I had a dream that you were mine
I've had that dream a thousand times
A thousand times, a thousand times
I've had that dream a thousand times
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Another woefully unsung band. Saw them at Lollapalooza in Chicago. Love Hamilton Leithauser.
SONG OF THE DAY - Easter Sunday, March 31, 2024
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The Walkmen Live Show Review: 5/18, Metro, Chicago
BY JORDAN MAINZER
“It’s good to be back,” said Hamilton Leithauser in the middle of The Walkmen’s second show on a four-night run at Metro, in what’s surely been a triumphant return. “I don’t know what ‘back’ means, but we’re back right now,” he clarified. Of course, any time a band doesn’t really break up but takes an indefinite hiatus, and then announces a reunion (or revenge) tour, fans invariably consider the prospect of new music. Instead, right now, at least for the time being, The Walkmen are reflecting on a storied discography, revealing to crowds on a nightly basis where they started and how far they’ve come.
Entering the stage to little banter, perhaps The Walkmen wanted to show us that, indeed, they never really left. They certainly sounded like it, Leithauser’s twangy sneer and Matt Barrick’s chugging drums propelling “On the Water”, Paul Maroon’s angular stabs and Leithauser’s trademark screams lifting “In the New Year” to the heights at which it previously soared, the entire band blasting through “The Rat” like they had little time left on earth. But as the set went on, Leithauser’s contextualization of their songs surfaced the raw imperfections underneath the band that always dressed perfectly, like the debonair socialites of Aughts post-punk. (I’ll never forget a fall 2013 Walkmen show where Leithauser clarified the band bought all their clothes at Costco and Target.) The band formed in the early 2000′s in Harlem from the ashes of Jonathan Fire*Eater and The Recoys, and their back-to-back performances of “Little House of Savages” and “The Blizzard of ‘96″--meant for those previous bands, respectively--showcased how the two disparate sonic aspects of The Walkmen for so long have worked in tandem. That is, many of their best songs start with, simply, sheer blasts of instrumentation, like “The Rat” or “Little House of Savages”, but equally impressive are the plinking, jangly exercises in collegiate and urban nostalgia like “The Blizzard of ‘96″, “138th Street”, and “We’ve Been Had”, the last of which was the first song they ever wrote, Leithauser a ripe 21 “writing forlorn lyrics about being 19.”
Though the band prioritized their back catalog over strong later career albums like Lisbon and Heaven, I was glad to see them recognize the brilliance of a few more recent tracks. The first couple times I saw The Walkmen, they played songs from those records that had not yet been released, and hearing “Blue As Your Blood” and the anthemic “Heaven” took me back to my initial transfixation. Lisbon, especially, established a newfound emphasis on country-adjacent music, the most Leithauser’s ever sounded like a raspy Bob Dylan, songs like “Blue As Your Blood” carried by Maroon’s Spaghetti Western guitar plucks and Barrick’s galloping percussion. You could say such songs were foreshadowed by You & Me’s gorgeous “Red Moon” (“I prefer it without the horn section,” admitted Leithauser), but to me, Lisbon was the album where The Walkmen most successfully honed in on what made them tick. “This song took the longest to record of any Walkmen song ever,” said Leithauser introducing “Juveniles”, joking, “I don’t know why: It’s a simple song.” On the surface, “Juveniles” is simply, a gentle sway, but something about its clanging treble worms into your head, Leithauser’s chants of “You’re one of us or one of them” practically made for an audience to shout back.
When Leithauser told the crowd, “We didn’t know whether anybody would remember us,” it came at first as a shock. The Walkmen were one of the most critically acclaimed indie rock bands at a time when indie rock dominated the critical discourse, for better or for worse. Of course people would remember them! Thinking back, though, as the years passed since Heaven was released, maybe the band was simply stored in people’s memory banks, perhaps precisely because they never technically broke up or announced a big farewell, leaving a permanent-feeling void in their fans’ hearts. In essence, then, their entire set felt like scratching a giant itch you didn’t know you had. What a thrill it was to hear Peter Bauer’s mammoth basslines, and Walter Martin’s synths adding to the whirr and swirling noise of “All Hands And The Cook” and “Thinking Of A Dream I Had”, Maroon’s sharp tones, Barrick’s meaty, precise fills, and Leithauser’s desperate wail. We were “one of us” once again.
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