Bird on Money — assim se intitula a pintura de Jean-Michel Basquiat, datada de 1981, cuja zona central serve de capa a The New Abnormal, álbum nº 6 da banda nova-iorquina The Strokes (o primeiro desde Comedown Machine, 2013); Basquiat concebeu-a como um tributo a Charlie Parker.
Convenhamos que não parece fácil associar o novo registo à herança do autor de Ornithology, mas o título avisa-nos da anormalidade em que tudo isto terá sido gerado. Até porque, dizem as más-línguas jornalísticas, Julian Casablancas estará actualmente mais empenhado no projecto paralelo de The Voidz. E se estiver?...
Talvez seja útil sublinhar apenas o valor sintomático da linguagem fria dos números. Da métrica das canções, neste caso. Assim, não encontramos aqui esses esboços selvagens, punk, pós-punk ou o que se quiser, que faziam as delícias do álbum fundador Is This It (2001), raiz de todas variações mais ou menos felizes que se seguiram em Room on Fire (2003), First Impressions of Earth (2005), Angles (2011) e o já citado Comedown Machine. Em The New Abnormal, os temas oscilam entre 03m42s (Selfless) e 06m15s (Eternal Summer) — a duração integrou a contemplação.
Cronómetros à parte, digamos que The Strokes talvez andem à procura de outro som, mais denso, de diferentes contrastes, aberto à exposição de emoções esquecidas, porventura implicando a ruptura de velhas cumplicidades — "I want new friends / But they don't want me", canta Casablancas em Brooklyn Bridge to Chorus.
Depois de At the Door e Bad Decisions, não há novos telediscos. Fiquemo-nos pelo tema final, Ode to the Mets, uma preciosidade clássica (?) com vocação para se tornar um hino rock. Tanto pior se já não acreditamos em hinos.
Up on his horse, up on his horse
Not gonna wake up here anymore
Listen one time, it's not the truth
It's just the story I tell to you
Easy to say, easy to do
But it's not easy, well maybe for you
Hope that you find it, hope that it's good
Hope that you read it, think that you should
Cuts you some slack as he sits back
Sizes you up, plans his attack
Da-da-da
Drums please, Fab
And I got it all, I got it all
Waitin' for me down on the street
But now you gotta do somethin' special for me
I'm gonna say what's on my mind
Then I'll walk out, then I'll feel fine
Yeah, I'm under his thumb, I'm on his back
I will not show my teeth too quick
I needed you there, I needed you there
But I didn't know, I didn't know
Go alone
I'll go alone
We'll go alone
I'll go alone
Back from his trip, he's at the door
When he gets back, he's on the phone
Innocent eye, innocent heart
No, it's not wrong, but it's not right
Innocent time, out on his own
Not gonna do that, fuck, I'm out of control
I was just bored, playin' the guitar
Learned all your tricks, wasn't too hard
It's the last one now, I can promise you that
I'm gonna find out the truth when I get back
Gone now are the old times
Forgotten, time to hold on the railing
The Rubik's Cube isn't solving for us
Old friends, long forgotten
The old ways at the bottom of
The ocean now has swallowed
The only thing that's left is us
So pardon the silence that you're hearing
It's turnin' into a deafening, painful, shameful roar