A Hundred Miles Off

“Go let the dog in, I hear him scratching at the kitchen wall”

If you’ve read my blog, or known me for a little while, you’ve probably already heard me hawk The Walkmen. Nearly a year ago, I wrote about their sophomore album Bows + Arrows, one of my absolute favorites. But today, I’m here to talk about their third album, A Hundred Miles Off, which is just as wonderful and beautiful as its predecessor. The reason I continue to yammer on about The Walkmen is because they are horribly underappreciated; this album received precious little media attention and failed to capture a very wide audience upon release. I myself was one of those unfazed by the band’s consistently gorgeous output, because I was only one year old when A Hundred Miles Off came out. 

Where Bow + Arrows was a record of wintry, downtrodden angst, A Hundred Miles Off  is its more joyful counterpart, breaking through the band’s former hopelessness into a new bright world of summertime and hope, all the while maintaining the same frenetic, propulsive energy. The drums shake and rattle but always push forward, never quite settling into a groove. The two guitars ring out into a great blue sky, as I imagine, and toss clouds across the firmament. 

The album gets its name from a lyric in the stunning opening track, “Louisiana”. It, alongside the similarly-styled “Emma, Get Me a Lemon,” is one the album’s catchiest and most instantly likable songs. In other places, like the grim storytelling of “This Job is Killing Me” and the near-hardcore of “Tenley Town” the music feels more gritty and confrontational as lead singer Hamilton Leithouser strains his voice into a desperate scream.

From start to finish, the album is carried forward by a sense of tension that never truly lets up, even as the songs break and dissolve, throwing out sparks all the way down. Each track simmers and boils until the water begins to spill over, and an orange flame envelops the pot. In a track like “All Hands and The Cook,” for example, this breaking point comes halfway through; in other songs, it never fully arrives, and the tension carries over into the next song.

At no point on the record does the band’s glimmering, sweeping alternative rock sound clearer or more direct than tracks “Lost in Boston” and “Brandy Alexander”. Lyrics like, “Lost in Boston, drinking rum and chocolate; a hundred thousand blinking lights are making me exhausted” set a plain scene while the music imbues it with life and emotion. 

I can only say so much. I hope at least one of you guys decides to give this album a listen. It’s really incredible. Thank you for reading.