Review Summary: Insipid.
Ever have a bad day? Of course you have. Me too. What do you do when you have a bad day or you're feeling down? Some people take drugs, some go for a walk, other just wallow in self-destructive pity. Whatever you decide to do, we all need help. I tend to listen to music to help me cope. I try to find bands or artists that I can relate to to make me feel better and not so alone. As you grow older, things become grayer, less magnificent, and it helps to have some sort of musical companion there to walk beside you. In this sense, in the sense that The National are just adults depressed about being adults, in the sense that their hopelessness is somehow a beacon of light for people going through the same thing,
Boxer is a monumental, soul-sucking failure.
In the world of
Boxer there is no light at the end of the tunnel. There's no escape from the mundane. It might seem like then that
Boxer is a dark record, full of loss and depression and it is. Usually albums with this depressive nature are relatable and memorable because they help you cope with the depression. Instead,
Boxer becomes
completely defeating, an album that
is depression instead of the sad friend who helps you get over it all. It's a straight line full of grey and emptiness, an album made by people who sound and play like they are so unbelievably uninspired that it's almost a shock to the system. I cough ash, I lose feeling in my nerves, color leaves my senses. Everything that
Boxer does to me is not a relief or relation, it is only a reminder of how awful things are. Like taking a bunch of drugs that just never, ever kick in,
Boxer sucks out life anywhere in its banal, jaded path. Insipid, insipid, insipid.
