The Walkmen have already earned their place in history by releasing the single most acerbic bout of unhinged brilliance to beat its way out of Strokes-era New York in ‘The Rat’, a lean couple of minutes of the most infectiously propulsive post-punk and a voice that sounded like it might snap at any given moment and send serotonin levels through the roof. Casablancas’ mob even had a go at emulating its raw power on their third album to a much less convincing degree, but The Walkmen have swaggered onward unimpeded like the modern age’s collective Fonz ever since, not dropping the ball for even a moment, hips ever-swinging in loose but fearsomely controlled tandem. ‘You & Me’, their fourth album, is a triumph but that much was always expected. But it also steps onward by stepping away from the gain-battered war-wounded Marshall stack garage of their earlier days (and extending back to their time as the similarly rugged and brilliant Jonathan Fire*Eater), honing in on and expanding the suave rat-pack stylings that have always existed beneath the surface. It lets their sense of exploration rise to the top and thus we get the dub dancehall inflections of ‘Canadian Girl’, ‘Four Provinces’ sounding like percussion played on tea crates in railway transit and ‘Long Time Ahead Of Us’ recalling NY’s newest innovators Vampire Weekend with its steel drum and brass ambience. ‘The Blue Route’ features the caustic enquiry “what happened to you!?!” via vocal chords tearing with rabid fervour amid a carnival of beats and echo chamber guitars clattering in shimmery soft focus, hinting at former furies but with a warm glow that also ever so slightly recalls the Flaming Lips. And the delightful ‘Red Moon’ is a fit enough representation of where they find themselves these days; its Sinatra unbuttoned, Elvis at the end of the night, pure maudlin gorgeousness. There’s formality and then there’s swinging from the chandeliers. They pull off both. Easily one of the year’s most realised musical endeavours.