First things first – they’re very loud. Even on their quiet songs. The twin (literally!) guitar combo combine with aforementioned fiddler to create a kind of Southern-Spector feel, all scraping crescendos and searing melodies. Drummer Bryan Devendorf holds the key to The National’s success as a live act; the variety in the songs is down to his different styles on each – sometimes tapping out a

simple tattoo, other times raging with the sticks like Dave Grohl in his prime.

They’re a very effective live act, and should be – despite the seemingly sudden nature of their critical acclaim,

new lp ‘Alligator’ is their third such release, and they’ve been playing together for over six years.

As I said, they make a startling racket. The audience – respectful nut hardly exuberant – are so quiet between songs that it heightens the effect every time the band crash into another number. The atmosphere is tense; some songs clearly come from bitter and painful experience and the band plays with the seriousness that these subjects demand. Singer/lyricist Matt Berninger is on another level of intensity. When he stumbles on at the beginning of the set, evidently a few drinks into the day, he announces ‘we’re The National. I don’t know what the fuck to do.’ He gives a confused smile, and after that he’s away. Obviously engrossed in the subject of each song, his cracked baritone amazingly makes itself heard over the wall of sound behind him, taking on a beautiful resonance on slower, sparser tunes like ‘About Today’. On this last, the crowd can even be seen shuffling melancholically back and forth; it’s the closest any of us get to dancing tonight.

Not that that restricts Berninger to staying still. He makes use of a cramped stage, twisting and turning as his songs propel him about until he discovers that he can reach the air-conditioner attached to the ceiling if he stands on a speaker at the edge of the stage. Once he’s found this, he can’t leave it alone, returning again and

again as the set progresses, almost hanging from the fragile plastic above. At times even his band look concerned for his well-being, as he scrapes away at the ceiling and air-con and plastic rains down on the front row. It’s exciting and unnerving to see someone so totally involved in their songs, with no concession to ‘showmanship’ or crowd-pleasing. And the crowd are obviously all the more pleased for it.

During a climactic ‘Mr November’, as Berninger stretches for the roof again, yelling the line ‘I used to be carried in the arms of cheerleaders’, mouths are agape at the sheer ferocity of his delivery. It’s a bit like watching Thom Yorke have a near-breakdown. Soon enough it’s all over, just enough time for the drummer to put his socks back on before the rest of the group decide on an encore, after which he has another go with the socks. The Barfly cheers and claps The National off, feeling that they’ve witnessed something unique, uncomfortable, intense; but strangely elated. And all the better for it.

Review and Pictures by Pete Dodds
www.americanmary.com