The National - Alligator (2005)

You might feel a little sorry for The National. A few weeks back, they were supported by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah for a gig in their adopted home borough of Brooklyn. What happens? A chunk of the hipster crowd catches the latest indie child stars and leaves before The National come on stage. Not that the band seem to mind being upstaged by their cutesy baby brother, mind. They even took on Clap Your Hands in a soccer game during the bands' joint US tour. The National won 7-5.

Man of the match was Bryan Devendorf, The National's goalie and drummer, and he gives another star performance on the band's third album, 'Alligator'. His technical proficiency is impressive, but what grabs your attention is how the beat is suggestive of the mood of several songs: shuffly on 'Secret Meeting', chuggy on 'Friend of Mine', strutty on 'All The Wine', at least according to my scribbled first impressions. The other identifying characteristic of the band's sound is Matt Berninger's baritone, which imbues Alligator with a vespertine air, one that verges on the nocturnal on tracks like 'Daughter Of The Soho Riots', a melancholic narrative that floats on the pitter-patter of drums.

Stylistically Berninger shares a thing or two with Jeff 'I am an American aquarium drinker' Tweedy of Wilco and Kurt 'I've swallowed beer like a cartoon' Wagner of Lambchop. They each seem to spin songs from ragball loose threads, from peculiar turns of phrase, and to deliver them with a drawl, all laconic and world-weary. Berninger can drop lines of impeccable cool, like when he asks on opener 'Secret Meeting', 'Didn't anybody tell you how to gracefully disappear in a room?', though he is equally capable of some maddening blather. To wit, on 'All The Wine': 'I'm a birthday candle in a circle of black girls.' Sure you are. Still, why worry when the best moment of the album follows: the harmonies at the 'I'm so sorry...' bit that tee up a convoy of dirty chords.

Indeed, there are shades of Lambchop on 'Secret Meeting', with the lead guitar on overdrive and yet hovering below the intrusion line, alongside the background shouts and tingling strums, and there are hints of Wilco on the excellent 'Karen', with its piano and cello cycling through a soothing chord structure. On 'Abel' and 'Mr. November' The National rattle with a furious bluster, but the band sound more intriguing on 'Friend of Mine', the violins and guitars shivery, jittery and jangling, fraught with nervous tension like an Interpol tune. Take an extra listen to 'City Middle', a low-key highlight, rocking back and forth along random, common lamp-lit streets, a slow-burner that works up deep warmth.

The National may sound too staid and straightforward to be picked up on everyone's radar; they don't deploy gimmickry and they won't herald a new wave of copyists. It may be days or weeks later that they get to you, snagging you with an insistent melody or an itchy lyric. Take 'The Geese of Beverly Road', and the sleepy backdrop of clarinet and cello, against which the cymbals suddenly lash in with the susurrus of falling rain. The band offer us some respite. The downpour ceases at the chorus, and harmonies break through the clouds, the sky lit up with a big slice of lemon. And so, as the evenings become dark and impossibly cold, I'm going to retreat indoors, swoosh the curtains and stick on 'Alligator'. See you later.

Rating: 7/10

Tony Kelleher

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