Gary Grant

It's a beautiful album, full of the trademark National oxymoronic "mournful euphoria", but reviewers who complain that it lacks the edge and more uptempo moments of previous LPs both have a point and don't. Yes, you yearn for something to give what is otherwise uniformly melancholic and wistful the spikiness of Don't Swallow The Cap, The System Only Dreams In Total Darkness or Mr November, but equally remember that this is an introspective album borne out of problems for the band and depressive illness. So take it as a remarkable piece of songwriting, and as living embodiment that the creative act of music can help get you out of some terrible places - and thus by extension the act of listening may do the same too - and FTPOF becomes a very satisfying addition to their canon.