Viernes 4 Sep 2009, 15:29

Sat 29 Aug – The National, Cass McCombs

HOLYSHIT. it was amazing, to say the very least. they sound so crisp live. you know the deep, layered expansive feel of the record? well, it's there at the shows. even though they scatter themselves across the stage–and don't really go anywhere, obviously–it all blends together into a giant gust of noise not suffocating, but covering you completely. no single element stole the show, not matt berninger's baritone, not the trombone/trumpet/french horn combo.

they debuted three new songs and i am looking forward to the next album. they mostly stuck to BOXER (9 of the 12 tracks, i believe), but did venture deeper into their catalog, playing ALLIGATOR's "all the wine," "secret meeting," "abel." and during "mr. november," berninger took off running down the right aisle, climbed onto the first floor divider and stood in the middle of the theater screaming "I WON'T FUCK US OVER, I'M MR. NOVEMBER!" the band onstage kept their eyes on him and the audience but kept laughing amongst themselves. their closer–well, it's the song before the shirt change/encore–began with very simple trickling piano sounds radiating from the keyboard. "fake empire." and that brass! good god! it's so strong, so captivating, i just about died.

the national are a very focused group. they embrace the crowd, smile, say hello, wave. but it becomes quite clear that they are musicians and have an unflinching attention to their work. it wasn't boring or slow, it was professional. not to the point where it was cold and impersonal, but it sounded damn good.

the audience was surprisingly older. not as bad as the bowl, since those are mostly people with phil season passes. but everyone around me was holding a beer AND wearing a wristband. not to mention there were a lot of adults and not so many people my age. (perhaps it has something to do with the fact that my pair of tickets cost me seventy-seven dollars…)

my dad mostly stood still, crossing his arms (which meant he fit right in with the rest of the predominately white crowd), pointing at and trying to kick the stinky, fat guy next to us. i'd turn around every so often and start singing at him, using bizzare interpretive gestures too. he'd laugh and i caught the guys behind him smiling at me.

i love concerts. only at a show can you turn to your left and see a complete stranger singing the exact same song as you, experiencing the same sounds and smelling the same weed–LOTS of it around us in the pit. it was, as dad tauntingly called it, magical.