photo: tkaravou · cc by 2.0 ↗The National came together in Brooklyn in 1999 among five transplants from Cincinnati, Ohio — vocalist Matt Berninger, twin guitarist-composers Aaron and Bryce Dessner, and brothers Scott and Bryan Devendorf on bass and drums — after years of day jobs and free Sunday-night sets at the Lower East Side's Luna Lounge. Berninger's anxious, deadpan baritone and internally rhyming, half-absurdist lyrics turned the band's tense, meticulously orchestrated chamber-rock into one of American indie rock's defining sounds, built through unglamorous persistence rather than a single breakout single. 'Alligator' (2005), 'Boxer' (2007), and 'High Violet' (2010) built a devoted following; 'Sleep Well Beast' (2017) won the band its first Grammy, for Best Alternative Music Album. They remain a fixture of festival bills, film scores, and prestige soundtracks.
Berninger has said that in high school he 'became obsessed with Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits,' and named the two, alongside Nick Cave, as his songwriting 'trinity' — the writers whose willingness to sit inside dark, plainly stated feeling shaped how he approaches a lyric. Cohen's influence surfaces less as guitar style (The National barely uses acoustic guitar) than as a vocal posture: a hushed, unhurried baritone confession delivered like a letter to one specific person.
listen forSet 'Famous Blue Raincoat' next to 'Sorrow' — both let a low, conversational voice circle a single sad idea over a slow, repeating chord bed, more interested in accumulating weight through repetition than in resolving the feeling.
Cave is the artist Berninger reaches for most: he has called him 'the best songwriter alive,' said Cave has 'gone past Cohen and Tom Waits for me — and that's my trinity,' and, discussing comparisons of his own low, dramatic register to Ian Curtis, added 'I get a lot of Nick Cave' too. What carries over isn't the Gothic imagery so much as the structural trick of a controlled, murmured baritone verse detonating into a shouted, cathartic climax.
listen forPlay 'The Mercy Seat,' which racks up tension through a spoken-sung, almost legalistic verse before erupting into a screamed refrain, against 'Abel,' where Berninger's hushed opening lines give way to his most unhinged, screamed vocal performance — both ride a string-and-rhythm-section build from restraint to catharsis.
Waits sits alongside Cohen in Berninger's account of his high-school obsessions and in his short list of the 'lyric heavy writers' he kept returning to. The trace in The National's own records is less about Waits's gravel and clatter than his fondness for a slightly seedy, communal waltz — a song that gathers a room of voices around it rather than performing straight at an audience.
listen forCompare 'Time,' with its loping waltz-time street-corner philosophizing, to 'Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks,' which opens hushed and modest before swelling into a group chant of an outro — both treat a plainspoken, slightly wry melancholy as something best sung together, not alone.