Julian Casablancas - Phrazes Of The Young

The Strokes’ 'Is This It' came in at No.2 in the Ragged Words Albums of the Decade poll and, whatever avant-garde purists will tell you, its position was entirely deserved. No other record changed the musical landscape so much over the course of the noughties, or conjured up such giddy excitement at the time of release. In 2001, indie music was non-existent, the charts were over-run with unlistenable mummy-I-wet-myself nu-metal and the NME was being forced to go deeper and deeper underground for cover ‘stars’. The Strokes’ arrival was like a bolt of lightening. Supremely hip, arrogant and beautiful, their press photos were better than most bands' entire albums.

And then there was the music – when this then-21-year-old music obsessive first set ears on The Modern Age and Hard to Explain it was as if the gates to a new world were opening. Here was a band to put the sex, glamour and fast songs back into rock and roll. This was the ultimate band-as-gang and in Julian Casablancas they had an ace card, the man with the talent: he wrote all the songs, he had the voice of a generation and was such a compelling frontman he didn’t even have to move on stage.

How then, has it come to this? By my count, this is the fifth quite-good-to-fair solo album from The Strokes stable, and all indications point to the band’s stodgy third record being their last. Meanwhile, Razorlight, Kings of Leon and any number of inferior acts rack up the mega sales that The Strokes deserved. The disappointment is all the more acute for the sequencing of Phrazes for the Young: the first four songs are pretty much fantastic. On first listen, at the halfway mark you could be forgiven for thinking Julian Casablancas has rediscovered his mojo. Sounding like, well, The Strokes with more synths, the signature buzzy hooks, needly guitars and sleepy vocals are immediately recognisable and instantly winning. Even better, '4 Chords of the Apocalypse' confirms the suspicion I've always had that Casablancas could be a great soul balladeer - after all, wasn't 'Under Control' the best song on Room on Fire?

But it all falls apart horribly over a woeful second half. 'Ludlow St.' is an attempt at a country lilt, but it just doesn't come off. River of Brake Lights is even worse, a tunesless mess, while 'Glass' takes over five minutes to go precisely nowhere. It's a crushing let-down after the great start. A bit like The Strokes' career in microcosm.