The bad news concerning the National's second album is
that it once again finds the band wearing their
influences on their proverbial sleeves. The attitude-fueled country
ramblings here bring to mind the bitter melancholy of Johnny Cash and
Merle Haggard, only at times the band segues into the sound of
more modern acts, borrowing liberal doses of riffs and
rhythm from the likes of The Pixies, the Jesus and
Mary Chain, P.J. Harvey and the Afghan Whigs. Throw
in a dose of mid-'70s New York punk (Patti Smith and
Television) and you perhaps get an idea of where The
National stand in the musical landscape.
However, there is also good news concerning Sad
Songs for Dirty Lovers. The upside is that these
Ohio-to-Brooklyn, N.Y. transplants prove to be more than
the sum of their influences. What easily could have
been a tired retread of rock snob classics instead makes use of the past to
provide a recognizable framework in which to deal with the
emotional rescue necessary after a damaged romantic
relationship.
This album's songs are well crafted and the performances inspired, certainly
due in part to the expert work of Nick Lloyd and
Interpol producer Peter Katis. But this album is also very soulful, and that
is due to the band. While Katis attempts to
refine The National's sound with the same
claustrophobic mania that defined Interpol's debut,
Lloyd steadies the ship by warming up this isolationist
sound. Instead of solely relying upon the forlorn tone
in Matt Berninger's vocals, the music also conveys the malaise with moody
strings and vibrant acoustic guitar.
On the opener, "Cardinal Song," this tone is set early
with the baritone vocals of Berninger, which are
at times reminiscent of both Nick Cave and Leonard Cohen.
By the end of the six-plus minute epic, light piano
gives way to a full band arrangement including violin,
acoustic guitar, bass and percussion. Intertwining the
ideas of religious and romantic love, the song
is both a hymn and a missive that drapes itself in
musical and lyrical themes that spill out over
the remaining eleven tracks. Utilizing the double
meaning of the word "cardinal," Berninger coyly states,
"Don't ever let her see your cardinal lie" to express
the similarities in coping with the difficulties of
both sexual and religious relations.
Building on the gentle spiritual tones of "Cardinal
Song," "Slipping Husband" deals with the themes of
love and lies with the narrative of a man falling away
from his wife and family. The band writhes along, supporting the pain of
the vocal before exploding at the end of
the final break. Berninger whispers the phrase "Dear
we better get a drink in you before you start to bore
us" four times in succession before blasting into a
full tilt Black Francis-esque scream on the last
delivery, which sends the band lurching and churning
into the final chorus with the backing choir chanting
"Don't forget the alcohol." This track exemplifies The National's
ability to fuse multiple influences into a new and addictive creation.
Feel free to press repeat and wallow in its beauty.
Part of what is great about this album is the ability of the
band to transition from a churlish track such as
"Slipping Husband" to two consecutive mid-tempo numbers with "90
Mile Water Wall" and "It Never Happened" (which
gravitate more towards gospel than rock), before
returning to a high-octane electric pulse with "Murder
Me Rachael." The former two songs are dirge-like and
poignant, while the latter is a wall of driving bass,
screeching guitar feedback and strings, with Berninger
elevating his vocals to a howl as he repeatedly urges
his cheating love to end his agony.
Things continue at this rough and raw pace with
"Available," which sees Scott Devendorf and Bryce
Dessner lifting a few riffs from Dirty-era
Sonic Youth, deconstructing them and rebuilding them
as a driving wall-of-sound that carries the vocals as an
undercurrent rather than as the focal point for the
first time on the album. The production work of Katis
is evident here, as the result is a maudlin club number
that recalls Joy Division in much the same way that
Interpol did on their debut.
The album closes with "Lucky You," a barroom ballad that sees The National
slipping back into a more
dulcet delivery like the one used on "Cardinal Song."
As the piano enters the mix at the outset of the
second verse it is easy to envision this song being
played in an arena with a sea of lighters flickering
in the darkness. A breakdown of textured drum-machine
rhythms sets up the last chorus, the piano reenters
and Berninger's voice is laid bare, no longer baritone
or howling, now simply honest.
The National find themselves on the precipice of a
breakthrough with the release of Sad Songs for
Dirty Lovers. They have accomplished this with
what seems to be a simple recipe — unraveling the raw
emotions that epitomize the highs and lows of a
tumultuous relationship. Listening to this album
brings an anticipation that for all its greatness,
Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers is but a
stepping-stone to a greater and perhaps crowning
achievement in upcoming years.
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