Matt Berninger
Serpentine Prison
Book Records
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I have exceedingly high hopes for anything Matt Berninger commits to tape. As the singer and lyricist for indie-rock quintet The National, he’s simply been unstoppable. From the group’s self-titled debut in 2001 to their eighth studio LP I Am Easy to Find (2019), Berninger’s artistry has blazed commandingly—bright with creativity, emotion and panache at nearly every turn. In fact, across hundreds of songs (B-sides and one-offs included), there are only two I sometimes skip (“Lemonworld” and “Turtleneck,” in case you’re curious).
And, though Berninger’s lyrical gifts were clear from the beginning, he’s never been complacent, eagerly—and seemingly effortlessly—tackling new themes, employing different styles and incorporating fresh points of view.
Evidence of his talents extends beyond The National’s dazzling discography. In EL VY’s Return to the Moon (2015), Berninger’s collaboration with Brett Knopf (Ramona Falls and Menomena), the pair used humor and grit to fashion a sunnier, if more sardonic, world than typically evoked in The National’s introspective sphere.
More recently, Berninger partnered with his wife and co-writer Carin Besser and National guitarists Aaron and Bryce Dessner to score Cyrano, an off-Broadway musical adaptation of the age-old play (with a film version—featuring new songs—currently in the works).
Adding to the baritone’s ever-growing list of accomplishments, he’s also sung on a string of duets with a wide range of talent—including Phoebe Bridgers, Sharon Jones and CHVRCHES’ Lauren Mayberry.
For 20 years, Berninger got it all astoundingly right. He’s been incredibly prolific and every bit as brilliant. So, I’m inclined to overlook this first misstep. Even geniuses sometimes stumble.
Tragically, this aberration strikes in the form of his debut solo offering, Serpentine Prison. Here, his usual vigor seems flattened, as though all wild impulses were ironed out. One could argue the vision was muddled from the start.
In December 2018, Berninger approached legendary musician and producer Booker T. Jones to partner on a record of covers. Inspired by Jones’ masterful production of Willie Nelson’s cover album, Stardust, Berninger sought to make his own harmonious homages.
But, as work began, the focus shifted. Berninger introduced new compositions co-authored with friends and collaborators such as Hayden Desser (Hayden), Knopf (EL VY), Walter Martin (The Walkmen), Sean O’Brien (mixer), Matt Sheehy (EL VY) and Harrison Whitford (Phoebe Bridgers). Jones’ role became more about fostering cohesion around these joint creations than entwining the songs of multiple discrete artists.
Born, raised and schooled in Cincinnati, Ohio, Berninger moved to Brooklyn after college to pursue a career in graphic design, with nary a notion he’d soon be fronting one of indie’s biggest bands. Now, on the cusp of turning 50, having spent the aughts lighting up New York City with The National’s ever-building buzz, Berninger resides not just on the other coast, but in a different realm entirely—the beachy, bohemian Venice neighborhood of Los Angeles.
It’s here, mere blocks from the Pacific shoreline—at the garden-lined Earthstar Creation Center—Serpentine Prison slithered into existence. Similar to National albums, recording took place amidst a congregation of friends, many who’d helped craft the songs or were otherwise instrumental to the band including brass players Ben Lanz and Kyle Resnick and vocalist Gail Ann Dorsey.
This supremely talented ensemble gathering for a fortnight, in this serene setting, could only lead to one outcome: nuanced, sophisticated work. Indeed, Serpentine Prison sounds pleasant enough, but the truth is it doesn’t move me. An unhappy admission to be sure, especially for an album with a title that, quite tantalizingly, evokes sinuous agony.
But, of course, the most critical misleading factor in this equation is Berninger himself. From the swinging-from-rafters dynamo whose scream-singing is the very definition of catharsis to the passionately pensive crooner whose glimmering melancholia reliably erupts into heart-rending effusion, Berninger’s deep voice has forever carried raw currents of emotion. After giving Serpentine Prison a couple dozen close listens, I’m afraid to say I’m still aching for that energy.
And, why now, in these endless hours of need? Matt, I’m sorry, but this was not the year to dial back the drama. More than ever, I need your rich, complex tapestries to tuck into—not innocuous audio wallpaper.
Given his lyrical emphasis on distance (which, as it turned out, was rather apt for 2020), maybe the concept unintentionally tampered the album’s core itself. In I Am Easy to Find, the latest National album, Berninger managed to cast an intimate, yet unifying portrait of the human experience, exploring the people and places that reconnect us to ourselves and give us a sense of home. With his solo album, he hasn’t just stepped away from the band, he’s also unhooked from that tethering. I don’t think Berninger meant for Serpentine Prison to stand in opposition of I Am Easy to Find, but that’s what happened.
Despite its questionable title, “My Eyes Are T-Shirts” makes for a convincing intro. Co-written with Scott Devendorf, bassist for The National and one of Berninger’s first artistic partners, the opener flaunts a fuzzy ease, in the vein of Yo La Tengo’s dreamier side. Accentuated by glistening piano, Berninger’s talents shine, delivering a woozy, low-slung syllable ballet through expert pairing of poetry and singing. The chorus beckons, arresting in its deceptive simplicity, “When I see you something sad goes missing / I stop crying, lay down and listen / I hear your voice and my heart falls together / Please come back, baby, make me feel better.”
And, just when I envision cozying into this with a dram of scotch and an autumn sweater, the unthinkable occurs. Matt Berninger, one of my long-revered musical heroes, treads into the dreaded category of easy listening—and I come undone.
Our first window into Serpentine Prison came with the unveiling of the subpar title track (which we’ll get to later). Two tunes followed in the lead-up to the album’s release: In “Distant Axis,” Berninger sounds, well, distant. Musically reminiscent of Smashing Pumpkins’ “Disarm” and thematically related to National songs like “About Today” and “The Pull of You,” “Distant Axis” glides along prettily, but Berninger sounds aggravatingly sedate, especially amidst the song’s sea of orchestral swells.
“One More Second” is more memorable, but not in a good way. For one, it’s extremely repetitive, so you’ll fast learn the words whether you want to or not. But, worse, it feels hollow. After five and a half minutes of bearing witness to his repeat request for more time, I’ve gone nowhere emotionally, and I’m not just disappointed, but bored.
It’s all too tidy and sterile. Where’s the messy unspooling and abstract whimsy? Where’s the sprawling psyche?
Fortunately, with those two clunkers out of the way, the album largely regains momentum. But, it’s worth pausing here to underscore my shock in hearing Serpentine Prison the first couple of times. Too much just sounds uncharacteristically bland.
Looking back, I realize I’d glimpsed this possibility a few years ago, during the Trouble Will Find Me tour. While standing at the Greek Theatre in Berkeley, I became acutely aware of how much Berninger had transformed as a frontman from what I’d first observed in a small club in 2005. No trace remained of that endearing awkwardness—that long-limbed singer who faced the band instead of the crowd, rapping his fists and tapping his feet nervously. Gradually, he’d grown more confident and daring, leaping off stage mid-song and running into the audience to thrilling—universally adored—effect. That night, in particular, Berninger, cool and clad in his black leather jacket and practically prancing across the stage, seemed a new figure and I remember whispering to my friend, “Oh no, he’s such a rockstar.”
An anomalous, unwelcome sensation at a National show, I quickly let any concerns about ego fall into the starlight. But now, I can’t help but wonder. I just hope self-indulgence isn’t creeping in.
Even the focus on covers—and there have been tons, far more than the handful that made it onto the deluxe version of Serpentine Prison—hints at diminished inspiration. And, if that’s the case, it’d be understandable. After two decades of consistently masterful work, who wouldn’t need a break?
A minimal respite may be all that’s required, too. For although Serpentine Prison has its flaws, it also reminds us of Berninger’s capacity for greatness. An immediate standout is “Loved So Little.” On the fourth track of his solo album, Berninger finally finds his element. Playful descriptors spur his melodic delivery, enlivening each line into something fulfilling. The first verse alone tells the story: “With your pulled-on hair and your punched-up lips / And your city mouse voice / I should have known that we’d get into this / If I didn't watch the signals / And now you lean in the door in your fired-up skin / With your look of freedom, telling me that I’m in for it / If I can’t keep up.”
Written with Mike Brewer, friend and former bandmate from their college band Nancy, “Loved So Little” simmers with natural propulsion. By the time the second verse hits with Berninger singing, “Time to rip out the phone / Why are people still calling?” I’m in awe at how immediately I was drawn into that world. No restraint, no reservation—all the emotion just there for the taking.
Another highlight is the “Collar of Your Shirt.” Among the most gorgeous words that have dripped from Berninger’s pen, I’d quote them all here if I could. Here’s a mere taste: “Your sparkle’s all I will inherit / My love is in an outward spiral / I'll tell you everything whenever you want / In the vanishing geometry of fire.” Berninger may not have known his true calling when he moved to NYC, but undoubtedly the visual language he developed as a designer still ignites him.
More straightforward in its phrasing, “Take Me Out of Town” is another one of the album’s better moments. In fact, if you weren’t the wiser, you might think it one of The National’s more languid numbers. It’s solid, but not indelible, especially in context—and therein lies the crux of the issue. The 10 tracks are too homogenous; the lows and highs too near. As a record, Serpentine Prison would’ve benefited from more volatility. For example, one of the louder, more impassioned songs, “Big Bird” (an Eddie Floyd cover) only appears on the deluxe version, but would’ve likely done wonders had it landed in the main prison cell.
That leads me to the title track itself, which lord knows I wanted to be amazing. But, sadly, it’s the album’s least palatable song. Chock-full of hokey, throwaway rhymes that aren’t worth repeating, “Serpentine Prison” may well be the worst thing Berninger’s ever done (although admittedly it’s a toss-up with his recent cover of The Cure’s “In Between Days”…please no more covers for a spell, OK?). It’s the kind of thing you pray is a parody because no other explanation makes sense.
Whatever his intention (past and future), I have more than a little faith in Berninger. His powerful oeuvre of work stands for itself, and his standards are unyielding. His passing quote from the Other Music documentary says it all: “Other Music symbolized something that I find important, which is just keeping the bar on everything high enough….You should celebrate the stuff that’s better than the average.”
Mediocrity just isn’t in Berninger’s blood. With singsong crimes forgiven, I know the next time he taps some reptilian spirit, he’ll come back with the bite of an alligator.
Notable Tracks: “Collar of Your Shirt” | “Loved So Little” | “My Eyes Are T-Shirts” | “Take Me Out of Town”
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