The Walkmen

If it’s New York in the late ’90s and you add three-fifths of Johnny Fire*Eater to two-fifths of The Recoys in a studio in east Harlem, called Marcata Studios, you have The Walkmen. Since their debut in 2002 with Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone, they have made significant headway as an indie band, separate from glamour, in-your-face marketing and, unfortunately, a good record.

Honestly, I tried. I really wanted to like The Walkmen. They are the perfect indie band on paper: they had a down-to-earth, grassroots kind of beginning; they toiled away in their recording studio and didn’t play one gig to support their first record; their uses of vintage instruments (they don’t play any gear that was made after 1970, according to lead singer Hamilton Leithauser) like the organ and upright piano makes one imagine the possibilities of different and unique sounds; they have had success in writing songs for films, touring, multiple records and television appearances; and Leithauser claims music from the 60s, “when great music was made,” as their influences. After a resume like that, I’m still curious: if they are influenced by such great music, why does You & Me sound more like the influence they list on their Myspace page: horsesh*t?

You & Me only does so much with their indie band-ness. The organ has yet to find a permanent spot in the power trio of drums, guitar and bass but proper use can work wonders; the use on this album limits instead of expanding their music into something new. With such a somber instrument, it’s hard to do anything but contemplate your sins. Topped off with Leithauser’s vocals, you have a hellish day in church where you are only vaguely listening to the priest – who sounds kind of like Bob Dylan – yell and incessantly remind you of all the evil done and where sinners go. And as you fade in and out, only certain bits of the sermon stick in your head: the riff used in “In the New Year” is simple but infectious, not unlike a virus you do not want to be exposed to.

The Walkmen start off mild with “Donde Esta La Playa?” but after the second track, it’s basically 14 songs that reinvent the wheel or send you back to that hellish Sunday in church. There are pieces (and I use the term loosely) of each song that give a glimmer of hope, that maybe this track will be the one to turn it around but that hope is soon dashed, usually by the grating, shouting-type vocals: if I wanted someone to yell at me, I would talk to my mother. Sometimes, lyrics can compensate for vocals but those are buried under decibels of vocal and guitar chords. Basically, the album lacked any redeeming quality that would or could have saved them from this review.

The Walkmen seem to still have a strong and dedicated fan-base and an even sturdier foundation of albums, but You & Me hardly seems to back up their success stories. Maybe the album was a precedent or experiment of sort but if it was, consider it the error part of “trial and error.” As a whole, I can appreciate The Walkmen as a band but I’ll have to do so from a distance from now on.

Highlight Track: “Donde Esta La Playa?”

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