The National combines heavy indie rock with profoundly serious poetry. I had the pleasure of observing the translation from their recorded sound to a dramatic display of emotional desperation; live in concert at the House of Blues, Boston during The National’s recent tour. The guitarists, bassist, keyboard player, and horn section enthusiastically pounded away behind their despondently lamenting frontmant, Matt Berninger.

 

The lead singer spent most of his time on stage wallowing in his own crooning. Eyes closed, and face contorted in agony, the lead singer delivered his lyrics with the intensity of a man experiencing the heartaches described in the songs for the first time. Although Berninger did little to engage the audience, his weary brooding emphasized by penetrating cries and screams created an aura of intimacy; the concert-goers seemed enthralled by every word. At times, Berninger’s frank, gut-wrenching introspection was almost too much to handle. The band prevented the audience from bursting into tears with its rousing instrumentation; improvised solos from the horn section in particular offered up-beat relief from the aching music. Berninger’s positive onstage support of his fellow bandmates also added a welcome diversion from the gloomy lyrics. During the occasional peregrination away from his mic, Berninger took a break from brooding and leapt from musician to musician, clapping for them and encouraging them like a cheerleader.

A person should attend a National concert with the intent to solemnly absorb romantically downhearted verses backed by the lush instrumentation. The National presents many layers of music painstakingly crafted under thoughtfully esoteric lyrics that require the audience’s full attention. It would seem irreverant not to quietly contemplate Berninger’s morose meditations. There is no dancing. There is no moshing. There is no happy, drunk jostling with your neighbor. There is no fist pumping.

Recommendations for types of people who may enjoy a National concert: angsty teens, victims of harsh break-ups, and lovers of poetry and wine. 

*photos property of liv hauck and the neave. thanks to the band for providing a photo pass!

 

• The Sonorus