Review Summary: The soundtrack to the salaried, aspirational but insecure
The life of working in desk based office jobs, with all its attached worries of career ladder climbing, workplace politics, and eventually escaping the rat race to the suburbs has never made for glamorous enough material for rock or pop music. Attempts to cover the topic have oscillated between the poles of semi-ironic cheese such as Dolly Parton's '9 to 5' or uninhibited punk angst like The Clash's 'Career Opportunities'. Even the purveyor of middle class anxieties, Morrissey, could never muster more than the pithy lines on the subject than 'I was looking for a job, and then I found a job, and heaven knows I'm miserable now.'
But the issues I described in the previous paragraph dominate so much of the life of the modern person. Over half of the world's population live in cities, and in most developed countries office workers account for a similar portion of the adult population. Given how prevalent the experience of office work is, the paucity of songs covering it is only a reflection of the difficulty of making this topic engaging. After all, why spend your spare time listening to songs about work, right after a frustrated, boring or long day at work?
The reason The National has become such an emblem of the alternative rock scene, 10 years on from the release of 'Boxer', is precisely due to their unique ability to bring something profound and human to the subject of being a mid 20s to early 30s white man in the contemporary West. Released a mere year before the 2008 financial crisis shook the very foundations of Western capitalism, 'Boxer' gave a first hand view of why we had not produced the perfect model for human civilisation with Reaganite neoliberalism. No amount of refurbished boho bars, or Michelin restaurants, or 360 degree performance appraisals, could take away the absurdities of modern life; nor address the human frailties underneath those skyscrapers of glass and steel.
How the band achieved the enduring appeal of 'Boxer' is by their willingness to talk about the vulnerabilities and self doubt of the well-educated, privileged, white collar worker. The great source of workplace stress is a culture that teaches us to be ambitious, well-adjusted, creative and disciplined at work, a great melange of potentially conflicting skillsets and characteristics all imbued in one person. We are told that we are exceptional to have gained our jobs and roles in a difficult jobs market, yet the feeling of uniqueness or achievement seems a patent lie when we see thousands of others dressed like us, cramming into the same commuter trains and wearing the same hassled faces.
This overwhelming sense of insignificance is addressed in one of the signature tunes of 'Boxer'. In 'Mistaken For Strangers', Matt Berninger describes an eager junior who has to 'do it running; do everything they ask you to'. The reward for this relentless pressure is the opportunity to get 'mistaken for strangers by your own friends; under the silvery, silvery Citibank lights'. It's as if at last somebody had written lyrics that could be an audio description of stock news footage of hordes of suited men and women pushing past each other in a major financial centre, be it Manhattan, the City of London or central Hong Kong.
The same theme of irrelevance is covered in more mocking tones on 'Squalor Victoria'. We are a fly on the wall to the same junior banker character while he is boasting to his friends, several drinks deep: 'Underline everything, I'm a professional, in my beloved white shirt'. Berninger mockingly compares these office mundanities to the work of saints, and the cabal of post-work drinkers to possess 'heavenly glasses'. Almost cruelly, the song ends with a stark warning 'This isn't working, my middle brow f up'.
In the quieter moments of the album, the focus shifts away from the Monday to Friday frantic energy and its bipolar fluxes of self aggrandisement and then pity and panic. One can imagine the narrator character to be looking through old photos on a Sunday afternoon on 'Green Gloves' and expressing longing for his younger years. 'Falling out of touch with, all my friends are somewhere getting wasted; Hope they are staying glued together, I have arms for them' wistfully purrs Berninger. While over ponderous arpeggios on 'Racing Like A Pro', Berninger does his best whisky croaked voice, and one can almost imagine him holding his head on the lines 'One time you were a glowing young ruffian, oh my God that was a million years ago'.
'Boxer' also addresses the other key life event of most 20 somethings - falling in love and starting a family. Written in the relative earlier years of Berninger's relationship with his now wife Carin Besser, many of Berninger's feelings of inadequacy and paranoia over how the relationship is progressing are manifest in the album. On 'Brainy', Berninger confesses to being 'up all night again, boning up and reading the American dictionary' in order to keep up with his literate and intelligent girlfriend. Then on 'Slow Show', we see the first glimpses of the articulate yet vulnerable drunk that has become the signature of Berninger's later lyrics: 'Standing at the punch table swallowing punch; A little more stupid, a little more scared'. It all builds up to the now anthemic refrain 'You know I dreamed about you, for 29 years, before I saw you.'
Musically, 'Boxer' also has some of the most trademark Bryan Devendorf accompaniments. 'Squalor Victoria' would not be half the emotive lash out it is without Devendorf's relentless build up, and 'Guest Room' distinctly pedestrian without the pounding beats underlying it. It gives many of Berninger's lyrics that additional credence to make it memorable and resonant.
Detractors often accuse The National of being one trick ponies and the embodiment of the phrase first world problems. But the story of the human existence does not end with knowing you're in the top 10% of the global income curve. When so much rock or pop music now venerates the vapid and meaningless, lyrics viewed as merely a random jumble of syllables to accompany a computer generated drum beat, The National generate an army of dedicated fans because of their abilities to produce layered melodies combined with personable and intimate lyrics.
