The
hectic week continues with the second in 2 nights and a lengthy trip over the
(thankfully now toll-free!) border into Wales, to catch The National, for me
now the de facto figureheads of the US alt-rock movement. Hot on the
heels of 2017’s “Sleep Well Beast”, these Cincinnati, OH natives trotted out a
new album this year, “I Am Easy To Find”, which continues their increasing
descent into wallowing and morose melancholy for earnest musos in black jeans
and with more than a fleck of grey around the temples. My people, then! I’m
still well on board with The National, despite finding this new album on initial
listens a little one dimensional and lacking in that one upbeat banger that
punctuated previous releases and provided respite from all the bleak moodiness
(think “Mr. November”, “Bloodbuzz Ohio”, “Graceless” or even last time out’s
“Day I Die”), which in itself gives rise for concern that they may be disappearing
into their shells, similar to how their predecessors REM did with the “Reveal”
and “Around The Sun” albums. Still, “live” they’re still hopefully a pretty safe
bet, even if we have to experience their sullen introspectiveness in aircraft
hanger-type venues these days, an odd juxtaposition in itself?
At
least Cardiff Motorpoint is easy to park at and has spot-on sound as aircraft
hangers go, so I really didn’t need much persuasion for this one. Neither did
Stuart, although amazingly this was his first National gig for 10 years! Picked
him up straight from work, stopping for noodle tea in the services and parking
up at 7. Well in place, house right, for opener, the sparkly dressed,
big-haired Jenny Lewis at 7.30. A suspiciously 70’s sounding almost power
ballad opener answered the burning question as to what a cross between The
Cowboy Junkies and the Carpenters would sound like, and Lewis – possessor of a
fair set of pipes, I’ll give her that – mined this AOR/ Country seam for all
she was worth, also recalling the likes of Fleetwood Mac, the Cali-country-isms
of Sheryl Crow and even the yodelly vocal inflections of Dolly Parton! Waaay
more trad- than alt-, then, all very musical and accomplished, but for me
anodyne and definitely not a boat-floater. Her best number, one from her old
band, Miley Kylo Ren or something (!) nicked the “My Sweet Lord” riff and was
punctuated by huge balloons being released over the crowd, and the final number
saw a tambourine playing snowman appear and eventually cart her off the stage!
3
wide screens bordering the stage then showed suitably moody black and white
film loops of the new CD cover girl (who looks suspiciously like Greta Thunberg
– coincidence? Or not?) and the backstage area, so when the lights dimmed at
8.45, the band were projected coming onto the stage (preceded by a very
REM-like “Please Stand By” message on the screens). Opening with a couple of
newies, it was apparent from the off that they were “on it”, a 10-piece
augmented “live” National line-up really well road tested and sounding amazing,
the off-kilter guitar interplay of the Dessner twins a particularly stunning
feature, slashing through and really augmenting the mood and hypnotic
atmosphere of the material, once again set by the rich clipped baritone of
vocalist Matt Berninger. The lighting show and dreamlike screen imagery was
augmentative rather than distracting, adding to the rich yet eerie atmosphere. And
Berninger himself was mesmerising; he’s now shed that rather confused Geography
teacher persona of the past, and really come into his own as an arena-level
frontman, commanding all corners of the stage (and beyond! A couple of forays
into the crowd during a mid-set “System Dreams In Total Darkness” and a later,
savage “Graceless”) angular of pose, attention-grabbing and inclusive, if still
slightly eccentric (case in point being a potty ongoing dialogue with some
front row regulars about a Radiohead tee-shirt, Berninger repeatedly saying, “I
gave you 50 euros 3 months ago!”). Funny and pointed too, remarking, “I figured
everything out this morning – everything’s going to be fine,” and later
contradicting himself (!), then asking the audience if anyone knew Christian
Bale… to be told by a Dessner (Aaron, I think.. not sure!) that in Wales, he’s
probably talking about the wrong Bale…!
(Considerate
too… on seeing a repeated phone flashlight in the middle of the crowd,
Berninger stopped one number to ask if this was because someone had problems…
it was, and he asked everyone to, “clear a path,” so the distressed audience
member could get help. Well done, sir.)
As
for the music, this was a brilliantly paced set, full of light and shade, the
“live” renditions of the new material in particular really adding that extra
dimension and making much more of an impression as a consequence. So the
crescendo drama of an early blood-red lit “Bloodbuzz, Ohio” was followed by a
poignant “Hey Rosey” to great effect, the hushed and haunting “Green Gloves”
followed by an utterly tremendous “Slow Show”, and even “Where Is Her Head”,
led by the female backing vocalists and a track I flat out didn’t like on first
listen, was mesmerising and hypnotic.
An
acoustic “Wasps Nest” (apparently the Dessner’s mum’s favourite track!) opened
the encore, before Berninger’s impassioned yell of, “vote motherfucking
Labour!!!” preceded gig highlight, the brilliant, soaring “Mr. November”. This
bumped the set past the 2 hour mark, so Stu and I watched the denouement, a
Berninger-conducted singalong through “Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks”, from the
back, heading off at its conclusion at 11 for a swift exit from the car park
and an equally swift drive home, back for 12.30. Comfortably the best I’ve seen
The National, with all doubts and previous concerns about the
one-dimension-ness of their material completely blown away. A brilliant gig.
All hail The National, the kings of US alt-rock!
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