The Walkmen is one of those bands that I’ve been watching for a few years. They were churned out of the same hype machine that spat out The Strokes’ swagger and brought the retro blues of The White Stripes into the public eye. Bows + Arrows and Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone were released to generally positive reviews across the boards by critics from every publication under the sun. Why, exactly, haven’t these New Yorkers exploded as much as their brethren? Their songs have been featured on The OC and on car commercials, so the exposure is more than most indie-rock bands receive. Sultry rock, fuzzy guitars, and blues-ridden bass permeate their pores, so they came into their own when the time was ripe for rocking out.

Their problem is not that they’re a bad band; in fact, they have displayed virtuosic musical chops and powerful potential on singles like “The Rat” and “Little House of Savages.” It all boils down to the fact that they haven’t etched themselves in permanent ink into the skin of the music community at large. Complete albums from start to finish have not been the forte of these guys. For every barnburner, there have been three or four nondescript wail-filled dirges that are forgotten the second the track moves into the next. Therefore, I’ve been waiting with baited breath for everything to come together. Give us a statement piece, men!

A Hundred Miles Off takes the first step on the path toward a rockin’ manifesto by sounding like Bob Dylan jamming with Jimmy Buffett on a street corner. Hamilton Leithauser must have listened to Blonde on Blonde a few hundred times between album releases. The man has Bob’s warble down to a science and he allows his vocal harmonies to soar unabashedly through the musical fog. As far as that haze of distortion and feedback goes, “Louisiana” couples horn flourishes with lazy guitar strumming to come up with a unique mixture of influences that comes out with a surprising luster. Things are looking up! “Don’t Get Me Down (Come Over Here)” is “Maps” as seen through the lens of a small pub band who have long since passed their two drink minimum, which could be taken as a negative until you hear the actual spot-on execution of rippling guitar pulses and abrasive drum hits. Throw in a couple more cocksure alleyway blues-rock jams and you have a solid EP at the very least.

The downfalls to this undertaking come in the fact that a solid EP is what exists, but for every memorable tune, there are two other riffs and/or hooks that are as edgy and memorable as lukewarm pea soup. Simply put, outside of some deviating drum techniques and moments that could be mistaken for definitive crooning, The Walkmen has approached this collection in the extremely formulaic manner for which they have come to be known. Distinctions between songs are few and far between. After a few listens, you would be hard-pressed to label songs by title. Even when the tempos are injected with amphetamines and gallop forward abrasively, the vocals never undergo parallel revisions. For his sake, drummer Matt Barrick throttles his kit with surgical precision and does his best to right the ship whenever it starts to take on water; most of the time, though, he sounds like the only one who wants to push the envelope.

As their cover of Mazarin’s “Another One Goes By” rides us off into the sunset, we’re left to reflect on it all. The Walkmen seem to have missed yet another chance at showing everyone their true potential. I’m left to wonder if their potential even exists. The kinetic element has to shine through at some point, doesn’t it? Throughout a majority of A Hundred Miles Off, it is as if each individual member of the band is firing shots in the dark, hoping that they will hit the same target as the rest of the gang. The sad truth is that the bull’s-eye isn’t often hit by everyone simultaneously. They have yet to turn on that light and pen songs that are much more than crafty melodies that sparkle and fade. I guess I’m going to have to wait some more for that statement of theirs. I’ll just make the voyeurism more passive.