Saw*Kick Media

Boxer
The National

Jack Says: A

When asked if he had yet heard The National’s newest album, “Boxer,” Matt, a ceaselessly knowledgeable co-worker, replied, “I haven’t heard it yet, but I know they’re like HUGE right now.” As everyone in my office knows, Matt is never wrong, and this was no exception. Although “Boxer” represents The National’s fourth highly-acclaimed studio release, it might just as well be their first. In the half decade since their self-titled 2001 debut, the Americana-meets-prog rock quintet has, until recently, received little attention outside the columns of gushing indie critics. (The band was featured recently in Rolling Stone under the headline “Breaking: The National.”) Now in the midst of an extended U.S. and international tour — including a string of dates in May with hipster faves Arcade Fire — the Cincinnati-born Brooklynites, historical lack of hype notwithstanding, have put out one of the best albums of 2007.

Describing the sound of The National proves a tricky proposition, and to help them out, some of the country’s most popular media outlets have made comparisons to a strikingly diverse set of popular acts, including U2 (Pitchfork), Nick Cave, The Violent Femmes (both from Rolling Stone), Leonard Cohen (The Onion A.V. Club), The Afghan Wigs (Spin) and many, many others.

While I won’t go so far as to say that these reaching attempts at common points of musical reference are cop-outs — after first listen, I might have said something like neo-Springsteen-esque — it is apparent that mere comparisons don’t do “Boxer” justice. The album’s layered, almost orchestral arrangements, anchored by piano and acoustic guitar, are tempered effectively by the relentless percussion of drummer Brian Devendorf, which is featured predominantly in the mix-up of the majority of the album’s 12 tracks. It is the morose and bittersweet rumble of vocalist Matt Berninger, however, that creates the tension that runs throughout “Boxer.”

Berninger’s deadpan baritone, serving up somber melodies at a spoken-word octave, complements shimmering, sometimes nearly gospel-like instrumentals (like, for instance, on the aptly-titled “Gospel”). Whether making not-so-veiled statements on the current state of the American condition (”Fake Empire”), lamenting a relationship gone bad (”Start a War”) or reminiscing about drinking buddies of days past (”Green Gloves”), it is Berninger’s throaty, Johnny Cash-like growl that in many instances keeps otherwise uplifting themes from straying too far into “Walking on Sunshine” territory. Preserving that balance is at the core of the album’s greatness.

To put it in literary terms, the genius of “Boxer” is more The Catcher and the Rye than it is Ulysses. With lyrical passages like, “Oh, we’re so disarming, darling, everything we did believe / is diving, diving, diving, diving off the balcony,” (”Apartment Song”) and “You know I dreamed about you / for 29 years before I saw you,” (”Slow Show”), if anything, Berninger’s writing errs on the side of simplicity rather than overindulgence. And, while, as hype goes, the LeBron James of the world are far outnumbered by the Kwame Browns, on “Boxer,” errors of any kind are tough to find.

Key tracks: “Fake Empire,” “Apartment Song,” “Green Gloves”

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