps," "Y Control," and "Modern Romance."
During the wispy love song "Maps," members of the opposite sex who wear horn-rimmed glasses should avoid eye contact; it's like a mating call for guys in Converse All-Stars and girls with green hair. Undeniably catchy and pop-filled, it's hard not to sing by the time it hits the end. "Maps" is worth the price of the disc alone.
A sense of insecurity runs through the album's last song, "Modern Romance," as Karen O. questions the meaning of love over a little more than two chords. Minimalist, abrasive and bitter, "Modern Romance" hints at the mood of slow Elastica and the taboo feelings of Liz Phair.
Overall, it strikes a note that many people will feel just once in their lives, a sense that true love is a happy-go-lucky myth. Such an emotional roller coaster for a three-minute song and the 40-minute juggernaut of an album is downright schizophrenic.
Digging more into the real world, Karen O. and the rest of the the band show their poker faces early in the game, but end Fever To Tell with a royal flush.
The ante for New York's garage rock scene has been set one notch higher, and it's not just a boy's game anymore.
