One satirical music blog has termed The National as ‘dad rock’, which is actually quite an apt description. The main character of The National’s new album, High Violet, has gone through a messy divorce, and has resorted to prescription drugs…
In this three part series, Theo Sangster makes a connection between current social trends, and three of 2010’s biggest record releases. These are Vampire Weekend’s ‘Contra’, The National’s ‘High Violet’, and ‘The Suburbs’ by Arcade Fire.
Read his Music of the Moment Part 1 on Vampire Weekend album Contra here
and Music of the Moment Part 2 on Arcade Fire album The Suburbs here
And now, Music of the Moment, Part 3: The National – High Violet.
In this golden age of bright lights and invincibility, ‘growing up, and ‘growing old’ are two concepts that I have wilfully remained ignorant of. In this regard, The National’s ‘High Violet’ is somewhat of an oddity in my record collection, nestled in amongst the multitude of youthful 2010 releases. My first observation of the record upon opening was in the cover art itself. Five black and white photographs of five greying men grimly peered at me, and this stark visual message foreshadowed what was to be an obliquely sad record, without any noticeable happy ending.
One satirical music blog has termed The National as ‘dad rock’, which is actually quite an apt description. Where Vampire Weekend’s ‘Contra’ relays white collar pretensions, and Arcade Fire provide an honest disclosure of childhood in ‘The Suburbs’, ‘High Violet’ is about the father who has been left behind. Dealing with themes as homely as marriage, child rearing, divorce, and even mortgages, the record may seem mundane at times, but its honesty is where its magic lies. It’s this accessibility that provides the listener with an ‘in’, into what is really going on in the tired world constructed by this complex set of songs.
The main character of the album has gone through a messy divorce, and has resorted to prescription drugs to numb the pain. He ‘can’t fall asleep without a little help’ (‘Terrible Love’). ‘They put (him) on the pill, it’s in (his) honey, it’s in (his) milk’ (‘Sorrow’). He now ‘lives in a city sorrow built’, a far cry from the land of milk and honey he found in his as-yet-unbroken family. ‘Little Faith’ dwells in the memory of a happy marriage, ‘losing (its) heart in history’, where they ‘play nuns versus priests until somebody wins’.
But those golden years have gone, and all he is left with is the mortgage, still ‘owing money to the money to the money (he) owes’ (‘Bloodbuzz Ohio’). He fears everybody, with ‘his kid on his shoulder’ (maybe imagined?), and doesn’t ‘have the drugs to sort it out’ (‘Afraid of Everyone’). In ‘Conversation 16’ he promises to ‘try to be more romantic’, but it’s too late. His wife has gone, his family has gone. All he has is those painful memories keeping him awake at night.
‘England’ is the standout track of the record. Standing in ‘a Los Angeles cathedral’, the protagonist’s questions how his old love could ‘put an ocean and a river’ (i.e., the Thames) between them. ‘You must be somewhere in London/you must be loving your life in the rain’, he pines, quipping that unlike LA, ‘famous angels never come through England/ (it only) get the ones you never need’. His loss is overwhelming. It could only ever be heartbreaking. London is very far away.
Underneath the cathartic songwriting, the record is musically consistent and cohesive as a whole, with its melancholic awning supported by quivering strings, rumbling guitar distortion, and brooding percussion. These elements, (amongst others), contribute to the dense layering of each track, providing the platform for lead singer Matt Berninjer’s swooning baritone to deliver its tales of sorrow and loss. The credit list for the additional musicians on the record is extensive, with Sufjan Stevens, Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon, and Nico Muhly, (Grizzly Bear, Jonsi), all lending their hand and experience to this superbly constructed album.
‘High Violet’ is beautifully heart-wrecking, and at times very hard to listen to. But just like The National themselves, this album is one that needs to grow old with the listener to truly mature and make sense. Wisdom is the key word here, and ‘High Violet’ is stuffed with it. Listen with your ears and heart wide open, and learn.
Our elders know a hell of a lot more than we do. We just need to take the time to listen.
By Theo Sangster, 20 December 2010.
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