Laugh Track

The National are closer than ever, the type of closeness that allows individual growth, and this organic coming together is reflected in the collection of songs on ‘Laugh Track.’ Music that will no doubt stand the test of time.

Laugh Track features a band free of some of their usual burden. [Dec 2023, p.34]

At first listen, it’s musically not such a close cousin of First Two Pages, but more its identical twin – the same brooding atmosphere, that bottled up tension that seems to have become Matt Berninger’s vocal trademark – yet over a few plays, it seems to slowly take a life of its own.

A clear and consistent exercise in true class from a band who clearly haven’t lost a step, they just took a few stray ones.

It’s true that listening to The National often makes me feel I’m hearing ghosts of their previous songs. Old chords and thoughts stalk the halls of different songs. But it’s hard to resist their shimmering, shapeshifting companionship. And on Laugh Track the ghosts are floppier and friendlier than they’ve been in a while.

Laugh Track, the National’s surprise 10th album, is billed as the second half of Frankenstein, with all but one song written at the same time. But the link feels surface-level: Laugh Track does away with the airy atmosphere and hand-wringing solipsism of Frankenstein, instead adopting a more grownup take on the existential conundrums of earlier National records.

The tightness of ‘First Two Pages…’’s singles like ‘Tropic Morning News’ and ‘Eucalyptus’ are somewhat absent, though the looser structures and decision to allow the songs room to grow, melodically and lyrically pays off.

If all of the National's albums were placed in a Venn diagram, Laugh Track would sit at the direct centre — neither expanding the sound à la the sweeping expanse of 2019's I Am Easy to Find, nor fully retreating to the straight-up indie rock of 2007's The Boxer. Crucially, it re-establishes them as a group of long-time collaborators in line with one another, none of them standing out from the others.

The rest of Laugh Track simmers at a precisely modulated temperature, bringing the songs to warmth slowly and steadily, which makes the ragged drone of the closing "Smoke Detector" so welcome: its insistent pulse and maze of guitars feel full-blooded and messy in a way the National has avoided for a long, long time.

Berninger’s vocal delivery is largely muted; the mercurial and even passive-aggressive eruptions of the 00s are all but gone; rather, there’s a downcast directness here, which at times is compelling in the way that self-revelation and truth-telling can be; at other times, such singularity seems glaringly reductive, a listener wishing for the metaphors, tortuous narratives, and volatile phrasing of earlier work.

May disappoint fans hoping that the muted reception to Frankenstein might inspire the band to shake things up, but Laugh Track does fine-tune its predecessor’s approach, albeit subtly.