Pitchfork

Harry Nilsson's vocal cords were famously shot when he recorded Pussy Cats with friend and patron John Lennon, but I've never understood why they opened the record with the most glaring example: His hoarse rendition of Jimmy Cliff's "Many Rivers to Cross" pissed all over the grace of the original like a homeless veteran holding a sign saying "Will Sully Classics 4 Food." It's no surprise that the Walkmen painstakingly recreate the boozy sentimentality of Nilsson's version, from the lush bed of strings to Nilsson's fuck-all scream in the song's final moments. Such a carbon copy is worth a double take and a triple-check of your ID3 tags, but there's something more disconcerting about their uncanny karaoke.

No band out there turns not giving a shit into such craft, and when they're going for broke for one perfect musical moment (like, say, the horns in "Louisiana"), it's something I admire. But when they're romanticizing someone else's dark days, I'm ready to snatch the Brandy Alexanders from their hands (though that title from their last record-- A Hundred Miles Off-- was likely one more tip of the hat to Nilsson). There's no bravery in recreating something tragic, even if that approach suits the Walkmen better than anyone, and no risk taken in gravelling up your voice to imitate Nilsson on a bad day; it's just farce.