In case you may have missed it, Jet — the Australian rock band best known for their 2003 hit “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” — have reunited, releasing their first new songs since their 2009 album Shaka Rock and embarking on a worldwide tour after calling it quits in 2012.
They’ve got a new album on the way, but in the meantime, they’re happy to roll back the nostalgia dial and celebrate the one reason people outside of Melbourne got to know them in the first place: their 2003 debut Get Born. They’re currently in the US for their first North American shows in over 14 years, and kicked off the five-date run at the 575-capacity Bowery Ballroom in New York City on Monday.
I was compelled to attend. For one, I’m almost 30, and I did love Get Born as an eight-year-old (target demographic? I’m kidding, that’s mean). But I also found it fascinating that Jet’s return has been rather quiet over on this side of the globe, especially compared to the fanfare other reunions from the aughts have received lately.
After all, the 2000s nostalgia bug has been going around for a while now, but it seems to have hit a new viral high in 2024. Bands and artists like Jet are successfully touring their 20-year-old records even as they release new material, pop stars are playfully referencing sonics from the decade, and scene-specific nostalgia fests are laying siege on the city of Las Vegas. Hell, even Linkin Park is back.
Of course, Jet do not possess the kind of reverence or clout that would warrant Wembley shows, a Coachella appearance, or a last-minute arena tour. It’s hard to think critically about this band without the reminders of how derided they were in the 2000s — particularly in a pair of extremely negative Pitchfork reviews that lampooned the group for their derivative sound and epitomized the mid-decade polarization of indie versus major label rock. And at the end of the day, in the US at least, they couldn’t manage the type of longevity that would carry them through modern rock’s recession-era shift.
So, revisiting Jet, live in a tiny rock club, offered the chance to assess the strength of their catalog in a much deeper way than I could as an adolescent. But last night’s show was not quite the rousing return I expected, nor the washed-up afterthought that their harshest critics would anticipate. Instead, it turned out to be a pleasant enough, if occasionally dull, evening of guitar pop.