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Nick Morgan and crew
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Concert
Review by Nick Morgan |
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| THE
NATIONAL
Royal Festival Hall, London, August
10th 2009
I
would wager that few of you reading this have
heard of the
National but if I’m wrong,
then I’m sure you won’t hesitate to
let me know. If you are at all familiar with this
cultish outfit from Brooklyn then more likely
than not you’re a fan. And not a “yeah
I liked their last album” sort of fan, but
rather a “I just can’t wait for the
new record to come out, what, did you say they’re
playing a gig in London? Well I’ve just
got to get tickets for that…” type.
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there are apparently a lot of them around. Enough
to sell out this one-off gig at the Royal Festival
Hall in a matter of hours as far as I understand.
So for your Reviewer and Photographer, it’s
one of those uncomfortable occasions, like being
a neutral in the middle of the Kop at Liverpool’s
Anfield ground, or the famous (and technically now
dismantled) Shed at Chelsea’s Stamford Bridge.
And thinking about it, a football ground might have
been a better venue for the gig than the formal,
sometimes stuffy, and very seated RFH. This was
clearly an uncomfortable locale for a band more
used to playing the Bowery Ballroom, with fans who,
despite the rather cerebral nature of the National’s
work, and regardless of their English reserve (actually
the one shouting “Stand up you fuckers. Fucking
stand up” was from Glasgow) were clearly intent
on celebrating its visceral side in bodily fashion. |
| The
National have four albums to their name, stretching
back to 2001’s eponymous debut. The last,
2007’s The Boxer made the charts (number 68)
but more importantly was a critical triumph. I’m
sure the T-shirt buying hoards here have got all
of them, and the singles and EPs, and the live podcast
downloads. They’ve probably pre-ordered the
highly anticipated forthcoming album (“I just
can’ wait for the new record to come out,
what, did you say they’re playing a gig in
London? Well I’ve just got to get tickets
for that…”). No doubt part of this devotion
is down to the charismatic frontman, Matt Berninger,
of whom more later. |
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some I’m sure is because the National have
a sound of their own, built around the jousting
guitars of brothers Aron and Bryce Dessner, which
feature strongly in both new and old material. When
it works it’s a nice trick, bouncing riffs
and chords off each other, building up complex layers
of sound reminiscent of the incarcerated Mr Spector’s
Wall. But even in a relatively short gig it runs
the danger of sounding, at least to the unconverted,
a tad formulaic. That, I think, is where the intensity
kicks in. For this is one of the most intense and
committed performances I’ve seen for a while;
if the Dessner boys’ left hands had meant
blood-soaked fretboards they wouldn’t have
stopped playing, you could see it in their eyes.
And you could see how it got to some of the fans:
“Stand up you fuckers. Fucking stand up”. |
| Did
I mention Berninger? Well, he is Mr Intense. He
has a peach of a voice: think Nick Cave meets Scott
Walker; deep and brooding, reflective and guilt
ridden. He paces the stage liked a caged animal,
pulling and tearing at his shirt and trousers, occasionally
pausing, fists clenched as tight as tight can be,
to stare into the distance and howl or scream unimaginable
torrents of anguish. I’m not surprised he
needs a drink: chilled white wine by the ice-filled
glass full (at one point he curses the fact that
he’s wasted five minutes trying to pull a
cork out of a screw-cap closed bottle with his teeth),
drunk like a man rescued from the desert might greedily
gulp at a glass of water. |
| He
certainly drives his band and provokes the audience
(he provoked a fit of boredom in the Photographer
but that’s another story), already so goaded
by their foul-mouthed Glaswegian, that it’s
easy for Berninger to get them on their feet; at
which point, perversely, he jumps from the stage
to fill a vacant pew in the front row. Love it or
hate it, it’s a remarkably powerful performance,
giving colour to the lyrics and melodies of some
interesting and well-crafted songs like ‘All
the wine’, and set closer ‘Fake Empire’. |
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| We
left during the encore. Your reviewer was quite
engaged, but the Photographer pretty fed up with
all the prancing and cavorting, much of it from
people who were old enough to know better, some
of it frankly embarrassing. Anyway, like I said,
you probably haven’t heard of the National,
but I would suggest you devote a few minutes to
listening to their material. And while you’re
doing that, why not look out for Edinburgh’s
The
Broken Records, who played a fantastic and highly
original support set. Should you feel like being
put through a couple of cycles of an emotionally-
charged washing machine, then go and watch Mr Berninger
strutting his stuff: it’s a hard act to follow.
– Nick Morgan (photographs by Kate) |
Check
the index of all reviews:
Nick's
Concert Reviews
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