Now that we've all forgotten about the Strokes, let's take a moment to remember the Strokes. In the fall of 2001, the New York City quintet sat poised (and posed) at the crossroads — of rock and fashion, indie sound and commercial fury, shampoo and conditioner. With a bag of Scrabble tiles for names and a salon's worth of dirty-chic coifs, Julian Casablancas, Nick Valensi, Fabrizio Moretti, Nikolai Fraiture and Albert Hammond Jr. were going to blow your speakers while your girlfriend blew one or more of them. Five years and three albums later, your closet, your woman and your stereo show little sign of having been Stroked, and it's OK to say it: This is not your favorite band. Which only means that the boys are free to wander off the path to superstardom and explore the road, playing two dates here in seven months while stoking that "hungry guys living together for the music, dude" vibe and making rock that rocks the room rather than rocking the whole world with rock that saves rock. Like Entourage, with guitars. Opening is South, a New Order-loving UK group with a live DVD due October 10. <
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