ORIGINAL RELEASE DATE: SEPTEMBER 14TH 2010


Certain albums can become all too often associated with a specific time and place. Take The Walkmen’s Lisbon, for example. With nary a reference to the Portuguese capital in sight, it’s a beautifully full-bodied record stained in late afternoon sunshine and languid repose that feels just like wandering around the city with a desire to exploring its architecture. No doubt the band’s visits to the capital throughout the recording of the album heavily affected its sound, so in some sense it is a record totally of and about Lisbon. It’s also a majestic, triumphant piece of work and its inclusion of brass or the resonance of gently flickering guitar through all eleven of its tracks make it a record to indulge in. Lisbon is the successor to the painfully underrated You & Me, a record the band released in 2008 and is a massive stride forward for frontman Hamilton Leithauser and his fellow bandmates. It has held up supremely well over the course of one year and feels even more impressive now than it did when it was released, such is the maturity and slow-burning quality of the music here.

It can perhaps sound cliche when assessing records by indie rock bands to focus on the way the drums complement the guitar. The Walkmen are no different, and indeed, drums and guitar are a large fraction of reinforcing their sound into something more affecting. When a band get it right, it’s a wonderful and remarkable achievement of dynamics. The Walkmen are one of the best players in the game, and Lisbon - particularly early on - showcases the full extent of their sensational dynamic. Opening track Juveniles is a choice model for gradually developing and progressing around a simple guitar riff. It’s a rather simple and liberating way to dictate the sound of the record and is unexpectedly transformed into Angela Surf City. It’s The Rat of Lisbon and a song The Walkmen will no doubt be powerless to halt assoccations towards. No worry; it’s not often that two songs so similar to each other in upward momentum become stone cold classics from the same band.


It’s also telling that Stranded was the first taste we had of Lisbon last August because its magnificence is something that only time can weather and make more striking. Like an old Oak standing proud, this is for me, the true definition of what Lisbon has settled into one year on. Stranded strips away the guitars and replaces them with a wall of brass that becomes something to drown in. Such levels of brass demand a voice that can stand up and take charge. Leithauser not only stands tall, he rises above and beyond the ecstasy of such a pure sound and virtually waltzes down and out to its completion. There’s an interesting duality between the obvious lung capacity required for a compelling performance which utilises brass instruments and the way in which Leithauser’s vocals are drawn out, lingering and exceeding time signature. It’s never a push too far though, and all aspects of the production feel assiduous, unlike on the following song Victory. Despite its solid refrain, something feels a little off here. In a pre-release description of Lisbon, Leithauser described some songs as possessing major “power shuffles.” It’s difficult not to think that Victory has a vocal delivery that could be taken down a notch or two, but this is a minor quibble on an otherwise pristine record.


The two most affecting songs on the record happen to be routed in this dynamic of the marriage between guitar and drums. Woe Is Me is the most cheerful and lilting piece on Lisbon, its guitar riff climbing and falling over itself as drums assist in pushing its rhythm section into something spectacular and altogether more resolute. Blue As Your Blood, meanwhile, simmers but is no less striking. It’s built around a to-and-fro guitar riff that becomes the main support structure of a song that is always on the edge of eruption. Lyrically, it’s the most impressive thing on Lisbon. “The sky above / Is blue as your blood” is a wonderful metaphor and a strikingly evocative means of expression. Colour, time and space all come into play in this single sentence, and moreover, pronounced in a voice that resonates way after the record comes to an end.


The album concludes in the traditonal sense, placing emphasis over steadier arrangements. While I Shovel The Snow is perfect winter bedroom listening, watching snow falling gently down. Yet even this song has a romantic, balmy quality to it that showcases the heart and soul of Lisbon. Its focus remains on Leithauser’s delivery and the instrumentation almost takes a back seat to the joyous vocal melodies that unfold in abundance. The album closes with the title track and it’s the longest offering here, built around guitar patterns that twist and then come back to a memorable hook or style. Torch Song and All My Great Designs take a little longer to settle in but there’s a feeling of wholesomeness that comes with recalling just one part of a song that I find comforting; room for exploration and further listening due to context. The latter song feels fully formed but intentionally stripped of something to protract a particular theme of longing and desperation. Unlike You & Me, Lisbon explores these emotions with a tilt torwards the optimistic. Over five albums The Walkmen have become wizards at articulating the dramatic aspect of heartache and Lisbon is resolute in its theatrics, but instead of being something to despair in it becomes something to wallow in; perhaps it’s easier to romanticise in the humidity of the Portuguese air. Alas, the atmosphere and the nature in which an album is recorded can be hard to escape. We may never know the whole story but Lisbon is vast, resplendent and as far reaching an album they could hope to make.