It was a heart-in-your-throat kind of night. The Hollywood Palladium was sold out. One of rock's most promising young bands was opening a two-night stand (10/22) in L.A., and their second album, which, oh, by the way, is amazing, was still almost a week from record-store shelves.

Easy to love, easy to hate, The Strokes [ tickets ] recall some of the best art-rock bands of all time: Television, The Velvet Underground, even The Beatles. Onstage, they are cool and aloof: singer Julian Casablancas turns his back to the crowd every chance he gets, bassist Nikolai Fraiture is motionless, and the other players move slowly, if at all--even as their music is exploding out of the house PA. But The Strokes feature a soulful rhythm section, two of the sharpest guitarists in rock and a frontman that looks like a model and sounds like Jim Morrison-meets-Johnny Rotten. Really, opinion-wise, you could go either way on these guys.

If you're down on The Strokes, your view will likely change after you experience them live. Playing host to The Strokes' 14th day on the road, the legendary crescent-shaped ballroom on Sunset Boulevard was hot and sweaty before the band hit the stage. Once the house lights went down, things got ridiculous. The Strokes laid down a sheer blast of rock and roll that was fierce, pure and visceral.

Between the heartbreaking melodies of opener "Under Control," off their new disc, to the show's last song, a powerhouse version of "Take it or Leave It," The Strokes gave their fans just over an hour's worth of smart, steamy rock, going tit-for-tat between tracks off their multi-platinum debut and "Room on Fire."

By the third song of the night, "What Ever Happened," a cocktail of sweat, smoke, and spotlights had converted the L.A. theater into a gritty New York City dive bar. A warren of neon-colored lights behind them, the band spent most of the night dimly lit, surrounded by a lingering haze of green, purple and orange. From the stage, the five-piece watched with detachment as a storm of sweaty bodies down front slammed, bounced and crowd-surfed all over one another.

Often, the most appealing music is stuff you can sing along to. With "Someday," "Last Nite," "The Modern Age" and "Soma," the Strokes have struck gold, as the room took over singing duties several times. Even the band's newer material elicited a response from the kids down front. Both "The End has no End" and "Automatic Stop," which the singer dedicated to recently deceased singer-songwriter Elliott Smith, were especially thrilling.

Casablancas is quickly making a name for himself as rock's new Chris Robinson, legendary stoned orator of Black Crowes fame. The singer's between-song banter ranges from curt song introductions ("This is 'Reptilia.'") to a mish-mash of mumbles and awkward insecurities ("You don't like me, well, f--- you. You like me, let's be friends."). Before the final two songs, Casablancas announced, "We don't do encores and you should appreciate that."

True to his word, Casablancas and the band left the stage as guitar feedback climbed the auditorium walls--the perfect conclusion to a heart-in-your-throat evening.

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