Julian Casablancas

With the weird beauty and succinctness of a mid-’70s Bowie album, Phrazes casts the Strokes frontman in a shockingly new, neon light. These eight meaty tracks come totally stuffed with gee-whiz WTF.

A pizzicato banjo solo springs out in “Ludlow St.,” an unlikely detour into synthetic honky-tonk by way of Yul Brynner’s badass android cowboy. Later, the crooner lets loose with a stunning falsetto over the crystalline keyboard fugue of “Glass.” So much for those lazy Lou Reed comparisons; his pipes have never sounded better.

This solo fantasy shows the precociously weathered New York City dilettante clearly to be the brains behind his main gig. Long since released from the Strokes’ early lo-fi fuzz, the introvert has instead built a baroque chrysalis to curl up inside. It might be due to September 11 and postmillennial angst (see: “11th Dimension” and “River of Brakelights”) but more likely alcoholism. “Everything seems to go wrong when I’m drinking,” he sings. Well, not everything.

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