The Walkmen - Lisbon

It’s a curious truth that the majority of The Walkmen’s five studio albums to date have tended to be overshadowed by one standout song – the most obvious case in point being 2004’s Bows + Arrows and its barnstorming single, ‘The Rat’. But they seemed to have overcome this hurdle on their last full-length effort: You & Me, from a couple of years ago, remains a superb collection of booze-soaked laments, so consistent that my own favourite track (‘I Lost You’) received scant mention in reviews at the time. For all that record’s brilliance, however, the sort of success The Walkmen deserve stills seems to elude them – that is, hopefully, until now.

Lisbon continues the trend of sustained excellence from these New York journeymen-come-good. While for the most part it’s no huge departure from You & Me – we’re dealing with another elegantly dishevelled late-nighter, in other words – if anything, it sounds a little less like it was recorded at the bottom of the sea. As a snapshot of a band for whom all parts – songwriting, vocals, playing and lyrics – are working beautifully, however, you’d be hard pressed to find too much room for negative criticism.

Towering frontman Hamilton Leithauser’s lived-in voice is a wonderful instrument, an unlikely combination of Bob Dylan’s rasp and Julian Casablancas’ too-close-to-the-mike drawl that evokes the sort of careworn regret and boozy despair of which only middle-aged gentlemen who’ve spent their youth in struggling indie bands (see also John Grant and Guy Garvey) seem capable. “Throw another dime in me, my friend”, he sings on the exceptional waltz-time ‘Stranded’, effortlessly channeling the sort of party souse who should have gone home long ago. The song works as a terrific counterpoint to LCD Soundsystem’s ‘All My Friends’ – rather than asking “Where are your friends tonight?”, in Leithauser’s case they’re already gathered all around him, but they’re just as drunk and their lives just as tragic as his own. The song makes use of woozy, drunken horns to wondrous – indeed, almost Christmassy – effect.

The Walkmen are no one-man band, though, and their power as a unit has never been better showcased than here. On the rollicking ‘Angela Surf City’ and later again on ‘Victory’ they sound positively explosive – guitars crackle fiercely while drummer Matt Barrick pounds the living daylights out of his kit. This man knows just how much a smashed cymbal can add to a song – witness the chorus of ‘Torch Song’ for proof.

The Walkmen’s most obvious peers are probably The National and Elbow – both of whom have recently (belatedly) succeeded in bringing their elegantly engaging music to packed-out theatres. Lisbon underlines the fact that these guys are no less great than either, and a similar dollop of late-in-the-day success would be richly deserved. Here’s hoping.