The
“landmark” first gig that I set off to directly from my new job, was this
midweek trip up “The Smoke”, to catch the band who arguably now occupy REM’s
former position at the vanguard of US indie/ alternative rock, Ohio’s The
National. Their last go-around, 4 years ago, saw them cement their status as
the “go-to” band for all earnest black-shirted muso types, by selling out 2
nights at the cavernous Ally Pally (my gig 897), so it was inevitable that
tickets for their announced 4 dates at the more intimate (but still bloody
huge) former Hammersmith Odeon, in support of their current “Sleep Well Beast”
album (which sees them augment their usual deliciously dark, morose late night
alt-rock with subtle smatterings of electronica beats, without going full-on
“Empires And Dance” on our collective asses), would be as rare as rocking horse
shit. Luckily, I got in on the advance-CD purchase pre-sale, hitting “refresh”
until one of my 4 open windows furnished me with a ticket. Tuesday (day 2) I
got, so Tuesday it is!
Facebook
friend David Line, formerly vocalist of Seafood (the only UK band worth half a
damn, during the late 90’s/ early 00’s, and still, at 22, my most-seen “live”
band – and a brilliantly visceral experience every time, I might add…!) also
got Tuesday, so I was on the lookout for him! Headed off at 4 and hit the venue
just before doors at 7, after a trouble-free journey and took a place on the
wonky barriers, extreme left, watching the National’s congregation respectfully
file in. My early arrival unfortunately also meant that I was subject to
another support slot from The National’s “pet” support act, This Is The Kit. As
before, they were female fronted, polite, accomplished and understated US
alt-country – music for walking a rainy Appalachian trail, perhaps – with an
occasional pretty intertwining harmony or discordant riff to divert me from
their usual material, which was unfortunately quite, quite dull. The biggest
cheer was when they brought the National’s Aaron Dessner to sit in on guitar
for a couple of their later numbers. Hmmm…
The
place actually felt like a sell-out by now and I left my front-row but oddly
obscured vantage spot for a loo break, spotting a familiar looking face on the
way back, about 1/3 back. True enough, t’was Mr. Line, and greetings,
introductions to his lovely family, and catching up comfortably passed the time
until the lights dimmed at 9, a “Please Stand By” message appeared on a large
overhanging video screen, and video of The National themselves, hanging
backstage, was projected, until they emerged to a reverential welcome. Opening
with 4 straight new numbers – there’s confidence in your audience and material
for you! – they sounded pindrop-perfect, their bleak, introspective and
hauntingly gothic new material given incongruous life by some startling blocks
of ultraviolet colour on the screen , interspersing the usual band performance
shots. “Walk It Back”, stark and bucolic, recalled “Automatic”-era REM and was
an early highlight, before a blood-red backdrop heralded the oozing, slow-burn
intro of “Bloodbuzz Ohio”, a somewhat understated version, leading ultimately
to its’ usual dramatic climax.
“Understated”
is probably the operative word for this whole performance, actually… brilliant
sound, an expertly chosen set veering between slow, stripped back material and
their rockier moments (a perfect example being a brilliant mid-set double of an
angular, propulsive “Mistaken For Strangers” and a racy, jet propelled “Graceless”,
being followed by the tender “Carin At The Liquor Store”, as if to clear the
air), Matt Berninger’s usual befuddled Geography teacher stage presence and
vocals veering between half-remembered mumble and startled shriek, and the
Dessner twins’ occasional dual guitar shredding, throwing sharp relief onto the
reverentially observed quieter moments. All that and more… it again felt,
however, that The National were playing within themselves, pacing themselves
over the 2 hours, or even 4 nights. Nothing wrong with that, I guess; a few
moments of driftwood in the set for me, sure, but when it worked (the
afore-mentioned “Mistaken”/ “Graceless” double, a startling, proto-punk “Turtleneck”
or the brass blare fanfare of a singalong and totally appropriate “England”) it
really was quite breathtaking.
“Day
I Die” was ragged and riff-strafingly dramatic, and the taciturn Berninger announced
set closer “About Today” as, “the most depressing song ever written… enjoy!” “Terrible
Love”, the final of a 3-song encore, finally saw Berninger really cut loose,
crowdsurfing, Frank Turner style, as the song took dramatic flight behind him,
bringing another slightly uneven but occasionally majestic 2 hours to a close.
A fortuitous set-list and farewells to my gig companions – good to catch up
with David again! – before a similarly unimpeded journey home. Worthy as ever, The
National, and at times stunning; overall, a splendid evening!
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