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While no one could accuse The Strokes of being prolific in a Ryan Adams "I'm releasing 17 albums in a year" kind of way (Since 2001 they've given us just over an hour of music), there's no doubting the fact that they are five exemplary musicians who have produced two of the best albums this side of the millennium.
And I don't know if anyone's noticed, but they're yet to record a bad song. Quality over quantity's clearly the name of the game, and what the hell? We're more than happy to wait over two years while they twiddle with their guitars, swig beer and dance around with Hollywood actresses in the Lower East Side if they keep producing gems like this.
A thunderous bass riff opens Juicebox, breaking their silence rather spectacularly. Hammond Jr's and Valensi's guitars arrive at the scene fighting, before Casablancas actually starts singing, delivering the chorus with more conviction than he's ever done. "Why won't you come over heeeere, we've gotta city to love!" he screams, in an almost demented fashion, making this easily their heaviest moment to date. A new sound, a new energy, a new album - watch them turn the world upside down all over again.
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