Culture Blues

Music: “High Violet” – The National

The National is that band that you like to tell your friends you have heard of in order to seem "with it." When they ask you to name a song, you have to do that thing where you furrow your brow and snap your fingers to appear as if you are trying to summon one hell of an answer, but you are really just awkwardly buying time. If your friend is a decent person, they'll put you out of your misery at this point and let you off the hook by rattling off a list of tunes that you will, invariably, nod along to and emphatically pretend you knew. This is The National's profile; the cool kids swear by them (but don't buy records), and the proletariate likes to claim knowledge of the group or, at least, that they read somewhere that Bruce Springsteen has them on his iPod. The reality of The National is that they are one of America's most consistent indie bands, they have never released a "bad" record, and they are worthy of your attention.

Formed in Cincinnati at the close of the last century, The National made the journey from lo-fi garage band to Brooklyn stars in much the same way most do, and you and your mates aspire to one day (better hurry, 'cause Brooklyn is getting real trite, real fast). A five piece comprising of two sets of brothers (Aaron & Bryce Dresner, Bryan & Scott Davenport), and baritone blessed frontman Matt Berninger, The National has been criticized for the following: not having an insane and mythic backstory, not maintaining a high enough profile on the scene, and being, maybe, a little bit boring. Of course, none of those gripes have anything to do with music, and are a huge part of any given scene's problem. Sure, this band isn't into magazine covers and Page Six; instead, they make genuine records that are gloomy, poetic, direct, and usually pretty damn good. Case in point, High Violet.

High Violet is so many things; sophisticated, subtle, mournful, powerful and beautiful. I will stand on record right now and say it is the best album that The National has ever made (I know that some of your jaws just hit the ground, but I like it a TON more than Boxer), and it even gives Broken Social Scene's Forgiveness Rock Record a real run for its money for Record of the Year (it falls a tiny bit short, though). From the very first lo-fi rumblings of Terrible Love, the mood is set and the glow practically warms your soul; once you hear Matt utter the opening line ("It's a terrible love that I'm walking with spiders") you know you are about to experience something profound. At 1:27, a muffled piano mallet signals the build of the opening tension, it releases into the song's B section, then feather falls you into the song's C section, before winding back up to a cacophonous climax which leaves you in awe. One song into the album and one can hardly imagine a better start.

There are countless moments of greatness in the realms of sonic composition and meaningful storytelling; Anyone's Ghost is breathtakingly good as it captures elements of Joy Division and Echo and the Bunnymen while still being intensely indie, Bloodbuzz Ohio is as catchy as anything the band has ever written while still maintaining the adorned, velvety thick aural denseness of the entire record. Lemonworld is a song with some staggeringly remarkable lyrics: "So happy I was invited, Give me a reason to get out of the city, See you inside watching swarms on TV, Livin' or dyin' in New York it means nothing to me. I gave my heart to the Army, The only sentimental thing I could think of, With cousins and colors and somewhere overseas, But it'll take a better war to kill a college man like me". The crown jewel of the record would have to be England (it's okay, I rolled my eyes when writing that line), a song as good as anything written by some of the more universally accepted and celebrated indie bands. England is your classic slow builder, which culminates with an earth-shattering apex that leaves you feeling like you have loved this band your entire life.

I will admit that there's a track or two that suffers from a bit of over-indulgence, but it is that kind of reaching for the farthest star aspiration that surely leads to the album's best moments, so I can't fault them for flying a bit too close to the sun at times. I would rather they try than scale it down (there are more bands out there that should adopt such a philosophy).

My final word on High Violet should be quite obvious by now. You owe it to The National to get this record. That way, the next time someone asks you; "Have you ever heard of The National?" You can say "Fuck yeah, man, that High Violet is one fantastic record" and they will be the one's nodding.