Album Review: The National - High Violet
- Written by Rob Hastings
It seems strange to think now, but just a few years ago it was possible to outflank even some of the most ardently pretentious indie scenesters just by mentioning one name: The National. They would stream out hundreds of names of the most “in” little bands that you sooooo should have heard of if you call yourself a real music fan. Yet ask them if they knew of the Ohio five-piece and suddenly a blank look would invariably sweep across their face, before the quiet mutter came: “No… who are they?”
It was the release of their fourth album, Boxer, which changed all that. While still a long way from reaching mainstream chart success, the critics picked up on it with plenty of admiration. Suddenly, they too were one of those bands it was de rigeur to drop into conversation at house parties and rock clubs. But while there could hardly be a band more deserving of this than The National, in some ways it seemed strange that this growth in popularity was provoked by Boxer.
It was a record that had many fine moments: the delightfully dainty and petite ‘Fake Empire’, ‘Slow Show’ and its tender rekindling of their debut album’s penultimate track ‘29 Years’, the understated heartache of the line “Ada, I can hear the sound of your laugh through the wall…”. All the same, for those familiar with the band’s earlier work, Boxer brought a degree of disappointment and a tinge of anticlimax too.
One of the main reasons why The National had previously been so compelling was that you never knew what was coming next. One minute frontman Matt Berninger’s vocals would be all hush-hush, low-key and introverted. The next – as in ‘Available’ and ‘Slipping Husband’ on the excellent Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers – he would be screaming. And any band that could put the rollicking, coruscating assault of ‘Mr November’ on the same album as the lilting ‘Daughters of the Soho Riots’ and still produce such a perfectly cohesive record are doing something special. Unlike its forerunner, their undoubted masterpiece Alligator, Boxer felt just too one-paced; and that pace was middling. Few of its songs stood out.
The band’s performance of new song ‘Terrible Love’ across the pond on ‘Late Night With Jimmy Fallon’ offered hope this wouldn’t be the case with High Violet. On first listen though, there is a nagging worry they have made the same mistake again. Unlike the live version, the album recording of opener ‘Terrible Love’ has hidden increasingly frenetic guitar lines deep beneath a layer of hazy production. With Matt Berninger’s vocals also subdued, a song that possessed seriously angsty energy has a sense of very much repressed rage instead. Nor, worryingly, are there any out-and-out rockers following it up. Surely they haven’t gone and done it again.
Thankfully, it turns out the answer is no. Give it even just a couple more listens and High Violet begins to reveal itself to be a majestic return to form. Production that at first seemed overcooked becomes very much part of the record’s appeal. There are still no sudden contrasts in pace, no instantaneous movements from whispers to roars. This time around, however, the band’s subtle, slow-burning approach somehow works in a way that just didn’t come off for them last time. The likes of ‘Bloodbuzz Ohio’ and ‘Lemonworld’ might sound a little pedestrian to start with, yet every one of the tracks boast deeply textured melodies that prove to be catchy-as-you-like if allowed space to breathe.
The orchestration has a grander quality about it too – especially on the outstanding ‘England’. If you think “epic” is one of the most horrible clichés of music journalism, you had better not read too many reviews of that track. The way it builds with thumping rounds of drums and regal blares of horns to a soaring climax of the most uplifting proportions is just crying out for that descriptor. It’s good enough to be considered a fellow of ‘About Today’ and ‘Lucky You’ as one of their very best songs.
As for lyrics, Berninger has only occasionally gone for clear narrative or obvious themes in the past, generally opting instead for collections of images and motifs that, like modernist poetry, create an underlying mood without obvious coherence. This time around things are generally much more simple and direct. The repeated codas of “I don’t wanna get over you” in ‘Sorrow’ and “I don’t have the drugs to sort it out” of ‘Afraid of Everyone’ mean this album has more obvious bedroom anthem moments. Nevertheless, there are still enough curious turns of phrase to retain the charm of the oblique. It is all very serious stuff, mind; there’s certainly nothing approaching the black humour of “It's a common fetish for a doting man to ballerina on the coffee table, cock in hand” in Alligator’s ‘Karen’. But The National always wear their melancholy well, and with plenty of sincerity.
They’re a band that produce music that is well worthy of further analysis, and there is still more that could be said to recommend High Violet. Suffice to say, however, that The National have reasserted themselves as perhaps the finest purveyors of American indie since the early days of R.E.M.