By Sean Moeller

An absurdist’s take on The Walkmen’s new record “A Hundred Miles Off” is peppered with thoughts and innuendos that aren’t so wrongful, but wouldn’t be the first thoughts or innuendos that most people would or should develop about this New York contingent of guys that have attained a sort of folklore-ish name for themselves over the years of ups and downs.

But to this absurdist, this new stunner by the New York City five-some is a folk record of unorthodox and far-flung proportions. There’s nary an acoustic guitar, not a single mention of flowers or an urging to embrace nature’s beauty, but there’s an undercurrent of soul-affirming earnestness that billows out of everything lead singer Hamilton Leithauser sings and maybe it’s crazy to think, but the man’s got more Bob Dylan in him than we’ve ever given him credit for. Sure, he’s a better warning than a fire alarm, with his crunching, cinder track howl, but scale back a few decibels and throw him onto the high fidelity record player and we’re talking about somebody else who cracked one or two chubs over Woody Guthrie record albums. It’s off-base to even think these things, sure. I mean, is there anybody out there who’s even influenced by Guthrie anymore? No, don’t be absurd (again, that word), they go straight to Dylan, choosing not to dig back some years to find that original sprig of virgin sound. They’re no audiophiles, just living in a vacuum dictated by third-person tastes and the persuasion of billboards.

Leithauser is not one of those obedient lambs, climbing aboard trains that are too crammed and stuffy as it is. He’s also not as dynamic of a wordsmith as that Dylan character, but that’s kind of an unwinnable contest there. He’s not the voice of a generation. He’s not making political statements – innocuous or otherwise – with the songs on “A Hundred Miles Off” or any other Walkmen record for that matter. It’s such an easy thing to do these days anyway. One could keep oneself up at night thinking of how many more 23 year olds were born again tonight, listening to “Blonde On Blonde” for the first time, thinking they could be the Bob and they could write the next song that really hits the soft spots, the hard spots and hot spots. Leithauser came upon his Dylan-esque-ness and he probably wouldn’t even know it because Dylan’s an anonymous donor, contributing no further assistance than just being alive and growing his nails long and yellow. There’s all of the big city lights in these songs on “Hundred,” but there’s also a lean into different settlements that the band hadn’t dared cross into on past records. When Leithauser sings, “I’ve got my hands full” on album opener “Louisi ana,” not even really getting to the top floor with that voice of his that sounds as if he’d been screaming at television referees or cussing out his good-for-nuthin’ car all day, you kind of wonder where he stowed all of the other piss and vinegar. He took care to leave a little back – still getting the same cross-checking boldness, but in a new way – and it gives the songs as much in longitude as they used to get in latitude. They can now go a number of ways. They don’t have to just be calls to tempers or other manners of short flares and riptides. These songs have soulful bodies and philosophical minds that besmirch those of the songs that came before them.

“I think our songwriting process makes more sense now,” organist Walter Martin said. “We toured for basically a year for the last record (“Bows & Arrows”) and then eased back into being at home and trying to write again. It was hard. We had to sort of figure out new ways to put songs together. It used to all be about the music and Ham would have to tack on some lyrics at the end of the process and you can hear it. I know The Smiths used to do it, but it makes the songs feel like they don’t make much sense. The songs seem to be a lot simpler. When we wrote a lot of this stuff, it was just me and Ham in this little room at our recording space near Columbia University, a space they rented for six years until the university bought the building and kicked them out to the curb last month). He could sing a little quieter. He didn’t need to bark as loud.”

It made his bite more vicious somehow and that’s so Dylan.

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