The Strokes: how we made Is This It

Albert Hammond Jr, lead guitar

I first met Julian Casablancas at boarding school in Switzerland at the age of 13. Years later, I ran into him in New York when I moved into a place near where he was working and, two weeks later, we were sharing a flat. He was already playing with the rest of the guys, so I was the last to join the band. I may have looked the part, but I still needed guitar lessons.

Julian wrote the songs. I remember him coming in with The Modern Age. He’d be like: “It’s D to G. Yeah, kinda like that, but you’re holding the chord wrong.” It took time – but it was magical. By the end of the night, we’d have the song. From the first moment, I knew we’d be successful. Julian and I made a tape in the flat of Alone Together and Soma. When we played them in the car, they sounded really cool.

It was 1998, and the plan was to rehearse for a year, then play live. Before our first gig, we were so nervous we went to see the Eddie Murphy film Bowfinger, hoping it would calm us down. The gig was probably terrible. It’s hilarious that we were so nervous playing to six people, all of whom we knew.

I realised things were starting to happen during one show at the Luna Lounge in Manhattan. We were the middle band. It was snowing, and there was an argument over what time we’d go on. We were really annoyed, so just went on and played a monster show, doing The Modern Age and Last Nite for the first time and kicking in the drumkit. Then all our friends left with us, and the headline band were left playing to an empty room.

Although we’d listen to the Velvet Underground, the Beatles and Guided By Voices, we didn’t feel part of any sea change bringing back cool guitar bands. I remember being at the Columbia Hotel in London, where lots of bands used to get put up. The other groups were aggressive, bringing in dudes to drink with, while we brought in girls. We had a lot of fun. When everything exploded for us, we thought: “Wow! Does this mean we can keep doing this?”

Gordon Raphael, producer

I had a little studio and went around bands saying: “I’m a recording guy. I can record you.” One night I went to a free gig and the first band, Come On, were jawdropping. I thought the second act, the Strokes, were a bit too stylish and pleased with themselves. But I gave them both my card. The Strokes called me back. I never heard from Come On.

They wanted a demo so they could get a better level of club gig, so we cut a three-day, $600 deal. When they were playing in my basement, they sounded way more interesting than they did at that gig. They reminded me of the Velvet Underground, though everyone thought guitar bands were over: The New York Times had just run a cover featuring an electric guitar as a gravestone.

We recorded three songs, The Modern Age, Last Nite and Barely Legal. Someone at Rough Trade in London got hold of it, and my little demo made NME single of the week. In the US, they were unsigned but Rolling Stone were writing about them, a situation that hadn’t happened since the 1960s. Suddenly, there was a bidding war.

Julian took me to dinner and said Rough Trade wanted them to record an album with Gil Norton, who’d produced Pixies and Foo Fighters and sold 6m copies of every recording he’d made. Julian said that if I told him I was a better producer, I could record the album. I couldn’t do that. So he stood up and said: “Fuck you. Now we have to use Gil Norton.” A few weeks later, he called. It hadn’t worked out with Gil. Julian said: “Imagine you took a time machine into the future and found a classic album from way in the past and really liked it.” That was the sound they wanted.

I recorded Is This It with one microphone for the voice and one for the snare drum: everything minimal. It wasn’t sonically perfect, but it had some magic and emotion that was missing in the big studio stuff other bands were doing. Julian had so many ideas – and a freakishly controlled concept of rhythm and timing. Even when he’d drunk 13 beers and was asleep on the couch, one eye would open and he’d go: “The hi-hat’s not right.” He was a master of the cryptic instruction. He’d say: “This song, can you loosen its tie a little?” He wanted his voice to sound “like your favourite blue jeans – not totally destroyed, but worn-in, comfortable”.

While recording the album, we had a visit from the band’s new US label. They said it was crappy-sounding and unprofessional, and I was ruining Julian’s voice and killing any chance the band had of a career. It was very satisfying when the album became a modern classic.