Der NME findet Howler aber weiterhin toll und vergibt erneut 8 Punkte:
The difference between this record and its predecessor, however, is akin to the difference between a young athlete with plenty of potential but little nous or experience, and that same athlete after a couple of years of intensive self-improvement: everything is that much bigger, faster, smarter and stronger.
Their reference points may be unchanged, but this time around, the songs are a bit more worthy of them. ‘Here’s The Itch That Creeps Through My Skull’ boasts a guitar part that evokes the dark, melodic melancholy of Johnny Marr (the lyrics even reference ‘The World Won’t Listen’ for good measure), while ‘Drip’ pogos around with oikish, bovver-booted enthusiasm. Sure, there are less captivating moments - the title track sounds like something that didn’t make the cut for The Strokes’ third album, and final track ‘Aphorismic Wasteland Blues’ is a bit of a damp squib on - but they’re few enough (and fleeting enough) that they almost slip past unnoticed.
In the context of the wider debate about ‘that rock’n’roll’ and its place - or lack of it - in the current scheme of things, ‘World Of Joy’ could comfortably serve as an exhibit for both prosecution and defence. Shouldn’t it be trying to break new ground? Or is the old ground of the Ramones, The Stooges and The Modern Lovers still fertile enough to warrant planting their flag in? Howler know which side of that argument they’re on, and the dumb, youthful rush of songs like ‘Indictment’ make a pretty compelling case for their way of seeing things. If need be, they’re going down with the ship.