For the Record - 10/14/10

Artist |Walkmen

Album |Lisbon

The reign of the dejected, early-2000s post-punk rockers is over. The Strokes have failed to produce a notable work in almost seven years and, as one of my esteemed colleagues once said, The Libertines have fallen to shambles. And while most bands associated with this movement find themselves in the midst of a sonic identity crisis, the Walkmen continue to live up to, and sometimes even surpass, expectations. Sure, they’ve changed a bit since 2004’s Bows + Arrows, but on their sixth full-length effort, Lisbon, the New York City-based quintet shows an air of maturity and grace that never detracts from their patented sound of precision and velocity.

The Walkmen are a band with the elusive ability to catch raw, energetic lightning in a bottle with their riffs and arrangements, but where previously they’ve concerned themselves with unbridled force and bitter disregard, here they’ve developed a leaner, more nuanced approach. Indeed, this is a gentler record, one that evokes heartbreak and nostalgia. The landscape of Lisbon is less New York City alleyway and more … well, beautiful countryside. But before I make this sound like a Justin Bieber album, let me just say that this album still rocks. Relentless guitar riffs and pounding drums abound, and although the lyrics aren’t as bitter or resentful as on past records, they still reek of drunken heartache and aristocratic ennui. No, things aren’t better here; they just seem to suck less.

The band’s new approach is evident right from the start. The album kicks off with the rollicking, jangly “Juveniles’” in which singer Hamilton Leithauser croons, “I am a good man by any count, and I see better things to come.” Wait, what? Was that ... optimism? Just as you begin to think you might have bought the wrong album, the band launches into “Angela Surf City,” the closest thing on Lisbon to the Walkmen’s biggest hit, “The Rat.” The light strums and unadorned drums that open the song belie the explosive, pounding chorus hidden within. Gripped by loneliness and boredom, Leithauser bellows in his typical whiskey-soaked delivery, “Now I dream of the time I was holding on to you for a lack of anything to do.”

Despite Lisbon’s lack of a single matching the quality (or ferocity) of “The Rat,” the album’s consistency ensures that each track is as remarkable as the previous one. From the stately New Orleans horns and antiquated warmth of the first single, “Stranded,” to the doo wop-inspired “Torch Song,” which could have been played at an indie sock hop circa 1956, Lisbon encourages listeners to drift to different ages and landscapes. “Blue As Your Blood,” with its plunking guitars and clacking drums, begins like an old Johnny Cash or Ennio Morricone tune, maintaining the same eerie, western feel throughout. Meanwhile, swelling strings and morose lyrics (“Life rolled us over like a town car; bruised up and busted to the ground”) complete the forlorn, world-weary atmosphere.

Concluding with a series of last-call waltzes, the album takes a turn for the nostalgic. “While I Shovel the Snow” is one of the Walkmen’s best songs to date, with its delicate, wintry charm, and a riff that mirrors that of Ben E. King’s “Spanish Harlem.” It transports the listener to a still winter’s morning with snow falling like the fragile plucks of Paul Maroon’s guitar.

Sure, this album might disappoint or even repulse some of the Walkmen’s original fan base, but it’s hard to ignore the group’s newfound confidence and maturity, traits that have given them the wisdom to know that they don’t always have to blow out the speakers to make a good record. Indeed, the Walkmen are masters of effortless discipline, of the interplay between reserved verse and arresting chorus, of the bored New York City bar scene, and now, of measured nuance. So grab a glass, throw on some Walkmen and celebrate the loud wonders of disappointment and regret.