The Young -200... — Julian Casablancas - Phrazes For

The album’s title itself— Phrazes for the Young —is a winking twist on Oscar Wilde’s Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young , replacing wisdom with misspelled, fragmented slogans for a generation that doesn’t trust complete sentences.

Phrazes was a commercial shrug (peaked at #35 on Billboard) and a critical head-scratcher. But time has been absurdly kind. You can hear its DNA in every indie artist who later smeared synth-pop over broken hearts (Tame Impala’s Currents , The Voidz’s entire career). It’s the album where Julian stopped being “the Strokes guy” and started being Julian—messy, melodic, unpredictable, and deeply funny.

Phrazes for the Young isn’t a masterpiece. It’s better: it’s a fascinating failure of ambition that accidentally predicted the next decade of rock’s synth-soaked loneliness. Listen to it as a solo album, but better yet—listen to it as a manifesto: “Don’t be a coconut.” Be the weird guy with the vocoder and the Nietzsche complex. Julian Casablancas - Phrazes for the Young -200...

Instead, he built a futuristic cabaret in his head and called it Phrazes for the Young .

It also directly led to The Voidz’s glorious chaos and, indirectly, to The Strokes’ eventual comeback ( The New Abnormal ) by reminding everyone: Julian doesn’t owe you a second Room on Fire . He owes you his strange, unfiltered id. The album’s title itself— Phrazes for the Young

Here’s an interesting, slightly off-kilter write-up for Julian Casablancas’ Phrazes for the Young (2009), framed for a blog, liner notes, or social media deep-dive. Phrazes for the Young : The Strange, Synth-Punk Solo Album Where Julian Casablancas Got Weird Before Getting Right

Forget the blown-out garage crunch. Phrazes is a glitter-bomb of Juno-60 synths, mariachi trumpets, doo-wop backing vocals, and Casablancas’ most exposed vocal takes. It’s what happens when a punk romantic falls in love with 80s new wave (think Rio -era Duran Duran), country twang, and existential despair—then runs it through a MIDI keyboard at 3 a.m. You can hear its DNA in every indie

By 2009, The Strokes were in a critical coma. First Impressions of Earth (2006) had splintered their cool-kid consensus, and the band was mired in label drama, infighting, and silence. The world expected Julian Casablancas—the aloof leather-clad oracle of Lower East Side rock revival—to either save guitar music or crash dramatically.

Casablancas drops the cryptic cool for something weirder: moral confusion, self-help jargon, and dad-joke puns delivered with deadpan intensity. He sings about “the outfield of infinity” and “four Chomolungmas” (Mt. Everest). He warns against being a “coconut” (hard exterior, empty inside). It’s less Is This It ’s bedroom voyeurism and more a late-night Wikipedia binge on philosophy and conspiracy theories.

Lead single “11th Dimension” is a paradox: a euphoric, handclap-driven dance track about nihilism (“Don’t be a coconut / God is trying to talk to you”). The chorus is so joyously absurd it borders on performance art. Meanwhile, “Left & Right in the Dark” sounds like a haunted yacht rock ballad, and “River of Brakelights” is a panic attack set to a drum machine.