Unlike many of their contemporaries who decided to burn out in a temporary burst of creativity or fade away in repetitive ignominy, the Walkmen have only continued to get better. It’s a bit of a surprise when you consider the band predicated their success on a piss-and-vinegar brand of youthful fire and youthful anger, that New York City vigor and rage exemplified in “The Rat,” the band’s best known song off their 2004 breakthrough Bows + Arrows. It’s the kind of spirit that’s all too easy to dissipate as the years pass, and the Walkmen, truth be told, have been no exception. But as 2008’s excellent You & Me proved, the Walkmen know how to age gracefully, transforming their earlier ragged edge into a stately procession of horns, spindly guitars and powerful drum work, all anchored by Hamilton Leithauser’s cracked croon. It was still the same Walkmen, as the innovative instrumentation and Leithauser’s gloomy lyrics made clear, but they had found a way to take their best qualities and shift them into a more expansive sound, the kind of sound that spoke of possibilities for the future. With Lisbon, the Walkmen have realized those possibilities, but in a decidedly strange way: for the first time in years, the Walkmen seem content.