As the Walkmen's vocalist and guitarist, Hamilton is the press's puzzle for those hoping to find a blotter of color beneath the band's shadowed façade. Leithauser thrives in a comfortable extended unresponsiveness and his clumsy conversational delivery is painfully non-enlightening to his involvement on stage: A performance of stamped emotion and confrontational grasp of the mike, this man doesn't brood in a studio day after day lamenting his very existence. Or does he? ignore: Why do you keep at it, man? HL: Playing live has become a lot more fun to us, he says [combing his fingers through his hair as he talks]. We used to just try to mimic the record or get as close to it as possible and now nobody is concerned with that. We've come a long way with our live show and it's gotten to the point where you play these songs over and over again and you really get to hate them. But we're still proud of our songs and we like to go up there and play them to people. Their 2004 release, Bows and Arrows , was highly anticipated during the rock rapture going down in New York at the time, and it's a stonewall effort that showcases a fulfilled confidence and professionalism, but also distances the audience from the band in isolated and idealistic grays, just as their first album so romantically aspired to do with underage smoking blokes on the cover. The Walkmen are almost overwhelmingly aware of their talent and what distinguishes them from the "dance" rock bands, and they eagerly distance themselves from their past endeavors in every interview. So, for this release, they formed a record label and hopped into a studio that gave them the time to conceive each song exactly how they wished, and to tweak accordingly afterwards, and onto the next LP. HL: It's nice to be in a place where it feels like home and not like you're stepping on other people's toes. I wanted to do, you know, like light...light songs for the next record. But I don't think it's going to happen. The songs we have written now, they're very loud. I bet some wouldn't like it lighter but I think a lot of people would still enjoy it. In their hometown of Washington, D.C., the Walkmen are sponsoring a local Pee Wee basketball team aptly named "The Walkmen," coached by one of Hamilton's mates. They've also partaken in a benefit on Saint Patty's Day to help victims affected by the tsunami disaster. Beneath the press-shunning monochromatic aesthetic that Hamilton further, unknowingly promotes, The Walkmen are clearly not a foot wide and ten feet in the has-been grave. And once the show starts, pushing through the congested crowd, I find a spot toward the edge of the dance floor. With the first few sputtering beats of "The Rat" - even snagging play at this weekend's bygone UM frat parties (I'm told) - fragile fists fly-trap air, hipsters and rock kids bounce hard, and Hamilton is possessed with more emotion than forty interviews could capture into one Proton Vac. Never mind the fat fucking guido bouncer bullies who strain to get on the stage to palm trespassers' heads like a video-game, Leithauser hits the track 's sour social commentary with perfection, tapping liveliness and all the other emotions that would have made, undoubtedly, an excellent interview. Photos by Omar Sommereyns