Photo of Matt Berninger by Chantal Anderson
Matt Berninger, frontman of indie standard-bearers The National and patron saint of Sad Dads of all stripes, often seems most at home when he’s rummaging around in the dusty old steamer trunk of his mind. On his second solo album, Get Sunk, while he can’t help plunging an occasional hand all the way down to the bottom, he often takes a breath and a step back to close the box entirely. Get Sunk was written in spurts sandwiching a case of writer’s block, with lyrics written on, among other things, old baseballs. These esoteric roots appear to have breached Berninger’s creative floodgates, and helped him write songs that highlight the tension between the solace of solitude and a yearning for quiet, meaningful connection.
In addition to the craft apparent in the album’s words, this is a great sounding record. Produced with and co-written by Sean O’Brien, the album finds room for haunting synths, fuzzy guitars, and expertly placed horns, and features contributions from National collaborator Kyle Resnick, The Walkmen’s Walter Martin, and Booker T. Jones (who produced Berninger’s first solo album, 2020’s Serpentine Prison). It also utilizes expertly deployed female vocals, including from Hand Habits’ Meg Duffy on the creepy-cool “Breaking Into Acting,” and Julia Laws a.k.a. Ronboy on the midnight jazzy “Silver Jeep.” The work of these guest singers feels less like backing vocals than voices in a conversation, ones that grant the album additional perspective.
Get Sunk took shape as Berninger relocated to Connecticut after many years in Los Angeles. Attendant senses of dislocation and discovery are reflected in multiple songs that reference, intriguingly, Indiana, including the languidly atmospheric, mystically evocative “Frozen Oranges,” where Berninger contemplates swimming in a limestone quarry, and seeing frozen oranges in trees and crystal apples in creeks. Berninger also takes a trip to the Hoosier State to see a (possibly deceased) friend on the percolating album opener “Inland Ocean,” where Berninger contemplates how “everything ends before I want it to.” It’s also the sound of how a sabbatical can serve as both refuge and reset button. One of the album’s highlights, “Little by Little,” which builds from acoustic guitar strum and piano to a crescendo of organ, is reminiscent of the soulful ruminations of R.E.M.’s Automatic for the People. It is both lamentation and consolation, reminding the listener that there’s “only so much you can take of everyday heartbreak.”
As the work an artist whose art is rife with self-contradictory desires to fade into the backdrop of social situations and to be the wine-glass-waving life of the party, Get Sunk spends a lot of time attempting to strike a balance between the two, and possibly find out where the center truly lies. One of Berninger’s gifts is the ability to fill his lyrics with screenwriter-grade characters; they’re often vehicles for him to explore his own neuroses, fears, and moments of gratitude. But it really sounds like it’s the man behind the personas having a quiet revelation when he sings, in the sidewinding, grabbed-by-the-lapels “Bonnet of Pins”—“it takes a lot to really disappear.” This acceptance, along with self-acceptance, is at the heart of Get Sunk, and gives it a gravitas that helps transcend the stereotype of the less-than-consequential solo album. With any hope, Berninger will continue to follow the threads he’s started to unspool in this highly enjoyable exploration. | Mike Rengel
