The Walkmen are relatively new in Britain, but are by no means a new band. They’ve plucked themselves from the remains of two bands, DC’s ‘Jonathan Fire Eater’ and New York’s ‘The Recoys’. So in actual fact they’ve been around for years, had the chance to mature and make a great record built from experience off their own backs, and personal taste.

You can’t really categorise this album and stick it with all the other releases half arse bands dragging up the already over done past, because it’s in a completely different league. Yes, it may be influenced by certain 80’s bands such as Jesus and Mary Chain and The Clash with a bit of the New York Dolls, bit it takes their underground, darker sides of these, and not too much to class it as a revival.

It’s difficult to describe their sound. To compare them to another band I’d say, kind of like The Strokes (if you’re a Strokes hater, don’t let this put you off) after being brought up on the roughest estate in Whitechapel rather than a posh Swedish public school. And with slightly better tunes and less of the hipsters.

Lyrically, it’s very bitchy: almost like the boys have been shit on from a great height from ex-girlfriends/best mates and they’ve compiled it all into a record. But this is one in the most mature way possible, even the subjects in the songs would embrace it. Well, maybe.

First single ‘The Rat’ reflects this beautifully. The lead lyrics ‘you’ve got a nerve to be asking’ a favour’ together with the rapid fire drumming, sharp guitars and Hamilton’s gritty vocals spell out ‘FUCK YOU’ better than a neon sign in Times Square. In contrast, ‘Hang on, Siobhan’ tumbles you into a sweet melancholic sea of piano and synths.

Collectively, the album is kick ass and over-rides practically all of 2004’s releases without anyone realising. This album hasn’t yet received the acclamation it deserves, possibly because the band aren’t shagging their way across the British Isles and turning up at every rock fest possible, full of enough chemicals to run the power of a small town, but that’s a good thing. But one day this album will bite you in the arse and it’ll be love at first site.

Christina McConnell