There was a time when everybody was tripping over themselves to crown The Strokes "the future of rock 'n' roll."

Everybody and anybody must have forgotten to tell this to The Strokes, I guess, since "the future of rock 'n' roll" for the band seems to be frozen in time five years ago.

The new Strokes album, First Impressions of Earth, sounds pretty much exactly like Room on Fire, which was itself an inferior rehash of their debut album. And this one's even worse. It's dull, it's over-produced, it's too long; it's a lazy attempt to cash in on a formula that was showing plenty of cracks when they tried the same ruse two-and-a-half years ago. It's mindless, artless mush that serves only as more proof that The Strokes were never even that good to begin with.

There are those of you still convinced that The Strokes descended from on high sometime in the middle of 2001 and have spoke nothing but Gospel truth ever since. To this misguided group, I say congrats.

You've got fourteen fresh new Strokes songs, served up just the way you've always liked 'em, and you're probably too far lost in greasy-haired, jean-jacketed bliss to even pick up a newspaper or perform other vital bodily functions.

However, if I'm getting through to any of you, chew on this: If you genuinely enjoy music, The Strokes in 2006 should really piss you off.

I'm not sure if it's arrogance or sheer lack of talent that's got this band making the same record over and over again. The splattering drums, the spiky steam-engine rhythm of the guitars, and Julian Casablancas' dumb and inaudible lyrics all make it back for round three.

It wasn't a bad little sound five years ago when "Last Nite" sneaked its way onto MTV, but it's getting awfully old now, particularly since there's not a single song on First Impressions that can stand with the best stuff from their debut. The difference -- by no means a big difference, mind you -- on record three is in the production; the pretend-cheap sound of the band's past work gives way to a sharper edge, which really lets you hear how mediocre these guys are behind their axes.

Just trust that you'll recognize this as The Strokes.

But back to the songs -- a wretched bunch indeed this time around. Opener "You Only Live Once" is the set's highlight, and it only holds water because of a clever vocal Lou Reedism ("don't don't don't get up!").

However, lead single "Juicebox" is like some kind of bad joke; it's nothing but a bad surf guitar riff about a hundred times over and Casablancas, for whatever reason, yelling.

At least "Juicebox" tries something different; for the dozen tracks that run out the rest of First Impressions, it's The Strokes as you've always known them, with an ever-diminishing array of hooks to back them up. Apparently Casablancas, once a first-class lush whose best-ever lyric was about eschewing the party life for house arrest and Olde English, stopped drinking between this record and the last, which would explain the shyness of a lot of his words.

But it still doesn't excuse lyrics like "I'm stuck in a city when I belong in a field." Just move, dude!

Listen, people. Even in the age of Nickelback, there is some truly worthwhile rock music out there, but this just isn't it. The Strokes aren't just a transparent imitation of much better bands of the past anymore, they've become a transparent imitation of themselves. And if they haven't figured out the problem by now, things sure don't look too good for the future.