The National - Alligator

Genre rock Publisher Beggars Banquet External Links Official Website Beggars Banquet

Unfortunately, we get older. We see our dreams crumble, chances missed, and our potential fade. When we're eight, we truly believe that we're going to be astronauts setting foot on the moon. Twenty years later, the Space Shuttle waits patiently to blast off to the rather pitiful heights of Earth orbit, the moon still longs for human touch once again, and we're left down here with the jobs that we never imagined we'd end up having, looking up enviously at the stars. In the midsection of Alligator, there's a song called "Looking For Astronauts", which echoes this sentiment perfectly: "we're out looking for astronauts, looking for astronauts / it's a little too late, too late, too late for this." It's a wonderful moment, in a great album.

The National are two sets of brothers, Aaron and Bryce Dessner, Scott and Bryan Devendorf, plus the singer Matt Berninger, who grew up together in Ohio. All five went their separate ways, but a curious coincidence, they found themselves living near each other again, this time in Brooklyn, and they formed The National in 1999. Alligator is their third album, one that sees them sign onto a much bigger label, Beggars Banquet, and out onto a wider stage. Yet they are an age where they've already brushed up against many of life's disappointments, and that's clearly reflected in the record.

It begins with paranoia of "Secret Meeting", with an opening lyric of "I think this place is full of spies / I think they're onto me", with odd shuffling drums and constantly shifting guitar parts creating an unsettling but intriguing beginning. The cacophony of backing voices at the end of the song is a lovely touch that underscores the confusion in the song. But The National are not just morose balladeers; they can do stadium rock just as well as anyone; "Lit Up" having a chorus that sounds like floodlights suddenly switching on to full illumination, bathing the song in a glorious aura reminiscent of early U2.

After "Lit Up", the album drifts back off into more introspective territory, although titles like "Daughters of the SoHo Riots" indicate that they retain a healthy sense of humour about the proceedings. This gets a little wearing by the time "Friend of Mine" rolls around, but before the depression becomes overpowering, however, the band has the sense to flip back into rock. "All The Wine" might employ Standard Indie Arrangement #456 (continually moving up the guitar to give the song a soaring feel), but they pull it off with aplomb, and the immediately folloiwing "Abel" keeps the pace, with shouted vocals and plenty of nervous energy.

But perhaps Alligator is best summed up the final track, "Mr. November". It's full of fear: "The English are waiting / and I don't know what to do", regret (I wish that I believed in fate / I wish I didn't sleep so late", and nostalgia: "I used to be carried in the arms of cheerleaders", before ending on a highly defiant note, shouting "I won't fuck us over" as the song, and the album, closes. The National's dreams may have dulled against the edges of reality as time has gone on, but they leave us with their fists held high, still gazing at the stars and dreaming, even if it's pointless. And that's all we can ask for in a rock record, really; bruised optimism that reminds us what it's like to look up and dream.