Sunday 05/10/08 Albert Hammond Jr @ The Scala, London

"Who the **** is Julian?" shouts one particularly idiotic member of the audience as Albert Hammond Jr stands nonchalantly centre-stage. As one of two guitarists in this generation's finest musical renovators, Albert is a stylish cog in The Strokes' seamless machine of indie cool, happily decorating the band's crowded tapestry with chugging rhythms for Casablancas' drawl to clamber over. Solo, he's the star, but takes to the job with the same inconspicuous charisma. Different songs, altered hair and a dissimilar attitude make it absolutely clear from the offset that this is Albert's show, without ever straining to prove that's the point.

He looks anything but understated, a flaming red shirt peeking out of a snow white suit, looking every inch the rock star with supermodel girlfriend. Yet his inflection betrays a relaxation unbecoming of someone really seeking a frontman ego-trip. He never chases lines or flares into solos, just hitting notes and fitting into songs, such as on opener Everyone Gets A Star. Its three twiddling guitars and vacant lyricism sets the tone, before The Boss Americana introduces Albert's five-piece band as a force equally worthy of attention. Uninspiring on record, it's morphed into a vociferous, lengthy burn through Television, featuring a sliding riff that is forced to jostle for attention with the thunderous rhythm section. It's as charged, as good and admittedly as Strokes-like as it gets.

A great grating vocal line on last single Gfc's choruses keeps the tempo high, before the humpty dumpty melody of Call An Ambulance brings a wonderfully playful element to the set. In Transit is ruined slightly by a fat ageing man throwing a punch at a pair of obnoxious buffoons whose only purpose in life appears to be to shout "Albert!" interminably. But he's unflustered by it, gazing distantly before ripping into the stinging Victory at Montery, complete with a snaking bassline pulsating but nonchalant enough to diffuse the nonsense.

His guitar work is impeccable and the thrill of his Townsend-aping circular strumming and distinctive high hold is enough to satisfy most, yet he fills the stage with other impressive players, happy to allow extravagance from his band-mates while he concentrate on acting gloriously unfocused. However, there isn't that feeling that this could all implode, regardless of the ban-flouting cigarette he casually smokes. It's tight and utterly controlled, Albert looking far too content to be reckless. The set switches between the more continuous tone of new album Como Te Llama and debut Yours To Keep's bursts of balladry and rock, with the weightiness of the latter just winning out. Back To The 101 brings uncomplicated catchiness and first encore track Blue Skies keenly captures his mellow sensibilities.

The range of songwriting, from touching to throwaway, gives the show scope to build into a rounded shape, but the crescendo of a blistering finish never really arrives. The group remaining unmoved by requests for fan favourite Hard To Live In The City, instead opting for another new song. This is Albert's only UK date so far to promote his album and it's understandable. It also fits, not allowing for a show-stopping finale or other indulgences. With a solid collection of songs, top level musicianship and, well, a Stroke, there's no need to overplay anything. The set simply glides down before the band slips off and the crowd drifts out, thoroughly satisfied, but still in no doubt as to who Julian is.