The National "Boxer" 9.5/5

Expectations: The National's last effort, "Alligator", was promising if a little flat. While they certainly had their own sound, much of it focused on non-sequiturs that meant little, like "We're out looking for "Astronauts" or "I think this place is full of spiders". I really had no expectations for this.

Review: Don't expect Boxer to astound you on first listen. It may even bore you. It is mostly downbeat, and devoid of any obvious pop sensibility. The National paint in broad shades of grey and black, to achieve an austere and somewhat Gothic beauty (and I mean Gothic, not goth.) No, you'll listen to this one, put it away for a couple of weeks, and slowly come back to it. The songs sit in your gut for awhile. They have gravitas. And Berringer's black-coffee baritone will settle somewhere inside your skull. You'll find yourself hanging around its dark alleys late at night. And after a few weeks, Boxer will have you against the ropes.
Boxer shows up tuxedoed and three sheets to the wind. Its the rake at the cocktail party: witty, elegant, and more than a little tragic. The National are no longer just a rock band. No, they've shed much of the exhuberance of earlier efforts. The songs are all delicately embellished, with soft piano, and masterful, propulsive drumming. But they're delivered with confidence, sure that less is in fact more. They're right. You won't hear the little touches at first. You may never hear them properly. Boxer takes its time.
And as such, songs very rarely progress in a traditional form. Sure, "Mistaken for Strangers" is the anthem Interpol should have written were not aiming for the 'tween set. And "Apartment Story" sounds like a lost gem from The Cure. But the rest are the real knockouts. "Start a War" is a sliver of a ballad that would be lost on any other record. "Brainy" is the creepiest stalker song since "Every breath you take". "Come on let me call you love, Brainy, Bariny Brainy," Berringer sings, and the pet name sounds at once heartbreaking and unmistakably menacing.

Berringer's writing has markedly improved as well. When he sings that he wants to "put on a slow, dumb show for you and crack you up" in a mournful baritone, its unmistakable what he means. He's reached the sweet spot where his cryptic lyrics have real emotional punch. Berringer writes about "the unmagnificent lives of adults" in ways his peers can only dream about. Boxer is a black diamond in the rough.

BEST: The National- Green Gloves

Rilo Kiley "Under the Blacklight" 1/7

EXPECTATIONS: Even though their last record was a bit pop, Jenny Lewis still has one of the most unique, verbose and sharp tongued female voices in pop music. After strong solo efforts from her and Blake Sennett, this should have delivered on the pop promise of the single "Portions for Foxes" Hence, at least a 7.


REVIEW: Something strange happens when sharp indie acts suddenly deliver glossy, mindless ear candy. Its a bit of a knee jerk reaction. Critics know they can and have made great records, so they rationalize the record as a "bold new move" for the artist, a cynical statement on what pop records have become. Basically, they insist that the record isn't a bad record: its a subversive statement on bad records from a smart artist. This meta conceit is more than a little unlikely. And even when it isn't, well, that doesn't make it any more listenable. Does anyone own Liz Phair's 2002 pop record or No Doubt's "Rock Steady"? Both supposedly had similar conceits. Now how often do you listen to them?
Most critics have taken a similar stance on "Under the Blacklight". It has garnered so many four star reviews that I'm beginning to think critics either didn't listen to it or I'm in a modern retelling of "The Emperor's New Clothes". The ridiculously repetitive lyrics ("you got your moneymaker, you got your moneymaker, show her your moneymaker" goes one typical verse) and glossy 80's production are just a little too over-the-top to be taken literally. Surely, Rilo Kiley mean this as a "Boogie Nights"-type jab against the vapidity of their hometown, L.A.
I would argue that while that's likely, it really doesn't matter. The lyrics aren't funny or insightful, just repetitive. The drum machines and Casio keyboards sound just as cheap whether they were meant ironically or not. And while Beck can get away with elevating chintz, "Under the Blacklight" is content to replicate it and stew in it. And L.A. is seedy and cheap? Wow, that's not a total cliche. That's worth an entire record!
The record starts off strongly, with the truly beautiful "Silver Lining", which sounds like an outtake from Lewis' solo album, complete with the backing of the Watson Twins. It then devolves at an alarming rate. The second track keeps some of Jenny's trademark wit, but abandon all hope after that. Each track borrow liberally from classic rock cliches. The chorus of "The Angels Hung Around" bites Pete Townsend, and Donna Summer, Fleetwood Mac and the Miami Sound Machine are also regurgitated. But that's really all they do with them- they don't flip them in a witty or entertaining way. Really, the only bright spot is Blake Sennett's spot-on 80's delivery on "Dreamworld"- and I use the word bright only within the context of the record.
Go with your first instinct on this one. It isn't a "deep shallow record" that takes several listens to appreciate, as critics have claimed. No, its an awful album on first listen because its just an awful album.

BEST: "Silver Lining"