Every so often, a band comes along that strikes a cord in the soul. I've only had this happen a few times in my life. I'm talking about a band that seems to be speaking to YOU, and your condition at the exact time you are listening to their music. During these episodes, it's nearly impossible to play any other music. When this happens, it's generally hard for others to understand because they are probably not in the same "place" as you. They may be going through or have gone through the same experience with another band or a book or something. It's a fairly amazing experience. I feel a little sorry for people who have never had it happen to them. The only bands that have had this affect on me are:
U2 in the early 1980's (specifically Boy, October, War & The Unforgettable Fire).
The Beatles when I was in college.
The Replacements - ongoing.
And now there is a new one - The National. The trilogy of Alligator, Boxer and High Violet is a running commentary on the onset of middle age. That fact alone provides a lyrical similarity to my life. The experiences being explored often hit home, and they are not always comfortable. Here is what Ian Mathers of Pop Matters has to say about the themes of the National's lyrics over their past few albums:
For years now the National have been singing about the city and wine and girls and maybe growing up a little, and if Boxer saw them embracing the bittersweet sting of maturity and nostalgia, High Violet follows hard on its heels with a set of songs about New York and Ohio, about the terrible, undertow pull of a (gasp) settled, normal life, about being a little in love with melancholy but also being self-aware enough to realize that love is a little ridiculous and self-destructive. Becoming an adult is a slow processes that involves thinking that you’re not a certain kind of person, and then waking up one day and realizing that yeah, you are.....
U2 in the early 1980's (specifically Boy, October, War & The Unforgettable Fire).
The Beatles when I was in college.
The Replacements - ongoing.
And now there is a new one - The National. The trilogy of Alligator, Boxer and High Violet is a running commentary on the onset of middle age. That fact alone provides a lyrical similarity to my life. The experiences being explored often hit home, and they are not always comfortable. Here is what Ian Mathers of Pop Matters has to say about the themes of the National's lyrics over their past few albums:
For years now the National have been singing about the city and wine and girls and maybe growing up a little, and if Boxer saw them embracing the bittersweet sting of maturity and nostalgia, High Violet follows hard on its heels with a set of songs about New York and Ohio, about the terrible, undertow pull of a (gasp) settled, normal life, about being a little in love with melancholy but also being self-aware enough to realize that love is a little ridiculous and self-destructive. Becoming an adult is a slow processes that involves thinking that you’re not a certain kind of person, and then waking up one day and realizing that yeah, you are.....
It’s not that the National’s music (or its members’ lives, one hopes) are devoid of joy or levity, it’s that High Violet summons up perfectly and terribly the sneaking suspicion you start getting in your 20s that possibilities are closing off, that your life might not turn out the way you wanted it to, and that there’s probably no-one else to blame but yourself.
Deep stuff. And while you might be starting to worry about my current state of mind for being so into this so-called "melancholy" music, there is no need to worry. I find that the National do have the ability to be oddly uplifting. Much like The Smiths or Waterboys back in The Day, The National's music tends to "soar" at points and leave the listener feeling somewhat refreshed, even when the lyrics can tend to be kind of a downer. Here is an example of this, maybe my favorite track on the new album entitled "I'm Afraid of Everyone."
Deep stuff. And while you might be starting to worry about my current state of mind for being so into this so-called "melancholy" music, there is no need to worry. I find that the National do have the ability to be oddly uplifting. Much like The Smiths or Waterboys back in The Day, The National's music tends to "soar" at points and leave the listener feeling somewhat refreshed, even when the lyrics can tend to be kind of a downer. Here is an example of this, maybe my favorite track on the new album entitled "I'm Afraid of Everyone."
One of the troubles with The National, however, is that it generally takes multiple listens to their music to appreciate what is being accomplished. A reviewer who takes a few listens and writes an overview has probably missed the point. Since their new album High Violet was released, I have read many reviews ranging from "one of the best albums in decades" to "boring." The word "Masterpiece" has been thrown around a bit. That is the great thing about music - everyone has an opinion, but they are all from different "places." Nobody is right, nobody is wrong - it's just "where you are at." Anyway, one of the best reviews of the album that I read is from the BBC's Mike Diver:
Brooklyn’s The National are the absolute antithesis of an overnight success. Together for over a decade, the group’s slow ascent to international acclaim has been emotional. While several critics have clicked with albums of swollen heart and bruised soul, a handful have mistaken deliberate, delectable languor for dismissible listlessness. But those who’ve embraced Matt Berninger’s baritone, and subsequently each fascinating detail that trails in its wake, have discovered a band for life – for love and loss, euphoric highs and exhausting lows. For everything, always.
2005’s Alligator – its Daughters of the Soho Riots still empties the air from this listener’s lungs every time – marked the moment The National broke underground (2010 parlance: ‘blogosphere’) cover, and they’ve refined and arguably improved their output ever since. High Violet is the quintet’s fifth long-player proper (and highest of profile yet), following 2007’s excellent Boxer, and again features orchestral embellishments courtesy of Clogs’ Padma Newsome. It is being talked about in certain circles as a potential album of the year, but this is no release to shout about from the rooftops in the hope of attracting strangers. Its charms are subtle, its grip soft and easily shrugged by those who choose to pay it only passing attention. Live with it a while, though, and High Violet rewards patience with songs that colour one’s waking existence, becoming vivid night-time narratives when curtains are drawn.
Berninger’s lyrics, though tonally divisive, are incredibly engaging. He’s no Steinbeck, no Kerouac, despite endorsements from the most feverishly faithful; but his stories, delivered with wrenching sincerity, form the first point of entry for newcomers awaiting enlightenment. High Violet is an album characterised largely by absence, and displacement – of being someplace other than ideal. This extends from simple geography – the overseas lover of England’s vexed protagonist, the big-city claustrophobia of the luscious Little Faith – to the afterlife ruminations of Anyone’s Ghost, a song that blindsides with its switch from aloof coolness to an affecting concession of continued allegiance after death parts its players.
To the untrained (read: unfocused) ear, High Violet may sound pedestrian. But such drama lies in the richly textured nuances that this album ultimately plays like a movie you’d never dream of breaking from, whatever the reason. Set fire to the theatre and The National will play on, those who paid attention earlier again foregoing comfort for captivating beauty, until the final flames flicker into stillness.
Brooklyn’s The National are the absolute antithesis of an overnight success. Together for over a decade, the group’s slow ascent to international acclaim has been emotional. While several critics have clicked with albums of swollen heart and bruised soul, a handful have mistaken deliberate, delectable languor for dismissible listlessness. But those who’ve embraced Matt Berninger’s baritone, and subsequently each fascinating detail that trails in its wake, have discovered a band for life – for love and loss, euphoric highs and exhausting lows. For everything, always.
2005’s Alligator – its Daughters of the Soho Riots still empties the air from this listener’s lungs every time – marked the moment The National broke underground (2010 parlance: ‘blogosphere’) cover, and they’ve refined and arguably improved their output ever since. High Violet is the quintet’s fifth long-player proper (and highest of profile yet), following 2007’s excellent Boxer, and again features orchestral embellishments courtesy of Clogs’ Padma Newsome. It is being talked about in certain circles as a potential album of the year, but this is no release to shout about from the rooftops in the hope of attracting strangers. Its charms are subtle, its grip soft and easily shrugged by those who choose to pay it only passing attention. Live with it a while, though, and High Violet rewards patience with songs that colour one’s waking existence, becoming vivid night-time narratives when curtains are drawn.
Berninger’s lyrics, though tonally divisive, are incredibly engaging. He’s no Steinbeck, no Kerouac, despite endorsements from the most feverishly faithful; but his stories, delivered with wrenching sincerity, form the first point of entry for newcomers awaiting enlightenment. High Violet is an album characterised largely by absence, and displacement – of being someplace other than ideal. This extends from simple geography – the overseas lover of England’s vexed protagonist, the big-city claustrophobia of the luscious Little Faith – to the afterlife ruminations of Anyone’s Ghost, a song that blindsides with its switch from aloof coolness to an affecting concession of continued allegiance after death parts its players.
To the untrained (read: unfocused) ear, High Violet may sound pedestrian. But such drama lies in the richly textured nuances that this album ultimately plays like a movie you’d never dream of breaking from, whatever the reason. Set fire to the theatre and The National will play on, those who paid attention earlier again foregoing comfort for captivating beauty, until the final flames flicker into stillness.
So there you have it. That's where I'm at. Pick up High Violet and give it a listen (or thirty listens). It may (or may not) speak to you.
Jeff
2 comments:
Real nice review Jeff. Thanks!
Another classic. Glad you are still enjoying these guys!
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