Premature Evaluation: The National First Two Pages Of Frankenstein

How can you tell you’re washed when so much of your greatest music is about being washed? It’s a question that has lingered around the National as long as they’ve been famous. Ever since taking “another un-innocent, elegant fall into the un-magnificent lives of adults” on 2007 breakthrough Boxer, the Brooklyn-founded band of Cincinnati natives has been giving off sad-dad vibes, turning middle-aged neuroses into tastefully morose bangers, ballads, and anthems. You know the drill: Over contemplative, sometimes cathartic big-budget indie rock, lanky baritone Matt Berninger grumbles and croons his way through borderline-surreal vape-pen poetry about depression, dysfunction, alienation — all the midlife-crisis feelings — lending quirky personality to an otherwise deadly serious sound. The approach yielded magnificent results for years, though exactly how many years is up for debate.