The WalkmenA Hundred Miles Off
(Record Collection)
After tasting the kind of success that would impress Pitchfork readers (in the form of a Saturn commercial and the adoration of the collegiate masses), the Walkmen could've easily coasted on the fumes of their music: the ringing guitars and powwow-summoning drums and singer Hamilton Leithauser’s howling vocals and cynically curt lyrics. Instead, the New York quintet got bored. They were apparently so uninspired by the lauding masses that bass player Peter Bauer and organist Walter Martin have actually switched places just to shake things up.
It's that willingness to experiment that informs their third album, A Hundred Miles Off, a collection of songs that is all over the musical map in the best way possible. The band roam from the summery, almost Polynesian reverie of "Louisiana" to the laconic observations of Fleet Week in "Lost in Boston" (which is probably the first song in history to rhyme Boston, chocolate, and exhausted) to the thrash-punk of "This Job Is Killing Me," with nary a look back. Along the way, Leithauser's barking, accusatory tenor sweetens up to nail some impressively high notes in the name of — dare we say it — contentment? But don't get comfy — there’s no question who’s running this tour. “Stop talking and listen to me,” he commands. “I’ll tell you of every dream.”
Sometimes glowering, sometimes glimmering, A Hundred Miles Off maintains the blustery ire and melodic beauty we've come to expect from the Walkmen without rehashing what's come before.
