Embracing the Brooklyn spirit of communal creativity, musical nomad Sufjan Stevens is one of several “neighbors” who appear on the National’s latest album. Even on tracks without his musical accompaniment, however, there is no hesitation to embrace his brand of musical nerdiness. The first song, “Fake Empire,” a ballad in the style of Leonard Cohen or Nick Cave, ends with a flurry of overlapping horn blasts that are trademarks of Mr. Stevens’s sound.

But overall, “Boxer” (Beggars Banquet), the fifth album by the Brooklyn-based quintet of Cincinnati natives, makes no radical change to the band’s tried and true formula. Instead, it sharpens the edges with some of the group’s finest songwriting yet. Orchestral arrangements by Padma Newsome, a member of the chamber ensemble the Clogs, add sophistication and a real richness. More than ever, the music is perfectly suited to Matt Berninger’s dark baritone, and for this emotional complexity he finds just the right timbre with his lyrics, weaving in shades of vagueness to delay meaning, so that each listen is a discovery.

When they come, meanings are not like those to be found in Mr. Stevens’s songs of quirky innocence, but rather in the manner of rock ‘n’ roll angst — hence the album’s title. Throughout, belligerent scorn and palpable regret are directed at youth’s surrender and the triumph of middle age and middle-class values.

In “Racing Like a Pro,” Mr. Berninger sings to the quiet strum of a guitar and dramatic piano backing from Mr. Stevens: “You’re pink you’re young you’re middleclass / They say it doesn’t matter / Fifteen blue shirts and womanly hands / You’re shooting up the ladder / One time you were a glowing young ruffian / Oh my God it was a million years ago.” The collared shirt seems to be a subject of real contempt for Mr. Berninger, for he sings satirically elsewhere, “Underline everything, I’m a professional in my beloved white shirt.” But whether directed to a friend or a generation, “Racing Like a Pro” ends with the promise of self-awareness and change: “Your dumbstruck baby, now you know.”

Yuppie frustration takes a darkened aspect on “Guest Room.” Singing about the kind of domestic anxiety that charged songs by the British band Tindersticks, Mr. Berninger’s voice sounds almost identical to that of Stuart Staples. “They’re gonna send us to prison for jerks / For having vague ideas of the way to turn each other on again,” he sings, each note turned for melancholic effect. “They’ll find us here, here, here in the guest room / Where we throw money at each other and cry, ‘oh my’ / We miss being ruffians, going wild and bright / In the corners of front yards, / Getting in and out of cars / We miss being deviants.”

While no opportunity to deride superficial conformity or materialism is missed, this and larger caveats such as “we’re living in a fake empire” and “walk away now and you’re gonna start a war” show themselves to be distractions from the music’s true emotional center: nostalgia for something lost. The dominant sentiment of this excellent album is one of wanting “to start over,” as Mr. Berninger sings on “Slow Show.” In the same song, those larger distractions turn to personal reflection, as his overused second-person address gives way to, “I made a mistake in my life today / Everything I love gets lost in drawers.” Moving from the micro to the macro, from self-awareness to generational despair, the lyrics become imitations of the rhythms of one’s own thoughts.

In the end, it seems Mr. Berninger is talking to everyone he knows, including himself. And with collaborations only making the songs better, there is much to look forward to from this focused and persistent band.

The National will begin a five-night run at the Bowery Ballroom on May 28 (6 Delancey St., between Chrystie Street and the Bowery, 212-533-2111).