A Narration of Melancholic Elation

I’ve been dragging around, from the end of your coat for two weeks.

The National’s latest is “glimmering” the world in similar luminosity to that of it’s predecessor. Boxer follows the gemstone, Alligator with strokes of genius, streaks of brass, and brilliant piano keys from the likes of Sufjan Stevens.

The buzz that Boxer has reverberated throughout the blogosphere is pretty astounding. It’s interesting and funny how a highly anticipated follow-up allows us to jump to hasty conclusions, get giddy with anticipation, and pray to not be dissapointed. How do we hear our friends’ opinions and read the critics’ reviews without tainting our own listening experience? What do we look for in that first spin of a record to create an initial judgement? What does it take for our expectations to be met or exceeded? Why must we always compare it to the previous release? Any thoughts on the Art of Listening to a new record? One thing I will say, is that the albums that endure and that we endear, are the ones that we are unsure of at first. We are intrigued by the sound, but emotionally uncertain to start with. These records require months and years of unpacking and diagnosis. Whether Boxer shall be one of these emeralds remains to be seen, but what we can be sure of is that Matt Beringer and the pair of brothers have reconvened to fully realize their sound and breath.

This record stylistically fuses their folky-Americana Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers attitude with the shiny electricity of Alligator. The one complaint I’ve heard about the album is that there are no raucously emotional songs like Abel or Mr. November, which catch The National jolting on stage or in your speakers. On Boxer, it sounds like Beringer has taken a lesson from Jeff Tweedy on sobriety and maturity. His voice sounds relaxed and controlled, even on the more rocking songs like “Mistaken for Strangers” and “Apartment Story.” I almost think that Beringer has mellowed the tone in order to save his voice on tour.

The aesthetic of song lyrics rests in the ability of the listener to relate, interpret, wonder at the originality, and seek to decipher endlessly. Beringer creates this scenario for the listener better than any songwriter I’ve heard.
“Is Fake Empire supposed to be political or something?” - S.teave, friend
“I think they gave the drummer meth for this album” - Dan Altman, roommate

In March of 2006, I saw The National perform at The Independent in San Francisco. It was a weeknight and tons of fans bought too many tickets, thinking their friends would be ecstatic to see this awesome band performing. Yet, myself and dozens of others handed our extra tickets to the doorman outside and told him to give it away to someone. In my concert-going exerience history, you really never know when a show will sell out, if there will be a glut of unsold tickets, or who has the upperhand in a scalping transaction. Anyway, Beringer, The National’s hearthrob lead-singer, had a cold and popped a cough drop into his mouth after the first song, before realizing that he couldn’t sing with a ricola dangling near his Jack Daniels-Camel cigarette coated voice-box. I was bummed that Beringer’s sexy baritone voice wasn’t at full rasp, but he redeemed himself more as the show went on. Towards the end of the set, as he struggled to maintain himself, he confessed, “If I’m going to go out, I want to go out on this one.” The chords of “Abel” triggered and the band flared into bloom, the audience into recognition, that voice screaming repeatingly, “My mind’s not right!” In my head, it seemed like this is what a sick, smoking, whisky-drinking singer needed - to yell furiously and clear the flem from deep down, enabling the graininess of his voice to pour through.

Beringer’s appeal is similar to that of Sean Daley (aka Slug of Atmosphere). Both exude sex appeal because of an intelligent, self-deprecating lyrical style, a dishevelled attractiveness, and songs regarding past love and relationships. Not to mention, an affinity for filtered reds and 100 proof.
The National do seem to be blowing up as one of the best rock bands today,as Brooklynvegan and others have pointed out. It’s puzzling though since they seem to be missed by a great deal of listeners out there. May will have them exploding around New York City with 5 sold-out shows at the Bowery Ballroom and 3 sold-out shows opening up for The Arcade Fire. It’s funny, because I’ve talked to a few people going to The Arcade Fire shows and I have to urge them to get their early for the opener. I have tickets to their last Bowery show on June 1st… hopefully Beringer takes extra care of his box this time around.
On a side note, I really resonate with what La Blogotheque has to say regarding the band:

The times I’ve spent with The National have inspired countless stories, both personal and public. Their music has a capacity to fuse itself into the fabric of our daily lives more than any other, moving gently at first, in such a way that you don’t initially notice the depth behind each song. But they’ll tell you themselves that those melodies that stand out on the first listen won’t be there on the tenth listen. That’s the way they work, composing with the challenge of refining each song with unprecedented complexity. In the beginning there’s an obvious melody line, in which each musician offers something particularly special, before Matt Berninger arrives with his unique poetry, allowing the music to unravel into rare heights.

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