In 2004, the Walkmen released one of the best rock songs of the decade, “The Rat,” a relentless, spiteful, venom-spewing anthem cleverly designed to sound like it was tearing itself apart while it was in the process of being played. Afterwards, instead of trying to match or exceed its vitriolic brilliance, the band angled sideways instead, embarking on a series of subdued, smart experiments—trading instruments, recording a faithful recreation of an under-loved Harry Nilsson record, and so on. The band recently went on a “pretty extreme hiatus”, and the first batch of its members’ inevitable solo albums are now starting to appear; for his solo bow, Black Hours, frontman Hamilton Leithauser doesn’t veer far from their established sound, and continues their exploration of old popular music, this time with an emphasis on what was on the pop charts two generations ago.
One of the Walkmen’s key strengths were their ability to conjure up an air of non-specific old-timiness, cobbled together from bits of old folk, country, garage rock, oddball '60s pop (which was itself an intentional throwback to the days before rock & roll), and the American songbook. It was an inspired tactic that earned the band a fervent audience among people who cherish vintageness, and the Walkmen were savvy enough to veer far enough from tribute-act territory. For Black Hours, Leithauser dials up the influence of jazzy post-war vocal pop; he recently posted to his Tumblr a playlist of influences that guided its creation, including Frank Sinatra, Cole Porter, Randy Newman, and Bob Dylan, whose retro-revivalist spirit has hovered over most of Leithauser’s career.
But the playlist seems superfluous when hearing the album’s opening track, “5 AM”, which puts the aforementioned influences front and center with pensive piano, lachrymose strings, and a theatrical vocal performance that accurately replicates Sinatra's signature blend of heartache and bravado. Leithauser’s reedy-yet-supple voice has always been one of the Walkmen’s strengths, and after years of constant practice he’s become a far more proficient singer than you’d expect for someone working in the indie rock milieu. He wouldn’t have been able to compete directly with Sinatra back in the day, but he could have made a decent opening act.
Largely, Black Hours' first few tracks hew closely to the Walkmen's sound, with a few neat tweaks: “The Silent Orchestra” mixes strings, marimba, and a jaunty rhythm guitar playing on the upstroke that suggests "Mad Men"-era cocktail party music matched with punk raggedness; “11 O'Clock Friday Night” also features marimba, embellished with assorted percussion, jangly guitar, and the kind of casually anthemic vocal part that Leithauser specializes in. The album’s best song, “Alexandra”, is also one of the finest moments in Leithauser’s career, as a deceptively simple melody is paired with acoustic guitar, exuberant handclaps, a gleefully wailing harmonica that smacks of Paul Simon’s '70s bubblegum-folk sound.
Black Hours shares some of its strengths with Leithauser’s work with the Walkmen, and same goes with its weaknesses—namely, an occasional lapse in focus. “St. Mary’s County” takes a step too far in the direction of Sinatra-style torchiness, while the last couple tracks never quite cohere, resembling sketches of the album's stronger material. But the swooning “Self Pity” and “I Retired,” which puts a cabaret-style slant on ramshackle, mid-period Dylan folk rock, hold things together. At the end, Black Hours is a tribute to a diverse range of musical progenitors. But more deeply, it’s a testament to Leithauser’s inexhaustible stylistic ambition, and his ability to conquer expectations by throwing one curveball after another.
