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34 of 35 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Sublime, sad, rocks its way into your brain, June 20, 2005
I gave this a try based on Spin's rave and the fact that I think a similar band, the Arcade Fire, is swell. At first listen, I thought the National was a bit repetitive, a little too emo, and kinda like a Smith's rip off band.
Boy, was I really, really wrong.
This band's ballads rock, and its rock songs possess an emotional urgency that you usually only see in ballads. I wouldn't call this emo, but maybe urgent chamber pop? Baroque rock? Whatever the National is doing, it's producing music that seems almost like fine literature....addictive, lush, loaded with smart, grown-up lyrics. It's as good as the Arcade Fire if not better.
Much has been made of lead singer Matt Berninger's baritone, comparing it to the growls of Morrissey or Nick Cave. It's an apt description, but Berninger also channels the dude from Crash Test Dummies and even early Bono (before he turned into an Ipod monster with mediocre, over-orchestrated songs). Berninger sings in an ironic tone without being morose. He's wry and heartbroken without being snarky a la the band Cake.
His band is held together by tight drumming, ever-changing guitars, spiraling violens and some very effective background chanting choruses.
There isn't a bad song on this record, but the opening track," Secret Meeting" shines by managing to sound like a cross between Roxy Music and the Clash, a kind of rich, moody rock anthem. Softer songs, including the funny "Looking for Astronauts" and the sad, elegiac "Daughters of the SoHo Riots," are be good ballads without being sappy, crappy Air Supply or Dashboard Confessional drek.
I really can't recommend this album enough. It's unusual, lovely and I can't wait to see what they come up with next.
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25 of 28 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Moving Americana from Brooklyn (4.5 stars), April 22, 2005
I guess it's the nature of Americana -the most puzzling new genre label since "New Age"!- to find its worshippers in the most unlikely places, whether it's a borough of New York -having relocated from Cincinatti- or Leeds in the UK when it comes to Dakota Suite, or even somewhere Norway in the case of Midnight Choir.
Anyway the international references above are not gratutious or forced to make my point, The National ultimately belongs to the same community of voices as the above mentioned bands. Like its peers in Europe, they are keen on emotive ballads that manage to evoke and make sense of the pains of being alive.
Where The National does distinguish itself is in their ability to sound as convincing when it comes to the a louder and more epic songcraft, as they do with the intimate stuff. And, in this album, The National proves their range, whether it is the tender melody of "Daughters of the Soho Riots" or the building passion of "Looking For Astronauts."
Other reviews have already mentioned influences and similarities. Certainly the singer will remind you of Stuart Staples of the Tindersticks, although the references to Tom Waits or Leonard Cohen -both of whom I know and admire- are less obvious to me. Actually, at least when it comes to two of my favorite songs -the brooding "Val Jester" and the gorgeous "All The Wine"- Matt Berninger's voice evoked the tone and phrasing of Robert Fisher from the great Willard Grant Conspiracy.
That said, and more importantly, these guys have their own things to say musically and lyrically, and the names mentioned should only be taken to give new listeners a sense of reference, but not to imply that The National's music owes anyone a major debt. They stand on their own, and they deliver a beautiful, heartfelt album, whether they rock or they long, when they turn the volume up and when they lower the lights.
If you were impressed by last year's EP -Cherry Tree- this full-length gem will fill you with joy. The National bare themselves and will lift your spirit. In addition, to the songs mentioned already, I'd add "The Geese of Beverly Road," "Karen" and "City Middle" to make my case.
Along with "Dignity and Shame" by the Crooked Fingers -which I also reviewed- "Alligator" is the best Americana music that you will hear this year. And what it's even more exciting, it may not even be the peak of their creativity. This band's ground is worth keeping your ear to, for whatever they do in the future.
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6 of 6 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Enigmatic, Hypnotic, Terrific, April 9, 2008
"I need some meaning I can memorize," Bright Eyes' Conor Oberst once sang. It was a great lyric about a universal need--the need to not just find meaning in this complicated world, but to reduce that meaning into simple truths we can take with us everywhere. And this exquisite album by The National sounds like it was tailor-made to fill that bill. In fact, these songs aren't just memorizable--they're unforgettable.
First, a little note. By my reckoning, there are two types of music lovers: horn people and string people. Horn people can listen to string music, and vice versa, and large swaths of music have neither instrument, but everyone has a preference between the two. For the most part, horns are happy, upbeat daytime instruments. They do some mournful songs, but it's not an everyday thing. And so horn people are bright and full of sunshine, and they get married and live in the suburbs and have 2.3 kids and are always in bed by 10.
This is a string person's album.
But it's far more than that. "Alligator" is one of the most listenable and captivating and sadly underappreciated albums to come our way since the turn of the millennium. It's an album with a lot to say about our loves and lives and lies. If you're anything like me, you'll listen to it a lot, and the more you listen to it, the more you want to listen to it. And you'll save it for after nightfall, for it's one of those lonely, staring-out-your-window-at-the-night-streets albums.
You can trust this album, because it's honest with its feelings, and because it's consistent in the best possible sense--not the I-don't-have-a-lot-of-ideas sense, but the everything's-in-its-right-place sense. Some of the songs are slow and sad, but even the up-tempo ones aren't happy; they are just full of urgency and immediacy to counter the smoky languor elsewhere. The guitars are sometimes charged and sometimes mellow, the strings are sorrowful, and everything swirls together beautifully. And floating half-submerged through the mix, we hear Matt Berninger's wonderful baritone, always sounding as if it's either drowning in drink or spewing it out in anger. It's a perfect voice for this music, sadder than the strings, lonelier than the walk of shame.
Some people sing to the masses; Berninger's singing for an audience of one. You. Actually, it's not so much you, the listener, as it is "you." You the significant other, you the ex, you the best friend and betrayer, you the member of a relationship so important it rarely needs proper nouns. He does name names, here and there--Karen, John, Val Jester, Abel--but in a sense they don't matter. "You're the low life of the party," he sings on "Lit Up", and you don't know if he's singing at you or singing your thoughts, but it works either way, because if you're anything like me, you've lived these songs as the singer, or the singee, or both, and you can play your mental Mad Libs and fill in your own names as needed.
Still, one senses this is a deeply personal album. "Yeah say something perfect, something I can steal," Berninger sings on "Baby We'll Be Fine," and you know (or at least I know, because I spent years quoting my friends and lovers and presenting it as fiction) that's the line of an artist who is literally putting all of himself into his work. There are plenty of stellar moments on this album, but that song highlights what's best about this band. In it, Berninger chants "I'm so sorry for everything," over and over, so often you end up thinking the guy must be Catholic. The specific meaning's enigmatic, but the effect is still hypnotic; these are the mantras we tell others, and tell ourselves, to make this complicated world make sense.
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by The National 
