Album of the week: The National’s ‘sad dad’ songs on Laugh Track warm the heart

Laugh Track duly arrived on Monday, just five months after their last one, First Two Pages of Frankenstein, and mere days before their European tour kicked off in Dublin. In retrospect, its existence shouldn’t have been a surprise. A couple of singles, Alphabet City and Space Invader, were released over the summer and, on promotional rounds for Frankenstein, they hinted that a large volume of songs had been tinkered with.​

Most of the tracks that appear here were recorded after the last album had been released and as the band were about to go on tour. The near eight-minute closer, Smoke Detector, was only written and recorded in producer Tucker Martine’s studio as recently as June. It’s a pulsating, febrile slab of avant-grade rock that offers a possible pointer to where the National might go next. And it’s quite unlike anything else on the album.​

With cover artwork that mirrors the mysterious image of their last one, it’s clear the band see Laugh Track and Frankenstein as companion albums. This is, perhaps, a more freewheeling collection than its predecessor, but it also boasts a large quotient of ‘sad dad’ songs. Such a remark — to borrow the band’s own self-deprecation phrase — is not a criticism, rather an acknowledgement that this quintet captures the pleasures and pains of middle age better than any of their contemporaries.

As has been the case on several of their more recent albums, Berninger is fixated by the idea of relationships disintegrating, but also about what it takes to keep them intact. It’s an intriguing approach and one given spice by the fact that he often writes the lyrics with his wife, the former fiction editor of New Yorker, Carin Besser.

​The frontman’s songs have long tackled depression, anxiety, unease and disappointment and there’s no let up here. Deep End (Paul’s in Pieces) finds him musing about “going off the deep end, barely sleeping” while the marvellous Tour Manager captures internalised turmoil. “I don’t wanna talk about it, don’t like the way it sounds/ Wanna keep it kinda quiet, gonna try to keep it down.”​

Aaron and Bryce Dessner’s music is rarely less than bewitching and the arrangements are artfully constructed. It’s good to see drummer Bryan Devendorf really flexing his muscles again. On Frankenstein, a handful of the tracks employed a drum machine — at Devendorf’s behest — but would have benefited from a looser approach.

As before, there are a handful of guests, including Phoebe Bridgers on the meditative title track, and Americana veteran Rosanne Cash on the faintly countrified Crumble. Some long-term fans quibble about the band’s increasing use of guest vocalists, but both those songs work exquisitely, with Berninger’s careworn baritone meshing beautifully with the female voices.

There’s room, too, for Weird Goodbyes, last year’s touching stand-alone single, which features the unobtrusive vocals of Bon Iver. It’s a song that exemplifies Berninger’s poetic words. “There’ll come a time I’ll wanna know I was here,” he sings. “Names on the doorframes, inches and ages/ Handprints in concrete, at the softer stages.”

They are lines that tugged on the heartstrings 12 months ago, but even more so now when considered in the context of a pair of albums that consolidate the National’s standing as one of the great American bands.

Matt Berninger & Co give a thrilling finale long to be remembered

The National at 3Arena, Dublin

The National have had a long and happy relationship with this country. The Cork festival, Sounds from a Safe Harbour, is co-curated by multi-instrumentalists Aaron and Bryce Dessner, and the band have collaborated with Lisa Hannigan on a number of occasions. On this, the opening night of their European tour, Aaron makes the point of mentioning an early gig in Whelan’s. Back then, the Cincinnati, Ohio natives were trying to show that they weren’t just another quintet riding the coat-tails of early 2000s favourites like the Strokes. Now, they are firmly established as one of the great American bands, comfortably commanding vast arenas.

There’s extra spice ahead of this Dublin gig. Just days before they released a surprise album, Laugh Track. It’s their second of 2023, coming a mere five months after First Two Pages of Frankenstein, and this lengthy set dips liberally into both albums.

The first three songs come from Frankenstein. It opens on a delicate note with the piano-led Once Upon a Poolside, before the tempo rises for Eucalyptus. Frontman Matt Berninger becomes so energised vocally that his voice sounds ragged for the next few songs.

Thankfully, his vocal cords have warmed up sufficiently by the time they hit one of their defining songs. Bloodbuzz Ohio is thrilling and frenzied with drummer Bryan Devendorf earning his keep. A pair of touring musicians add brass to lend even more colour.

New song Deep End (Paul’s in Pieces) slots in easily — it’s likely to be a future live favourite — and the rendition of I Need My Girl benefits from being stripped back. It’s an uncommonly lovely song.

The set largely alternates between songs that allow the band — especially the Dessners — to rock out with abandon, and tender compositions centred on Berninger’s baritone. Abel and, especially, Smoke Detector satisfy lovers of the former, while Hornets and Pink Rabbits are delivered so beautifully that you forget you’re in a huge hangar and not a small room.

After a somewhat scrappy first third, the remainder of the show is exceptional with one great song after another. One of their earliest numbers, About Today, is marvellous — a delicate, heartstring-tugger that morphs into a cathedral of noise. Graceless finds Berninger prowling along the front of the stage before walking into the crowd. He’s mobbed and just about holds it together vocally while his band keep up the electrifying tempo on stage.

They play for almost two hours straight before the encore arrives. And what a finale. The trio of Mr November, Terrible Love and Space Invader are wild and primal, the sound of a band going for broke. It’s perhaps the most thrilling 15 minutes of live music I’ve experienced in years.

The final song, Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks, makes the audience the star. Berninger — surely mindful of what his larynx has been through — points his microphone outwards and stands to the side while his bandmates come to the front to play. The crowd sing it back, word-perfect. It’s the sort of communal experience that many of us ached for during the pandemic. The National have the chutzpah to pull it off.