With
Black Hours, frontman
Hamilton Leithauser became the second member of
the Walkmen to surface with new music during the band's "extreme hiatus" (the first being
Walter Martin with his charming children's album We're All Young Together). It's often difficult for lead singers to make a break from their previous work since they're such a defining force in a band's sound.
Leithauser happens to be one of indie rock's most distinctive vocalists, as well as one of the most versatile; the way he switched from a
Dylanesque sneer, a
Bono-like wail, or a
Sinatra-worthy croon made him an invaluable part of
the Walkmen's fiery yet reflective music. Perhaps it's not surprising, then, that
Black Hours feels more like an extension of his work with that band than a drastic departure from it.
Leithauser puts the album's biggest surprise first: "5 A.M.," a fabulous ballad inspired by
Sinatra classics such as
In the Wee Small Hours, dives into throaty, string-laden drama without ever seeming too theatrical. It's a bold start, and a somewhat misleading one; the rest of
Black Hours expands on
the Walkmen's legacy in more familiar ways. "St. Mary's County," a collaboration with bandmate
Paul Maroon (who also provided many of the album's string and horn arrangements), is the kind of dreamy, drifting ballad that populated latter-day albums like You & Me. Conversely, "Alexandra" and "I Don't Need Anyone" are brash, swaggering, and secretly vulnerable standouts that also remain well within
the Walkmen's wheelhouse. The older-and-wiser feel of the band's gorgeous maybe-swan song
Heaven continues on "The Smallest Splinter," which finds
Leithauser just as dramatic and demanding running toward love as running away from it, and on "I Retired," where lyrics like "No one knows what I was fighting for/I don't even know myself anymore" can't help but feel like a response to the fury of songs such as "The Rat."
Black Hours' most intriguing moments make the most use of the orchestral touches that set the album apart from
Leithauser's previous work, whether it's the marimba on "The Silent Orchestra" or the beautiful "Self-Pity," which combines one of his finest vocal performances yet with graceful strings and moody,
Stones-y rock. It would be unfair to call
Black Hours a missed opportunity; even if its glimpses at fresher musical territory are tantalizing,
Leithauser carries on
the Walkmen's tradition in ways that fans will welcome. ~ Heather Phares