Nobody likes to be told what to do. Nobody likes to admit that they need some lowly conductor to pull the lever which will switch em' to the other side of the tracks. Well, that's not entirely true, but the Sadism and Bondage communities aside, it rings true in some way or another. Well, I'm going to disregard the primal human paradox and tell you exactly what to do this morning: MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE NEW YORK TIMES WEBSITE, DRINK SOME COFFEE (or some apple juice in a coffee mug!), AND STREAM THE NEW NATIONAL ALBUM!
This is an album which you can feel yourself listening to on your kitchen table, the sort of white linoleum that is perched in the corner of your kitchen, next to a window with heavy wooden blinds. This is a dollies and cardigans album, that resonates in places that are a little unexpected.
I'm going to get one thing cleared up initially; this album is not Boxer, and it's not Alligator. This album, High Violet, is full of more elephant shit than a circus, I promise you that. It's isolated the same as Boxer, but you see, the music is busier. More preoccupied, more textured, more layered. The music clashes beautifully with the vocals, the limitless vocals that remain in between two keys.
The album speaks for itself.
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/25/magazine/25national-t.html
I urge you, find it within yourself and your closet to don some faux-intellectual apparel and sit on your table while you listen to this. Perhaps add some scones.
Your ego, and your "musical palette" will thank you!
OH, there is a warning that comes with this album! It says the FUCK word, so, y'know, plug your ears!
