Review Summary: Everywhere I am is just another thing without you in it.
Before I start this review, I want to recall a few key points as to what exactly makes an album a classic, and what role such an album can play in a band or artist’s discography, especially a discography so impressive as that of The National. Ever since their genesis in 1999 and their underwhelming self-titled debut album in 2001, The National have released a good 3, arguably 4 albums IN A ROW that have all been labelled by many critics as classics. Alligator, Boxer, High Violet, and Trouble Will Find Me (the latter to a slightly lesser degree) all have expertly conceived instrumental arrangements, clever lyrics and a confidence uncharacteristic of a band that’s been around for only 15 years. But do these characteristics really constitute classic albums? Or are we missing the point a little bit? After all, classic albums throughout history, without exception, have represented a turning point in their respective band or artist’s discography; they’ve been albums filled to the brim with inspiration and a willingness to take risks for the sake of following that inspiration. A classic album is something that cannot be replicated, either by the band or artist in question or by any other. So can a masterpiece, released by a band accustomed to writing masterpieces, REALLY be called a classic? It might be necessary here to look a bit further back into that band’s roots to figure out where the real magic happened. Case in point: The National’s incredible sophomore album Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers. Often seen as a mere stepping-stone from their 2001 debut to their 2005 breakthrough, Alligator, Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers plays an under-recognized and vital role in the band’s discography, arguably standing as the most important album of their career.
“Jesus Christ, you have confused me,” mutters frontman Matt Berninger at the end of the most perfect opening track in the band’s history, Cardinal Song, and it serves as a metaphor of sorts for the character of the whole album. Jumping from style to style, mood to mood on a track-by-track basis, this is musically a very difficult album to get your head around; from the low-key, ponderous nature of tracks like It Never Happened or Thirsty to the aggressive euphoria of Murder Me Rachael or Available, it’s a disjointed, and yes, confusing listen. But it’s through its almost bipolar tendencies that the album manages to forge its unique identity. The National’s music in recent years has been focused, consistent and polished; this is none of those things, and so it works perfectly with its conflicted, frustrated lyrical content.
Matt Berninger’s solemn baritone vocals have always been a central part of The National’s musical identity, and that’s no less the case here: in fact, Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers arguably shows the immensely talented frontman at his absolute finest, from his morose, sarcastic delivery in Cardinal Song to the tortured screams at the end of Slipping Husband and Available. Every word here is sung with striking conviction, as if he’s speaking directly to the object of his frustrations, and perhaps he is, but in any case it’s nothing he would have the guts to sing about now. The harsh lyrics and their intense delivery are the most immediately striking aspect of this album, and manage to carry the music flawlessly even through all of its drastic changes in mood and style.
The other most impressive feature of Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers is that it’s absolutely flawlessly produced. This was The National’s first album to be produced by Peter Katis, who would then produce band’s most acclaimed releases Alligator and Boxer, and I’m not sure exactly what role he played in the mixing of the record but it wound up somehow being their best-sounding release by far. Matt’s vocals are right at the front of the mix, to be heard loud and clear, as if he’s talking directly in front of your face; the rest of the band is made to accompany the vocals perfectly, each note sitting exactly where it should, and the effect is fantastic. Every word is loud and clear, but the instrumental work is never drowned out and given several opportunities to shine on its own; the brilliant violin solo near the end of 90-Mile Water Wall is a prime example of this.
The first half of the album is arguably stronger than the second half, but not by much, and certainly not enough to make the album as a whole any less compelling. Fashion Coat and Lucky You are truly brilliant standouts, the former acting under the guise of a brief interlude but having considerable lyrical weight in the context of the whole album, and the latter being a sarcastically cute closing ballad that begs questions about guilt and responsibility. Trophy Wife and Patterns Of Fairytales, while being slightly more subdued and subtle compared to the rest of the album’s more dynamic material, are still highly enjoyable and memorable in their own right, using electronics very effectively and prompting comparisons to one of The National’s sister bands, Wilco. The only track that’s somewhat weak on its own is the meandering interlude Sugar Wife, though it still works very appropriately as a chance to recover from the angry onslaught of the album’s stunning centrepiece, Available, which effectively splits the album into two distinct halves: the former half being more dynamic and the latter being more subdued.
So at the end of the day, what is it that makes Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers such an important album for The National, and arguably the most unfairly overlooked album in their discography? In a word, the answer to this would be inspiration. While The National’s later albums may be full to the brim with expertly crafted arrangements and clever lyrics, the songwriting from Alligator onward would never recall the honest, direct approach that Matt took here with his lyrical delivery, that Peter Katis took with the production, and that the band took with the striking, brilliant instrumental work. This album has a unique, dynamic and colourful soul to it that none of The National’s other albums ever had a chance to touch; Alligator’s narratives about astronauts and American hearts at times come close to the highlights one can find here, but never quite touch them: the youthful energy found here is not only completely remarkable but utterly impossible to replicate, either by The National’s later albums or by any other artist. And if that doesn’t make Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers the greatest masterpiece in the band’s discography, I’m either crazy or you guys are all seriously missing out.
