The National frontman’s solo debut unwinds the nervous energy in favor of something more laid-back. The music is gorgeous and unfussy, but his performances and lyrics feel nondescript.
Matt Berninger has not been the “average person out in the American heartland” for some time, but that’s not a bad thing. His main band, the National, has continued to release compelling, challenging albums long after they became a worldwide success. Much like his bandmates in underappreciated (and horribly named) experimental supergroups LNZNDRF and Pfarmers, Berninger has used the time between National records to blow off steam and explore new paths. With Brent Knopf collaboration EL VY, he sent up his own rock-star image with eccentric, upbeat new wave. The origins of Serpentine Prison are more sentimental: Berninger initially partnered with producer Booker T. Jones to pay tribute to his childhood love of Willie Nelson’s Jones-produced covers record, Stardust. Jones encouraged Berninger to flesh out some demos written with friends, including Walter Martin of the Walkmen and singer-songwriter Harrison Whitford, a member of Phoebe Bridgers’ touring band. These songs don’t have the nervous energy of Berninger’s main project, instead opting for something even quieter and more laid-back. That leaves Berninger to tie everything together—but his performances and lyrics feel nondescript. With Jones and frequent National collaborator Sean O’Brien co-producing, Serpentine Prison is technically accomplished, but Berninger’s looseness clashes with the record’s professionalism.
In his memoir Time Is Tight, Jones writes that the outside producer must “find and make a place” in a group’s pecking order, something he learned when he found himself lost in the pot smoke of Nelson’s Stardust sessions. (His defense, which sounds like a Berningerism: “I never correctly judged the potency of the grass.”) He certainly finds his place here; like Stardust, Serpentine Prison sounds gorgeous and unfussy. Most of the session musicians have played on National records, but under Jones’ direction they adapt to a jazzier, more organic sound, and Knopf sneaks some EL VY goofiness into “One More Second.” Even the more National-esque songs, like standouts “All for Nothing” and “Take Me Out of Town,” feel part of the new record’s world. “Distant Axis” stands out for its more conventional AOR trappings, but the polish favorably recalls early-2000s U2.
Early on with the National, Berninger’s lyrics often felt like honest sentiments filtered through layers of masculine repression until they came out mangled and esoteric. (See this Trouble Will Find Me-era Tumblr post, which documented normal phrases vs. their Berninger equivalents.) His lyrics became more direct, even lovelorn, by 2019’s I Am Easy to Find, but he still found creative ways to contrast his band members’ complexity; here, he and his band might as well be on different records. Opener “My Eyes Are T-Shirts” and Gail Ann Dorsey duet “Silver Springs” try to build something sultry, but Berninger’s lyrics lean so heavily into self-pastiche that they don’t connect the same way. Berninger can stretch himself: His morally ambiguous lyrics on “Loved So Little” (“It’s only God/Or the devil when you’re in it/I’m always getting caught in the middle”) and smoky delivery match the complexity of the other players.
Berninger’s sentimentality usually pushes back against the National’s reputation for self-serious art rock, but it doesn’t hold up as well on its own. “One More Second” was conceived as a response to “I Will Always Love You,” but the lyrics are so boilerplate (“The way we talked last night/It felt like a different kind of fight”) that it could be a response to just about anything. When Berninger ambles about, barely stringing together melodies on “Oh Dearie” as Andrew Bird’s violin soars and Mickey Raphael’s bass harmonica drones, he feels like the least talented person on his own album. He’s most at home revisiting familiar themes of intimacy and projection on the title track: “I feel like an impersonation of you/Or am I doing another version of you doing me?” It’s not that the emperor has no clothes, it’s that these don’t fit.
The fun of Berninger’s non-National projects is in seeing his quirks emerge in other guises: Is he really mumbling a Lauren Mayberry melody on a CHVRCHES album? Did he really reference Depeche Mode in a musical adaptation of Cyrano de Bergerac? Even when he covered “Stardust” with Jones producing, he brought his mannerisms to an otherwise faithful rendition. But aside from the occasional sneaky homage to Kristin Hersh or Big Star, Serpentine Prison lacks that novelty; it sounds like he’s actively trying to write the kind of modern standards that “Bloodbuzz Ohio” and “I Need My Girl” improbably became. Jones and O’Brien’s production is engaging, but their work begs for something that isn’t so perfunctory and slight. Instead of the modern Stardust, Serpentine Prison is merely a prolific musician’s stopgap.
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