The National strike me as a band that I should like a lot more than I actually do. And admittedly some of their songs strike me as utterly captivating (90 Mile Water Wall,Fake Empire, So Far Around The Bend). But when it comes down to the push and shove, Matt Berninger's voice is so God damn depressing that I really find it hard to enjoy a lot of their music.
However, with so much press giving each other hand jobs over how brilliant the band's new record, High Violet, was going to be, I was really hoping that hearing the album would be the turning point in my relationship with their music. After all, I do recognise the Dessner and Devendorf brothers as brilliant musicians. They build and create amazing sonic landscapes that sound as equally epic as they are quietly personal, conjuring such extreme levels of emotion that I can only imagine the band needs to wear plastic ponchos onstage to save themselves from being drenched by the audience's tears.
So when I sat down to listen to High Violet, I was prepared to be much more open-minded about my opinion of it than I would normally allow myself to be for so many other bands. Unfortunately, despite my best intentions, my turning point with The National continues to evade me.
That's not to say I don't love some of the material on High Violet. Afraid Of Everyone(featuring everyone's favourite Christian indie kid Sufjan Stevens on backing "Ohhs") and Bloodbuzz Ohio have been added to my list of genius The National songs.
Yet again though, it's the sad old bastard baritone that is Matt Berninger's voice that makes it impossible for me to fall for this record. Listening to High Violet is like listening to the soundtrack of clinical depression, which shouldn't necessarily be a negative thing. Music is as much designed to expose feelings of sadness and longing as it is to inspire listeners and fill them with joy. The aforementioned Sufjan Stevens is a genius in the field of taking the desperately sad and heart wrenching and transforming it into something of astounding beauty.
But it's Stevens' tender voice and musicianship that makes his sad cunt stories so captivating. Whereas Berninger's deep groans reach points of almost being monotone in their delivery and after hearing song after song of the same exhaustive droning and moaning, it gets to the point where I just can't bare to listen to it anymore.
I'm sure that this record will be critically acclaimed and will end up on a lot of critics' 'best of 2010' lists. But for the moment, The National and I will remain musical acquaintances, rather than the firm friends I hope we one day will become.
Originally published in Polaroids of Androids
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