In 1974, solo artist and Beatles' beloved Harry Nilsson released Pussy Cats, an expressively shambling ode to the raucous and forlorn heart of rock 'n' roll. John Lennon, who with Nilsson comprised a notoriously debauched duo, produced the album in Los Angeles during his "lost weekend" — a two-year phase of depressed separation from Yoko Ono that was riddled with outlandish, drug-fueled antics. Pussy Cats likely owes its acclaim more to the cultural lore in which it's wrapped than to the merit of its artistry. Nilsson actually ruptured his vocal chords while recording but kept quiet for fear that revealing his ailment would deep-six the entire enterprise. He persevered with an increasingly hoarse delivery, and Pussy Cats is what resulted.
Now, over 30 years later and only months on the heels of their third full-length A Hundred Miles Off, New York-based indie darlings the Walkmen have delivered a lovingly recreated, note-by-note cover of Nilsson's offbeat classic. Why? Pussy Cats excels when it's viewed as a succinct time capsule of the period's waywardness and need for temporary shots of life-affirming carousal. But is it even palatable to the modern ear? The Walkmen evidently think so. Thus, what began as spontaneous studio tangent has blossomed into a full-length, faithful rendition — and a successful one at that. Not only do the Walkmen create a lilting homage to Nilsson, they also brandish their own evolving talent as able conveyors of a wide swath of moods, tones and tempos.
Their 2004 release, Bows and Arrows, started to hint at such dynamism. Their thrillingly charged lead single "The Rat" thrived off its burning tempo while others, like "Hang on, Siobhan," clearly cited Dylan as an influence. A Hundred Miles Off pointed more to their affinity for earthy jaunts. Its opener, "Louisiana," was full of casual plucks, unassuming references to sunrises and ascendant horns. Miles was a perfect segue into this kind of cover project, one drenched in pathos but teeming with life.
Lead man Hamilton Leithauser nails the introductory number "Many Rivers to Cross," a song originally written and performed by Jamaican reggae musician Jimmy Cliff. Its Rootsy poignancy is conjured up with ease by a howling guitar pitch, the slow swoop of percussion and Cliff's blue lyricism: "This loneliness won't leave me alone." Leithauser's throaty vocals yearn and tremble with range to spar. It is a curiously heavy opener but does provide a window into the duality of Pussy Cats.
A roughed-up, semi-grating cover of Bob Dylan's barn-burning "Subterranean Homesick Blues" follows. It adds a bit of jazzy brass and a honky-tonk grind but obviously does not outdo its source and is a touch too obnoxious and off-key. Similarly, the closing take on "Rock Around the Clock" loses its rollicking glee in a muffle of erratic solos and sax squeals. But beyond these missteps of interpretation, Pussy Cats consistently entertains and stirs with light sorrow.
"Mucho Mungo/Mt. Elga" best grasps this concoction of cheer and pathos. It's an easy seaside stroll propelled gently by slide guitar twitches and choral drumbeats. A delicate slice of melancholy resides underneath this flow, but doesn't make it any less warm and inviting. "Old Forgotten Soldier" is a schmaltzy lament ("I'm an old, forgotten, part-time doughboy/ Trying to save the world") full of lulling pianos and acoustic winds. It's also completely tongue in cheek, again allowing the Walkmen to skillfully dabble in a tricky balance of emotional tones.
Beyond "Many Rivers to Cross," only "Don't Forget Me" and the cover of blues duo Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman's "Save the Last Dance for Me" wear their heavy heart without guard. Here, Leithauser's vocals — alternately crisp and broken — serve as the driving force and nicely bind together all of Pussy Cats' oscillating directions. He lends expressiveness to both cuts, warding off any traces of drab solemnity. That's the true beauty of Nilsson's 1974 original and the Walkmen's cover: Neither allows sad or raucous extremes to dominate their tenor. Both present the human experience as tragically entertaining, or full of beautiful folly.
"Loop de Loop" represents the obvious climax, and it's clearly worthy of that position. A live, rambunctious crowd creates a backdrop drunk on romp-filled aura. It boasts a rousing "Twist and Shout" vibe, heightened by jangling riffs, and announces its intentions with utmost candor: "We're having a party." During its original recording, Nilsson and Lennon must have reached the peak of their binge elation. This spirit did not fade in the Walkmen's rendition and is retained especially well in its joyous, boozed-soaked chorus.
The Walkmen undoubtedly knew from the very start that this cover project wasn't a huge gamble, but neither is it a vehicle for the commercial success which has evaded them. It is this unpretentious manner that makes Pussy Cats so irresistibly appealing. From 1974 through 2006, it has remained a light, self-effacing and loving expression of rock's poignant and life-affirming tendencies. The Walkmen were an ideal band to re-capture this.
Grade: 3.5 out of 5
