High Violet by The National

The first thing that struck me about High Violet, the new album by these Cincinnati indies, is that it has a sort of sweeping beauty which matches the lead singer’s mournful baritone perfectly. This is the music to out an ache in your bones, that kind of beautiful sad-sackery that was mastered by bands like Joy Division and Interpol. They don’t quite maintain the atmosphere or pleasure-in-suffering that Ian Curtis did, and the story lyrics are too vague to put the dopey lyrics (“I live in a house that sorrow built”) into perspective. Every now and then they throw you a great melody like “Anyone’s Ghost” or “Conversation 16” to keep you listening but at the end of the day this is suffering for sufferings sake. The songwriting is additionally lazy; while the distorted guitar soundscapes are gorgeous and haunting, the vocals are often pastiches of unrelated phraseology. While bands like The Smiths could keep this songwriting method afloat with a good sense of humor, this album never relents in its indulgent morbidity. Those morbid hearts are in the right place, of course; it’s all in the name of the album-as-art conceit. But great art isn’t always tragic and great tragedy is always specific. The National aren’t the enemy, but as far as friends go, they’re pretty lame ones. 2.5/5