Albert Hammond Jr October 5, Scala N1

TO ANYONE under the age of 30, the hysteria surrounding tonight's gig may be baffling.

Recently he's become better known for the tabloid exploits of his supermodel girlfriend, but to the assembled masses, Albert Hammond Junior is on a par with one of the Beatles.  As a guitarist with the Strokes, he was key in kick-starting the indie-rock revival of the early noughties - a movement that still shows no sign of losing momentum.

Their hugely successful debut album, Is This It, coupled with their sharp suited, booted and leather-jacketed image turned them into icons overnight. Currently on a break from his day job Ð the band are on a prolonged hiatus Ð the Scala is treated to a one-off show to plug his second album.

He might be used to playing second fiddle to bandmate Julian Casablancas, but Hammond pulls off a flawless show. As slick and professional as his crisp, white suit, he flits between his 2006 solo debut, Yours To Keep, and the more recent Como Te Llama.

Highlights include The Boss Americana Ð which would sit happily in the StrokesÕ back catalogue Ð last single GfC and crowd favourite In Transit.
He switches seamlessly between upbeat, grimy garage-rock and gravelly, reflective ballads, which all sound faintly familiar.

The Strokes' appeal was their freshness - at a time when bands were still desperately clinging on to the tail end of Britpop, with watery guitar pop littering the gutter of the charts, the US band struck like lightening.

Hammond has claimed their trademark driving, post-punk guitars as his own, but he misses Casablancas's sneering, ice-cool vocals.

The basis of something exciting is there, but the crucial ingredient - his band-mates - is missing.

Flouting the smoking ban, he lights up as he settles on stage for the encore. But even this act of minor rebellion can't quite swing it his way.
If tonight has been a success, it's because it has reminded us what we're missing and stepped up the anticipation of the fourth Strokes album,  due next year.

"Who the f*** is Julian?" chants a punter in the front row. Who indeed...