Pitchfork

This is the second Albert Hammond Jr. album released since the Strokes' last album, 2006's First Impressions of Earth. The rumor mill may be aching for new Strokes album details, but Hammond-- always pegged as one of the band's creative forces-- is doing his best to ensure our survival until then, and the extra face time's well-deserved. Hammond follows his solid debut Yours to Keep with another tasty helping of power-pop, though on ¿Cómo te Llama? he sheds the inherent modesty of a solo spin-off and aims higher.

Although his songwriting credits with the Strokes are slight, Hammond retains his band's melody-first minimalism. The arrangements here remain just as efficient and inconspicuous as YTK, and Hammond's vocals unequivocally steer the songs, his even-keeled delivery resembling a less id-driven Julian Casablancas. However, Cómo veers from past work by stretching these straightforward components across a wider array of styles and histrionics. You can still distinguish all the Guided by Voices, Beach Boys, and new wave building blocks, but in spots they're re-appropriated for, say, a disco or reggae soundclash.

At times, the added bombast helps trick listeners into thinking they're listening to something more complex than power-pop. Opener "Bargain of a Century" enters with fanfare, bookending its devil-may-care verses with a melodramatic riff that scales Arcade Fire to Hammond-friendly proportions. On paper, "Victory at Monterey" reads like a potential disaster, its disco bassline and piston-pumping Franz Ferdinand riffs running the risk of kowtowing to New York dance-punk douchebaggery. Fortunately, Hammond never lets the focus shift from catchiness to genre fidelity, and the track's an unlikely highlight.

Surprisingly, Cómo only contains a handful of single-friendly, three-minute pop songs. First single "GfC" and "In My Room" make nuanced changes to the formula of YTK singles "In Transit" and "Everyone Gets a Star", but other similarly structured tracks skew Hammond's pop sensibilities. The verse and chorus of "Borrowed Time" sound like totally different animals, shifting harshly from reggae to lead-footed rock. The super-twee "Miss Myrtle" and "G Up" also stumble by deviating too far from the norm, especially when they don't deliver the home run choruses Hammond's led us to expect at this point.

On the whole, Cómo's not a weaker album than YTK, but it sounds like it's overcompensating for its likely increased exposure. A seven-minute instrumental, "Spooky Couch" nevertheless feels tacked on. The inconsistent genre surfing could work if Hammond had greater charisma as a vocalist, but, considering the stylistic pratfalls on First Impressions, eclecticism's never been a strength for him or his kin in the first place. The crazy thing is, these missteps don't hinder the half-dozen or so gems that stay lodged in your noodle long after playing. At a time when indie audiences are demanding more and more esoteric touches like Afro-pop, lo-fi C86isms, or Balearic revivalism, a songwriter like Hammond feels like a well-needed junk food binge. He may not blaze new paths, but his sickening talent, when coupled with all these accessible touchstones, often proves more than adequate.