The French Kicks Have Let Us All Down
By Nathan Fisher
A&F Editor

"Are you ever honest with anyone?" is a penetrating question for each of us, I am sure, dear readers. Spoon asked it on "Laffitte Don't Fail Me Now," the "b-side" of a seven minute and twelve second plastic single called "the Agony of Laffitte," which was released June 1, 2000 and is really, really good in its soothing/searing pop-dichotimizing way. But that pop single clearly took a stand, staked out a position and asked others to challenge it, if possible. Straightforwardness like that is laudable, if sometimes absent, in contemporary popular rock.

Some liberal arts undergraduates on the East Coast understand this sentiment. "At Vassar, I have observed first-hand the rampant trend of lazy liberalism that is based on the detestable perspectives of cognitive relativism and philosophical emotivism," Jared Maliga '03 wrote to me from his dorm in Poughkeepsie.

Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth put it so much better, though: "I wanted to know the exact dimension of hell. Does this sound simple? Fuck you. Are you for sale? Does 'fuck you' sound simple enough? This was the only part that turned me on but he was candy all over."

And they're both right. We all need to take responsibility for our own lives, and how they affect the lives of other people. Indeed, it is by that standard that I believe an earnest critic should evaluate rock and roll in this late, late decade.

The French Kicks, who probably have heard of both Spoon and of Vassar College, decided to play here last Friday, April 4, as they have now for three consecutive Aprils (give or take a month or so). This April, however, they played at Grooveline, a venue radically different from its sister venue, the Smith Campus Center basement. Both are frat-tolerant environments but the Smith basement has a certain minimalist, apocalyptic theme that Grooveline lacks, and it was in Smith that the Kicks were at their best.

When the Kicks played here in 2001 and covered "Where Is My Mind?" by the Pixies and "Androgynous" by the Replacements, the Strokes' influence on rock and roll was largely absent from the Claremont scene, that evening as well as every other. The beer flowed like wine and only non-smokers respected California's indoor public smoking ban. People were dancing, but in an off-kilter, Dionysian, way.

Last spring, in the same basement but in a very different musical environment, the same group still rocked pretty hard but had already decided that they were "not the Replacements," as the band's then-drummer (now lead vocalist) Nick Stumpf put it to me. But were they not the Strokes? That question was loitering in the Rose Hills lobby after the show, trying to sell mushrooms to sophomores and hitting on the campus security officers.

In the interim between that show and last Friday, the French Kicks got name-checked in New York and Vanity Fair, two magazines that have a "cognitive relativism and philosphical emotivism" of their own. Is Maxim far behind on the French Kicks media cycle? If I were French Kicks, I would certainly hope not.

Anyway, Ethan Brown of Vanity Fair acccused them of "carefully crafted vocal melodies in a vaguely 60s soul-group style and jangling guitar," and fine, I agree. Fine. Let's get the indictment out of the way right now. The French Kicks are a "soul-group" for the upper-class "style and politics" demographic? Wow.

As a matter of course, then, they sounded a lot different last Friday. But the evening was still a victory of sorts for the French Kicks, conquering Grooveline as they had by a substantial, energetic crowd. However, though the social room was well-attended-and heavily soaked in free, premium Icehouse-early predictions by high ranking CCLA officials that several would be turned away at the door due to fire regulations proved incorrect. People still danced, but in a more controlled, happier, Apollonian way. Even the requisite, vestigial moshing was controlled, happy and Apollonian.

The opening act contributed pleasant, softer pop while this reporter grappled with the realization that far more Icehouse would be required to endure the remainder of the evening. But as the alcohol settled in, it became evident that the French Kicks of last Friday were still practiced and nearly eloquent at times, albeit with their straight-pop flavor. The keyboard helped a lot. The keyboarding, in fact, carried both the melody and rhythm at times, as the drummer, Stumpf, sang and someone else drummed.

But the rock was toned way, way down, which is understandable nearly two years after the September 25, 2001 debut of the Strokes' Is This It?. Perhaps even the Strokes may be avoiding their own image, as Nigel Godrich's recent addition to the Strokes' next album shows.

To his credit, Stumpf has heard of Q and Not U. And the bulk of the group was formed in Washington D.C., our nation's capital; how about that? Other than that, has this band lost its way? To answer that question, sadly, we'll have to wait for the "next big band in rock music today," as it were. Kim Gordon, Spoon and Maliga are probably better people to ask, and listen to. Don't buy the French Kicks' albums.