The National’s First Two Pages of Frankenstein is a melancholy victory lap
The album is comfortable and competent, if a bit underwhelming
The indie rock scene of the 2000s through early 2010s was filled with dozens of interesting bands; stalwarts like Death Cab For Cutie, Arcade Fire, or the Decemberists defined the genre and inspired legions of followers. But for countless fans, there’s no band that has stood quite as tall as The National. Defined by moody atmospheres, Berninger’s unique vocal impact, and some of the best drumming I’ve ever heard, The National created a massive impact on the music libraries of both myself and nearly anyone else who discovered their music at the right time.
On April 28, The National released First Two Pages of Frankenstein, the group’s first album since 2019’s I am Easy to Find. It’s a difficult album to describe quickly — it’s undeniably a project that bears the hallmarks of The National’s sound, but it’s also one that (like Easy to Find) lacks some of the potency of the band’s earlier efforts. As I read through other reviews and continue to listen to the album myself, I’ve realized this: The National have reached a state of the member’s collective careers where they can rest on their laurels and deliver strong music that doesn’t quite hit the highest highs that their fans have seen before.
In other words, the band is aging gracefully, if not quite as magnificently as we all might have hoped.
Let’s start with a big-picture realization. It’s this: there’s nothing on Frankenstein that can match the slow dreaminess of “Fake Empire,” the agonizing nervousness of “Mr. November,” the earnest desperation of “Start a War,” or the beautiful regret of “Bloodbuzz Ohio.” There are plenty of excellent songs and musical moments on this album, but nothing can come close to the band’s apex of lyricism and instrumentals from earlier songs.
This isn’t just nostalgia — the subdued sound on most of Frankenstein’s tracks is interesting, but it has a dulling effect that allows songs to just wash over the listener without leaving too much of an impact. The production and instrumentation are impeccable. So are the vocals and the lyrics. And yet, despite all this, nothing jumps out and grabs the listener quite as much as before.
In general, the reception for Frankenstein has been more mixed that one would expect from a band of The National’s caliber. A staff reviewer for Sputnikmusic wrote, “Frankenstein is a lean and almost entirely subdued affair, clocking in at 11 delicate tracks that slip away just as they seem primed to fully arrive.” Pitchfork, a well-known indie music site, gave the album a 6.6/10, as reviewer Brad Shoup described the album as, “a depiction of someone made unsteady from their time away, but nonetheless desperate to connect: less with an entire arena than someone in the passenger seat.”
Opinions around the internet are hardly universally negative, but this is all for a band that could do no wrong 10 years ago. I tend to agree with most of what I’ve read. Frankenstein is not a perfect album, and it’s also quite the album that fans may have wanted after such a long break. But perhaps that’s not what’s most important here.
Ultimately, the only sin that Frankenstein has committed is to be a very good album from a band that has led its fans to expect truly elite songwriting. At this state in their careers, the members of the National have been writing and playing songs for quite some time. Singer Matt Berninger dealt with writer’s block and depression in the run-up to this album, facts that lend even more weight to his carefully-chosen lyrics. In one sense then, it’s at least mildly impressive that Frankenstein exists at all, let along with songs as good as “Tropic Morning News” or “This Isn’t Helping.” If this is The National at less than full force, it’s still a band that can draw upon deep wells of talent and skill.
Additionally, Frankenstein has some truly beautiful moments that mostly come from its guitars and keys and is far from a musical dud. Opener “Once Upon a Poolside” sets a magnificently melancholy tone before listeners can dive into the guitar riffs on “Eucalyptus.” This is also an album with a deep roster of guest stars, most notably Taylor Swift (in a move that’s unsurprising for anyone who looked at the credits on Folklore and Evermore), though I’d argue that Phoebe Bridgers adds the most as a feature. There’s plenty of passion, rhythm, and smoothness on this album.
The ”trilogy” of Alligator, Boxer, and High Violet will always be a definitive example of the best that indie rock has to offer. If The National called it quits tomorrow, that would still be true. Even if everything the band creates from this point forward falls short of that impossibly-high standard, I’m glad that they’re still creating music.
They’ve more than earned the right to take a victory lap, and if the results are still this impressive, I hope they take many more.
The views expressed are mine alone and do not represent the views of my employer or any other person or organization.
