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**Hamilton Leithauser + Rostam**
***I Had A Dream That You Were Mine***
**(Domino)**

There's something beautifully anachronistic about Hamilton Leithauser's voice floating over Rostam Batmanglij's meticulously crafted arrangements, like finding a perfectly preserved love letter tucked between the pages of a modernist novel. Their collaborative debut, *I Had A Dream That You Were Mine*, emerges from an unlikely friendship that bloomed in the aftermath of creative restlessness – Leithauser having stepped away from The Walkmen's indie rock swagger, while Rostam was quietly plotting his exit from Vampire Weekend's prep-school art-pop empire.

The genesis of this partnership traces back to 2014, when the pair began trading ideas across coasts, Leithauser in New York and Rostam in Los Angeles. What started as casual musical correspondence evolved into something more substantial when they discovered their shared fascination with the liminal space between vintage Americana and contemporary production techniques. The result is an album that sounds like it could have been recorded in any decade between 1965 and 2016, yet belongs entirely to neither.

Musically, *I Had A Dream That You Were Mine* occupies a fascinating middle ground between chamber pop grandeur and intimate folk confession. Rostam's production sensibilities – honed through years of crafting Vampire Weekend's sophisticated arrangements – provide the perfect foil for Leithauser's weathered baritone, which has only grown more expressive since his Walkmen days. The album draws from a rich palette: there's the pastoral folk of early Simon & Garfunkel, the orchestral sweep of Scott Walker, and the sun-dappled melancholy of The Left Banke, all filtered through a distinctly modern lens.

The opening track, "A 1000 Times," sets the tone with its gently cascading strings and Leithauser's immediately recognizable croon, but it's "In A Black Out" that truly announces the album's ambitions. Here, Rostam's production wizardry transforms what could have been a simple folk song into something approaching Phil Spector-esque grandeur, complete with timpani rolls and a gospel-tinged organ that would make Levon Helm weep. The song builds to an almost overwhelming emotional crescendo, yet never loses its essential intimacy.

"When The Truth Is..." showcases the duo's ability to craft perfect pop miniatures, its circular guitar figure and wordless vocal harmonies creating an atmosphere of wistful nostalgia that feels both specific and universal. Meanwhile, "Peaceful Morning" strips things back to their essence – just voice, guitar, and the kind of melody that seems to have existed forever, waiting to be discovered rather than written.

The album's emotional centerpiece, "1959," finds Leithauser reflecting on temporal displacement over Rostam's most adventurous arrangement, featuring backwards vocals, mellotron flutes, and a rhythm section that seems to breathe with the song's lyrical content. It's a track that could have easily descended into pastiche, but instead achieves something more elusive – a genuine conversation between past and present.

Perhaps most impressive is how the album maintains its cohesive vision across eleven tracks without ever feeling monochromatic. "You Ain't That Young Kid" injects a welcome dose of energy with its driving rhythm and stacked harmonies, while the closing title track offers a gentle comedown, its sparse arrangement allowing Leithauser's voice to carry the full weight of the album's accumulated emotion.

What makes *I Had A Dream That You Were Mine* more than just an exercise in nostalgic indulgence is the genuine chemistry between its creators. Leithauser's voice has always possessed an old-soul quality, but here it's given space to explore its full range of expression, from tender whisper to full-throated roar. Rostam, meanwhile, proves himself a master of restraint, knowing exactly when to add a string flourish or harmonic twist without overwhelming the songs' essential humanity.

Four years on, the album stands as a quietly influential work that helped pave the way for the current wave of indie artists mining similar vintage territories. More importantly, it serves as a reminder that collaboration can produce something genuinely greater than the sum of its parts. In an era of bedroom producers and isolated creativity, *I Had A Dream That You Were Mine* celebrates the magic that can happen when two distinct artistic voices find common ground in their shared love of song craft and sonic exploration.