Julian Casablancas has a lot to prove. The primary elephant in the room: can he make it without the Strokes? To that end, he’s set up a solo residency at downtown Los Angeles’ Palace Theater to properly introduce the world to his new solo album, Phrazes For The Young. That elephant can now leave the room: Casablanca delivered and then some – if the Strokes’ self-conscious lo-fi is scratchy black and white, then what Casablancas is doing now is glorious Technicolor, as KSPACE discovered catching last Friday’s show, the second of four shows in a month-long stand.

For one, he obviously chose the Palace as the setting to match that aesthetic temperament: it’s an incredibly ornate space, all gilt and faux rococo, the drama of its overwrought luxitude contrasted by a cracked, shopworn veneer; it’s definitely a place teeming with the ghosts of Hollywood past, just as Casablanca’s songs are haunted by another, seemingly more authentic era. But when he started playing, Casablancas demonstrated another maxim of our time: concerts are the new album art. In stark contrast to the Strokes’ humble, indie rockist, we’re-just-a-band-and-this-is-our-music live persona, Casablancas went for baroque both musically and in kinetic multimedia visuals. While Phrazes turns on chiming ‘80s-style synth pop and drum-machine beats, at the Palace Casablancas was backed by an eight-piece band of multi-instrumentalists, which at times featured dueling Thin Lizzy-style guitars, a horn section, two keyboard players (their axes concealed in what looked like a steampunk remix of a scavenged sea vessel), and two drummers (the hot female percussionist in cutoffs was a nice touch). All around them raged kaleidoscopic images that spanned Magritte-style surrealist landscapes to Tron-style lite-brite retro futurism. Phrazes single, “11^th Dimension,” got the heaviest visuals, going for a kind of Pink Floyd meets Daft Punk kaleidoscopic impact.

Despite the complexity of the psychedelic presentation, Casablancas was off the cuff per usual, cracking jokes all the while and laconically deflecting an encore in lieu of an “intermission.” And oh yeah, the songs were great, from the ironical country-twanging ode to a New York that no longer exists, “Ludlow St.,” that opened the show, to a slightly absurd (but spirited) cover of Randy Newman’s “I Love L.A.” (!). As for the Strokes, he largely avoided their catalogue except for a grinning, disheveled version of the band’s “You Only Live Once,” which he claimed ominously was the last time anyone would be hearing that performed. Of course, who knows where he and the Strokes will end up, but from this performance its clear that despite any early-aughts slackerdom that clings to him, Casablancas’ ambition only seems to be growing outside of his bandmates’ sphere.