Walter Martin, Matt Barrick, Paul Maroon-- respectively the organist, drummer, and guitarist for the late Jonathan Fire*Eater-- used their Dreamworks cash to purchase a Harlem loft, install a recording studio, and start over. Wolf Songs for Lambs flopped financially, primarily because it sounded recorded in a large, wet box. However, it was a pretty damn unique and haunting garage pop album, and even predated some modern NYC trends (like the Strokes, the French Kicks, the Mooney Suzuki). Now residing on the more modest, yet bombastically monikered StarTime International, home too of the French Kicks, the Walkmen emerge from their uptown cocoon with a promising, and similarly unique self-titled EP.

The immediate difference between Jonathan Fire*Eater and the Walkmen is the change in singers. Stuart Lupton, who now concentrates his efforts on a new band called the Child Ballads, obviously worshipped Mick Jagger's slur and rasp. His poetic rants fit Fire*Eater perfectly. The Walkmen stand behind new pipes, Hamilton Leithauser, who recalls a more operatic Lupton, and, frighteningly, at times, Jon Bon Jovi.

"Wake Up" struts along on heavy, robotic drumming and stabs of reverb guitar. Martin replaces the fuzzy drone of Fire*Eater's organ with ambient twinkles and piano hammers that would make RZA smile, if RZA does, in fact, smile. The track recalls a "live," sample-less Eternals, and, like the Eternals, your enjoyment hangs heavily on your ability to stomach the vocals. But it's amazing how fresh a set of drums, a bass, a guitar, and a keyboard can sound with some simple re-thinking, re-arrangement, and production touches.

The Bon Joviest singing runs throughout "We've Been Had." But Bon Jovi never belted showtune-influenced rapture over echoing, sugar-tripped minimalism. If the Dismemberment Plan lived in 1967, they might come up with something like "The Crimps," which skitters and pops on drum rolls and sleighbells, echoing bumblebee guitar, and spooky keys. Distant harmonies and rug-smothered drums slowly emanate under "Summer Stage."

In the end, Martin, Barrick, and Maroon cook up another subtle, spacious sound that chills out like a phantom. In many ways, the Walkmen perfectly embody a Harlem loft-- high ceilings, echoing acoustics, raw, exposed walls, and some arty beatnik who's probably from suburban New Jersey squatting right in the middle.

-Brent DiCrescenzo