“At what point does consistency approach tedium?”says one of the reviews I read about the ninth album by The National, in Consequence of Sound. The question is more than pertinent and surely it flies over almost all of our heads, because the differences between each one of their albums from “High Violet” (2020) are the most subtle. Nuances, textures, slight tempo changes, some collaborations. Little more. In any case, they are slow burners. Slow cooking works and matured digestion. And in the end, as if by magic, without generating too much noise or noticing any kind of rupture, practically all of them justify their existence as autonomous pieces of a gear that seems to work by inertia. This “First Two Pages of Frankenstein” (2023) is no exception. If in its antecedent (“I Am Easy To Find”, 2019) relied on a handful of female voices (Sharon Van Etten, Kate Stables, or Lisa Hannigan) to escape their own shadow and show the reverse side of their middle-aged masculine ramblings, this time the creative block and recent depression of Matt Berninger have found in a certain renewal of his lyrics, driven by the first two pages of Mary Shelley’s novel, the best revulsion to give continuity to a career that, for the first time in the last 24 years (he says so himself), he was seen on the verge of definitive collapse, after the release of his first solo album and the productions of Aaron Dessner for Taylor Swift or Ed Sheeran. The one from four years ago could have been the last. Although it is more than legitimate to doubt it, for the same reason that only those who live in such an economically comfortable position can afford to fall into a depression and that this serves as profitable creative fuel.
The result is another solvent album, in which melancholy, vulnerability and sincerity (the texts, confessional, are still bordering on high) provide a cauterizing sound that offers comfort to long-time fans. Not even the collaborations detract from his speech, because both the choirs of Sufjan Stevens in the beautiful piano ballad that is “Once Upon a Poolside”, as the voice of Phoebe Bridgers in the serenas “This Isn’t Helping” y “Your Mind Is Not Your Friend” they are there to accompany more than to offer counterpoint, although it is also true that Taylor Swift stands out something more by alternating with Matt Berninger in “The Alcott”. In general, it could be said that none of the eleven cuts of him fall below the notable. There are singles as unappealable as “Tropic Morning News”, the authentic change lever for this record to see the light; dynamic changes like those of agile “Grease In Your Hair” or those of that “Alien” which starts out stealthy until it drifts into one of the classic Joy Division syncopated beats from the days when they were still being compared to their fellow citizens Interpol, and a clever way of doling out nods to their particular heroes: Cowboy Junkies and Afghan Whigs are mentioned in one “Eucalyptus” who imagines the distribution of belongings after a breakup (“I have a healthy marriage because I write about the abyss”Berninger told The Guardian) and New Order appear as an open spigot for the memories that reflects the beautiful “New Order T-Shirt”. Add up and continue. No surprises, but also no slip-ups. The line that can separate well-being from boredom will already be as fine (or thick) as the emotional closeness that each one can harbor with respect to their recognizable argument.