To say an album needs to be listened to over and over to "get it" tends to be an excuse for mediocrity. Often the best music is immediate and gripping. We don't need to ask ourselves, "Do we like this music?" We either we do or don't. Sometimes, however, bands that don't give us immediate thrill still have something of value.
The National consistent create moody guitar driven indie rock and High Velvet is no exception. Occasionally they achieve the emotional power of Arcade Fire or Frightened Rabbit, though pounding drums and jagged guitars, but for the most part they could fall inline with a hundred other indie rock bands. A few extra spins of the National and one of the best aspects of the band emerge: the lyrics. On their last album, Boxer, I had become disinterested until I heard the lyrics of "Green Gloves", where the narrator breaks into his friends house while he's not there and questions how much we really know people. On High Velvet singer Matt Berninger uses images of floods and bee swarms to craft tales of spiritual emptiness and becoming a father.
DJ Responsible Says:
The lyrics are actually the first thing that I noticed about The National; Alligator fit a perfect balance between Sam Shepard's poetical clarity and Isaac Brock's nervous detachment. Curious psychoanalytical lines like "I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain/It went the dull and wicked ordinary way" swirled alongside anthemic, Americana-capturing classics like "I'm the new blue blood, I'm the great white hope...I won't fuck us over, I'm Mr. November."
High Violet is no Alligator, but I suppose that's not really the point. High Violet is a gentler affair.
The National have obviously grown comfortable in their own skin--too comfortable, I would argue, since much of the album's first half drifts along about as memorably as an afternoon lost. But anything The National releases is still special, and anything Berninger sings is still essential: the album feels destined to be part of a larger narrative we'll one day be proud to have shared at the source. As Berninger might suggest, everything's just a series of moments.
The lyrics are actually the first thing that I noticed about The National; Alligator fit a perfect balance between Sam Shepard's poetical clarity and Isaac Brock's nervous detachment. Curious psychoanalytical lines like "I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain/It went the dull and wicked ordinary way" swirled alongside anthemic, Americana-capturing classics like "I'm the new blue blood, I'm the great white hope...I won't fuck us over, I'm Mr. November."
High Violet is no Alligator, but I suppose that's not really the point. High Violet is a gentler affair.
The National have obviously grown comfortable in their own skin--too comfortable, I would argue, since much of the album's first half drifts along about as memorably as an afternoon lost. But anything The National releases is still special, and anything Berninger sings is still essential: the album feels destined to be part of a larger narrative we'll one day be proud to have shared at the source. As Berninger might suggest, everything's just a series of moments.
Essential Tracks
"Bloodbuzz Ohio"
Runaway
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