The National, 100 Club, London

Kevin Harley
Tuesday 24 May 2005 00:00 BST
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

As Leonard Cohen once crooned, "Baby, I've been here before, I know this room and I've walked this floor..." It's a familiar world, the one The National inhabit. With their tense arrangements and lugubrious vocals, the Cincinatti-via-Brooklyn five-piece, numbering two sets of brothers plus a singer, essay a kind of darkly wry romanticism redolent of Tindersticks, Arab Strap, Interpol, Mark Eitzel and The Walkmen, as well as that grand old grumpus, Cohen..

It's not easy to mine this kind of music-for-mood-movies vibe without sounding mannered. It's to their considerable credit, then, that The National have it down to an art, as suggested by the four- and five-star reviews of their third album, Alligator. The record sounds simultaneously soulful and self-mocking, dynamic and doleful, wired and wasted, and busy even on the slowest songs .

That sense of tension proves fiercely compelling live. The band's unshaven singer, Matt Berninger, makes a perfect entrance, smoking nervously, looking wobbly on his feet, and crooning about bottles in his fist and roses in his teeth on the rueful "All the Wine". Having set a steady pace, the band give it a quick jolt with "Murder Me Rachael", on which an urgent, bass and violin backdrop drives a Nick-Cave-ish vocal.

The band and their unofficial sixth member, the violinist Padma Newsome, sound tipsy and tight all at once. On "Lit Up", a Bunnymen-ish opening strum gives way to a gloriously open-topped chorus. The play-off between Berninger's just-out-of-bed voice and the rest of the band's precision backdrop is perfectly sculpted.

They flit from beautiful to bruising with ease. Newsome's vivid violin strokes shudder and shade, while the guitarists Bryce and Aaron Dessner shift from clear, chiming notes to brash chords in a heartbeat, and Berninger's knowing lyrics are full of sudden mood-shifts.

There's nothing remotely sleepy, though, about the single, "Abel", which sees Berninger finding a decent use for the pillar positioned right in front of the stage, leaning on it over the heads of the audience. He needs a bigger stage, clearly.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in