6. The National
Proof that even the best bands need time to find their footing, The National’s self-titled debut is a tedious, frustrating listen. For 45 minutes, the band trudges through a batch of half-baked alt-country tunes so tepid, I doubt any label other than the Dessner’s own Brassland Records would release them.
But first, the lyrics. Wow, are they terrible. I usually don’t pay much attention to lyrics; if everything sounds alright, I can deal with the most incoherent psychobabble known to man. But everything does not sound alright on The National, so I searched through the lyrics for something, anything, that would hold my interest. Bad decision.
Lacking the ambition to be pretentious, or the willful incoherence to qualify as vapid, they linger awkwardly in prose purgatory, evoking winces with lines such as, “Don’t be a nightingale for anyone’s space to fill,” and “If I were a spy in the world inside your head, would I be your wife in the better life you led?” While Matt Berninger would eventually learn to conjure haunting images, here he writes with all the elegance of a lazy high schooler scrambling to complete a creative writing project ten minutes before class.
His singing is similarly uncertain. Though he would later develop into one of indie rock’s best frontmen, he constantly struggles to hit his marks on his first go-round. The rest of the band fails to achieve anything of note, but at least they’re relatively anonymous. Berninger turns in what can only be described as an ungainly performance, dragging each song down with his off-key warbles.
From start to finish, it’s clear The National are still working things out. At times, it sounds as if they wrote and recorded each of their parts separately and pasted them together. They clearly don’t know how to play off of each other yet, and the sloppiness that results is anything but endearing. The National are at their best when they sound like they’re in control, which creates a fascinating counterpoint to the uncertainty conveyed by their lyrics. Here, they come across as clumsy on all fronts, stumbling through each song with a striking lack of conviction.
The National is an anonymous and forgettable record that works best as an historical document of the band’s humble beginnings. Other than their basic personnel, The National give very little indication of the world-beating act they would soon become. For die-hards and completists, it’s worth a listen for novelty’s sake, but everyone else can stick to their next five albums. Things would get much, much better from here on out.
5. Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers
For all intents and purposes, Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers is The National’s true debut. Sure, their official discography may begin with the lifeless dud of an album they released two years prior, but the band that made that record bore little resemblance to the National we’ve come to know and love. On Sad Songs, The National begin to stake their claim as rock’s resident agents of despair. The pieces—Berninger’s melancholy yet slyly seductive vocals, the Dessner brother’s dense guitar work, heartbreaking pianos and strings—are there, but the band has yet to sand off the edges.
As on Alligator, this lack of polish lends the record an urgency that was sorely missing from their debut, but their songwriting is not as sleek and purposeful as it would soon become. Though these songs carry far more emotional weight than anything on The National, they don’t reach into the darkest corners of your soul. Sad Songs tugs at the heartstrings, but it can’t ruin you in the same way Boxer or High Violet can. Compared to the masterpieces the band would later release, Sad Songs can’t help but feel like a relatively minor work.
Still, this represents an astounding album-to-album leap, by far the greatest The National have made. Some of the best songs here, such as “Slipping Husband” and “Available,” crackle with nervous energy, as Berninger’s vocal performance devolves into a series of frenzied screams. When he’s not howling, Berninger displays more control over his voice, settling into the smoky baritone that would become an essential component of The National’s sound.
And that’s the story of Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers. Everything The National attempt on this album would be executed with more panache on subsequent efforts, but the pieces were finally in place for their ascension to indie royalty. It’s almost as if their fumbling debacle of a debut never happened.
4. Alligator
The National’s first album represented the band’s awkward teen years, the musical equivalent of that horrifying middle-school yearbook photo you dig up years later that serves as both a humbling reminder of where you came from and a triumphant indicator of the progress you’ve made since. Their second and third LPs captured the band in their restless twenties, bursting with ideas and energy they couldn’t completely harness. With albums three through six, the band would settle comfortably into adulthood with a style all their own.
Alligator finds the band at a critical juncture, stuck between the raw, heart-on-the-sleeve urgency of Sad Song’s most boisterous cuts and the meticulous craftsmanship they would display on their next three records. Sure, it’s a bit rough around the edges, but this lack of luster only augments the restlessness that marks every song on this record. In stark contrast to The National’s next three albums, Alligator features decidedly unglamorous production; it sounds almost as if it were recorded live so the band could capture its ideas before they spun off into the ether. In retrospect, it’s fascinating to hear The National at a time when they didn’t project unflappable confidence (at least in regard to their musicianship), when they were still rounding into shape as one of rock’s most reliable acts.
This uncertainty produced some of The National’s most exhilarating tracks. Never again would they rock as hard as they did on “Mr. November.” Never again would Berninger howl as he does on “Abel’s” frantic chorus, a moment that’s sure to jar fans who came to the band after they broke out with Boxer. But amidst the ruckus, it’s clear that these were the tightest, most purposeful songs The National had produced up to this point. They build and sustain mood to devastating effect, the verses and choruses complementing each other in ways they hadn’t before
At its heart, Alligator is an album of conflicting dynamics, tempos, and moods. The push and pull evident on many of these songs makes Alligator The National’s most visceral offering, the product of a band bursting with creativity, but still unable to fully develop their ideas. But what Alligator lacks in refinement, it makes up for in a sense of immediacy the band would never again approach. But despite the quantum leaps the band had made since their debut, better things awaited on what would become their first masterpiece, 2007’s Boxer.
3. Trouble Will Find Me
After High Violet, The National found themselves in an unenviable position, tasked with following two of the 21st century’s best albums. Where many bands would crack under the pressure or simply coast off of their past success, The National found a way to stay true to themselves without falling prey to complacency. Other than a warmer, clearer sound, Trouble Will Find Me follows a blueprint similar to that of High Violet: dense textures punctuated by horns, strings, and pianos; masterful use of backing and double-tracked vocals; nimble drumming; and a general air of despondency.
Six albums in, The National have refined their craft to the point where they can take your breath away with a single swelling violin or simple, seven-note piano melody (as on the gorgeous “Exile Vilify,” released between High Violet and Trouble Will Find Me). They sound comfortable in the way master songwriters do after they have nothing left to prove, able to write for themselves and their fans with the knowledge that—barring a disaster of epic proportions—their legacy is safe. And Trouble Will Find Me proves that not only is The National’s legacy safe, it continues to flourish in ways most bands could only dream of.
That being said, Trouble Will Find Me can’t quite measure up to its predecessors in terms of visceral impact. Perhaps this has to do with a relatively painless songwriting process or a lack of intra-band conflict, but this album doesn’t carry the same emotional weight as Boxer and High Violet. Now, those albums hit with the force of a freight train, so this isn’t to say that The National have lost their touch, but the beginning of their decline is evident, however slight it may be.
And that’s what’s the most disheartening about Trouble Will Find Me. While The National have proven their staying power beyond a shadow of a doubt, even the most talented artists can’t sustain such a fertile creative streak forever. They could very well prove me wrong, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Trouble Will Find Me is the last truly great National album. Berninger has already hinted that the band may be nearing the end of its run, and that’s probably for the best. Barring a major stylistic makeover, I don’t know how much longer The National can return to the well. They may be aging gracefully, but they’re aging nonetheless, and sooner or later, the reaper’s going to rear his ugly head.
2. High Violet
After the career-defining masterpiece that was Boxer, expectations were sky-high for The National’s fifth studio album. But instead of taking the arena rock route with soaring ballads and fist-pumping anthems, The National turned further inward and made an album that, while not as immediate as its predecessor, delivers with exquisite songcraft. The clean, almost sleek sound of Boxer is muddied up considerably, piling layers of distortion until you’re just as lost and confused as the protagonists of Berninger’s moribund tales.
The Dessners have never been ones to show off their technical virtuosity, but here, they recede even further into the mix, cloaking their riffs with more effects-pedal wizardry than they utilized on their first four albums combined. This team-first spirit is not lost on the rest of the band, who are more than willing to cede the spotlight in the service of mood.
At this point, many of the members of The National were fathers, and thus had felt the pressure of dependence, whether financial or emotional. They’re adults with adult problems, and High Violet bears the weight of profound, unshakable responsibility. These guys can’t simply pack up and leave if the going gets rough. Whether they like it or not, they’re stuck for the rest of their lives with the ones they love, a prospect that is equal parts comforting and terrifying.
The band has admitted High Violet arose from considerable strife, particularly in the constant conflict between simplicity and complexity, and that tension is what makes the album such a vital, emotionally resonant effort. Each song is a struggle between the band’s elegant, understated melodies and the desire to heighten atmosphere through suffocating production. Earlier in their career, the band would not have been able to pull off such a precarious balance, but here they manage it with apparent ease, effectively fending off challengers for their title as New York’s definitive band.
Whether it’s needing drugs to keep your life in order or owing money to the money to the money you owe, The National capture the existential despair of a mid-life crisis with astounding efficacy. Consequently, High Violet is not the type of record that grabs you on first listen. Give it enough time though, and it will reveal its fragile beauty.
1. Boxer
As someone who is uncomfortable with the notion of deeming any work of art “perfect,” I can safely say Boxer is about as close to perfect as an album can get. From start to finish, every second hangs heavy with the weight of regret and insecurity, accessing every instance of emotional hardship you’ve experienced at once. Boxer’s great accomplishment is its ability to recreate the perverse comfort we find in sadness, to find the sense of inevitability that marks profound anguish and gracefully submit to it. I’m not going to lie, listening to Boxer hurts. But it achieves a kind of catharsis only the best art can manage. Needless to say, every ounce of promise The National showed is not only met, but surpassed in ways even their most optimistic fans could not have thought possible.
Shirking the scruff from Alligator, each instrument on Boxer sounds impeccable, crisp and clear, while retaining a warmth that keeps this album from feeling like an attempt at superstardom. Not that The National would fit comfortably into Top 40 radio anyways. Their songs are too densely textured, too willing to address the doubts that plague us to find a place next to Kings of Leon and Green Day. The National are the type of band that can shatter your soul, that will leave you both awestruck and devastated.
While just about everything here is executed with tremendous conviction and precision, Berninger and Bryce Devendorf deserve special mention for their contributions. Nothing against the Dessners, but their best guitar-work has always been in the service of mood and texture. Their contributions are absolutely essential to this album’s success, but they often don’t dominate the mix with quite the same authority as Berninger and Devendorf, whose drumming improved tremendously in the six years since the band’s debut. Both propulsive and nimble, he keeps many of the songs moving at a steady clip without overwhelming the careful dynamic between the rest of the group. He certainly brings technical prowess to The National’s rhythm section, but his true calling card is his ability to keep his playing loose and natural even on the album’s most tightly structured songs.
Berninger likewise finds his sweet spot, striking just the right balance between silky smooth and perpetually uncertain. He sounds like a man who has everything he needs, who should be satisfied, but nonetheless remains mired in doubt. Communicating such nuance is no easy task, but Berninger makes it look easy.
I’ve heard The National likened to elevator music or “dad rock,” but an album like Boxer dispels any notions of mediocrity. This is an album borne of the fear that this would be The National’s best, and perhaps final, opportunity to break out. Where many bands would crumble under these enormous expectations, The National manage to channel their fears into an exquisitely realized portrait of profound unease. It’s not an easy listen, but one stays with you long after you take off your headphones.
Aural Resonance 