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THE NATIONAL - PRESS REVIEW Press for "Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers" >>US press (click on the picture to enlarge)
>>UK press >>Italian press (click on the picture to enlarge)
Selected press for The National debut album >>Libération - décembre 02 >>Popnews L’Amérique toute-puissante n’a décidément pas fini de nous surprendre. Marchande de rêves sans accrocs passée reine dans l’art de nous faire prendre des vessies pour des latrines, la patrie de Limp Bizkit et Whitney Houston est aussi le berceau d’une foultitude de beautiful losers experts en chansons tordues. Pour preuve, l’arrivée des nouveaux venus de The National. >>>>this way >>The Village Voice The National is yet another Brooklyn Gem among gems, but this band's more Americana - and much more somber - than their Williamsburg counterparts. Their self-titled debut unravels itself in poignant, but painful scenes from a movie about a man's emotional decadence: There's lots of booze and women involved. There's also the woman that got away. There's a bit of self-deprecation. And there are fatalistic reflections on life and love. Indulge yourselves. - Yadao >>Kerang 4 KKKKs Darkly emotional debut from NYC-based Ohians Inhabiting the same eerie territory as Silver Jews and seminal songwriter Will Oldham, this self-titled first offering is filled with bittersweet ballads and slurred storytelling to lose yourself in. 'The National' soundtracks are ennui of everyday existence, leading us deep into the darkest chasms of singer Matt Berninger's sorrow-filled psyche. Yet for every loss-inspired lyric, acoustic jolt and exquisite harmony, there's a tense and beautiful undercurrent at work, reminiscent of Joy Division and Nick Cave, making this cathartic record much more than your bog-standard miserablist release. They may have moved to the big city, but you'll never take the country sway out of their delicate twang. Sad, affecting and drunkenly formed, The National's debut is the stuff underground legends are made of. - Camilla Pia >>Artvoice, Buffalo NYC, 2001 Have You Heard the National Guitar? The National is that band who right now makes me feel something. Sure, emotion is suspect in our limpid digital age, a time in which the one-dimensional ho-hum of willful captivity is an ideal-but hey! The National's self-titled record (Brassland Records), a chapbook of souls, or better yet, a discarded Farmer's Almanac blooming with revelatory pencil sketches, causes me to think so much about leaves blowing through half-closed windows in my attic and the boundaries of overgrown orchards covering life in a crisp uneven blanket, that I forget my cynicism, my consistent lack of sleep, and remember, suddenly, myself. When I try to explain The National, my first inclination is to dig up generalizations, to mumble of deep-voiced melancholic male singers a la Nick Cave, the guy from Tindersticks, or Leonard Cohen. Having secured this meager indie-rock shop talk, I tend to place said imaginary singer in front of a Southern-sounding rock band like Lampchop, dipping and sawing and spinning in a lacey backyard below the Mason-Dixon. Sure, but The National aren't from the South; in fact, they come from Brooklyn via Ohio. Like d.a. levy's incantory poems about rust and rivers in Cleveland, they sing through Midwestern ice, teeth, divining rods, shape-shifting emptiness, ghosts, and silence. Thematically, The National are closely linked to lately hyped London trio The Clientele. Yeah: rain and stars. The National, though, are sort of the working class version of The Clientele, I'd say. Not that The Clientele are upperclass or anything, but they just seem more removed. They're fans of Surrealism and Marquez, for example (c'mon, you know what I mean). Regardless, in the end, The National have most definitely whittled my favorite rock record of the year. It's a stoic Bildungsroman penned in smoke, an unusually successful case of soul-searching. - Brandon Stosuy >>Billboard, october 01 Five guys from Ohio move to Brooklyn and start a rock band, bringing their big hearts and wide eyes with them. Thus is the story of the National, whose self-titled debut dances along the fault line between country-tinged folk and indie rock with effortless elegance. Armed with a deep, rusty baritone resembling that of the Tinderstick's Stuart Staples, singer Matt Berninger imbues each tune with a serene confidence. Meanwhile the lyrics pick through the scattered pieces of past relationships like a weary traveler with nothing but open roads and time on his hands. The band's understated arrangements teem with classic pop elements, which give the seemingly simple songs an extra depth. Vocal harmonies, piano melodies and slide guitar are used sparingly as tasteful embellishments, but never overshadow Berninger's vocals. Aaron Dessner's mandola on "Watching You Well" lends the song a timeless quality, while "John's Star" takes a more aggressive tack, counterbalancing the buzz of distorted guitars with a warm electric piano melody. Male/female vocals intertwine on "Bitters & Absolut" as a piano melody cuts delicate curlicues in the solid bass-guitar-drums framework. >>Rolling Stone Germany - January 03 Die Heft-CD: "New Noises 57" Die "New Noises" als Landkarte: Toronto, London, Vancouver, irgendwo in Iowa, Birmingham, New York, Bergen, Köln, Berlin, Seattle, Omaha, Nürnberg, nochmal New York und Lund. Wir kommen für Sie rum und berichten wieder über neue Projekte und alte Helden. Beigelegt zu Rolling Stone 01/03 Track 13. The National "Bitters And Absolut" The National aus New York tragen zwar auch das Titelstory-trächtige "The" im Namen, haben aber mit Punkrock nichts am Hut. Sie spielen auf ihrem selbstbetitelten Debüt Americana-Pop zwischen Jayhawks und Wilco - also quasi Golden Smog - mit einer Prise Elektronik und Matt Berningers Brummelstimme. Auf "Bitters And Absolut", dem schönsten Song, klingt er wie der große Bruder von Roy Orbison.
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