Two words could describe this gig. Fucking marvellous.
But as the readers demand more information, plus a technicality means that more than 50 words are required per review, we press on…
What would you say if you were confronted with a band that combined the dark side of folk, Americana, and a bit of bluegrass, with sounds from bands such as the Joy Division, Doves, and other well known pioneers of melancholy indie music, and erm, punk?
Sounds schizophrenic doesn’t it? Believe me, its not. THE NATIONAL’s music is nothing short of exquisite. Angular indie with a sharp folk slant - lovely jubbly.
It’s saying something when you turn up to a gig and no matter where you go, it is practically impossible to see the act. As The National performed a stunning set comprising of beautiful noise, people were literally hanging from the rafters, all wanting a piece of the action.
The high octane drumming action was pretty much on the psychotic side, talk about multi-tasking. At one point we had drumming, tambourine playing, some shaky eggs, and (probably) his own toenails, all being played simultaneously – “Look mum, 28 hands!”
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In terms of performance, there were elements of Joseph Arthur and Grant Lee Buffalo, with Matt Berginger’s Cash-ish/Ian Curtis-esque vocals resonating above the beautiful racket, searing violins, and overtones of blue grass, their sound was captivating to say the least.
It also says something when a cynical hack of restricted height goes to a gig, was unable to see very much of the band, and even after all that neck straining, goes straight out and grabs a copy of The National’s album (“Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers”).
But there you go, they really were that good.
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