Some Songs Considered

“Fake Empire” – the National
(Words/music: The National, available on Boxer, Beggars Banquet 2007) 

For the past couple of years, the National brought along a horn section while they toured.  In a recent interview with Pitchfork, Aaron Dessner called the choice to bring these extra instrumentalists on the road as one necessary to recreate some of the songs from Boxer.  “We don’t have them because we want to sound bigger or grander,” Dessner said in the interview, “it’s just the texture of those instruments.”  This statement stuck out largely because it hits on two truths in the band’s music.  First, The National aren’t about gimmicks; even with a large number of instruments on their two most recent records, the tracks rarely feel excessive or decadent.  Secondly, this band approaches their songs as compositions, taking great effort not just in the writing of their songs, but in the arrangement and continued performance of these works.  Thus, the horn players become necessary parts of many of these songs, as opposed to something that a slightly maddening (and hopefully tongue-in-cheek) Vulture post might suggest to “liven” up the band. 

As those in attendance this past Wednesday night at Radio City Music Hall know (and from looking down from the second balcony, a lot of people were there), The National needs little help creating excitement.  Their lineup, in addition to the horn players, featured a small string section and help from Annie Clark (a.k.a. St. Vincent) and Sufjan Stevens on a couple songs.  Still, none of these additions were choices of excess that playing a room like Radio City might warrant.  Instead, each of these additions, including their famous friends, played supporting roles.  Even Clark and Stevens contributed texture rather than star-power.  The result, particularly on the swelling, set-closing “Fake Empire,” not only validated the choice of room (as the sound resonated beautifully, especially at the back of the room where we sat), but also the band’s reputation as a live presence.  Even before Matt Berninger navigated the fringe of the room and dragged a hundred feet of microphone cord into the first balcony for the electric “Mr. November” in the encore, the richness of the songs captivated the crowd throughout.  Even if Berninger’s repeated trips into the audience get cited as the most electric moments in the show, then the supporting players deserve some of the credit for their exceptional textural contributions. 

More on The National: Allmusic | Amazon MP3 | Emusic | Last.fm

“Chicago” - Sufjan Stevens
(Words/music: Sufjan Stevens, available on Come On and Feel the Illinoise!, Asthmatic Kitty 2005)

At his core, Sufjan Stevens sings folk songs.  He specializes in first person narratives focused on a few individuals and their struggles – sometimes with spirituality, sometimes with interpersonal conflicts, sometimes with internal emotions.  We rarely talk about his stories, or at least not within the first few breaths.  The spotlight gravitates towards his ambitious declaration to write an album for each of the fifty states (don’t hold your breath) or his sprawling, symphonic arrangements.  Whether intentional or not, Stevens buries his songs beneath layers of strings, album-sized ambitions, and paragraph-sized song titles.  He offers so many different paths to enter his work that we often overlook the most obvious ones.  We’re seduced into scouring the details he includes from a given state or marvel at the grandeur of his arrangements (or, on some occasions, his religious identification) yet look right past the universal narratives starring right back at us.

Compared with much of the rest of his album, “Chicago” sounds straightforward and confessional.  There’s an economy of language in the song’s lyrics (and the title, one of the few without a compound sentence), focusing less on the details (even if he gives locations) and more on his character’s feelings.  We don’t know what he’s running away from (or who he’s running to), we only know that he’s running. However, Stevens gives some clues into his narrator’s mindset – he repeatedly acknowledges his mistakes and refers to the way things come and go freely in life.  The city might change and the details may be different, but his narrator still cries in his van and longs to do it better the next time.  He knows that he’s erred and sees his shortcomings, yet he has an understanding that he’ll end up in the same story again.  His arrangement works in conjunction with this story, gracefully accentuating the melancholy feelings in Stevens’ song.  He layers these strings and the female vocals in the chorus but pulls the adornments back when he needs focus on his words rather than his arrangement.  Even with a song named after the state’s biggest city, Stevens isn’t hiding his uncertainty nor his personal revelation on this song.