Love in a Fake Empire: The National Live

I grasp the little piece of paper in my sweaty hand like it's a lifeline. I'm so scared i'll drop it, accidentally tear it up, or naively show it to someone who'll snatch it from me and run for their life, giggling as they disappear into the sunset. I put my hand in my bag, still clasping the little rectangle, just in case. The text on it says 'The Bowery Presents: The National. Rain or Shine'. I remember it by heart, that's how geekily excited i feel about this gig. Right now it's shining. I'm hot, and slightly worried my ticket will start to fall apart in my eager, sweaty hands. The text beneath that says 'Celebrate Brooklyn', which is also written on the banner we're about to pass under. I glance at the line behind me; it zigzags so far back into Prospect Park i can't see the end. I wonder if all the people behind me are also having their gig entrance threatened by the damage their excited, sweaty palms are inflicting on their tickets. Probably. I take mine out to look at it again, just to make sure this is actually happening.

Because it almost didn't. Some time in May, when the thought of coming to NYC was just an idea i was flirting with, i checked online for any good shows coming up, and saw The National were playing Brooklyn at the end of July. If this New York thing worked out, this is number one on my list of things to do, i promised myself. A few weeks later, i'd booked my flight and checked back for gig tickets. The show was sold out. Shitballs, i thought to myself, undeterred. I'll see that band if it's the last thing i do. 


Several weeks of serious Craigslist-stalking, dozens of emails and i'm-a-foreign-kid-in-NY-for-a-month-and-need-to-see-this-band-pleas later, we trot up to North Harlem late one night to exchange a wad of cash for a small white envelope (addressed to 'Nina, from Finland) with a very tall dude in a grey shirt. We nod, turn around and head in opposite directions. i tear open the envelope. It contains two tickets. I'm so happy i want to burst into a Gene Kelly's Singing in the Rain-esque rendition of 'i'm on a bloooodbuzzzzzz, yes i aaaam' like an idiot on a random street corner in Harlem in the middle of the night. I manage to restrain myself.

So here we are now. We enter the park, find ourselves a spot to sit. Everyone around us is having a picnic, laughing and talking in the most laid-back of manners. I look around and have half a mind to inquire how they're being so blasé about this, lounging on their blankets, scooping hummus with their pita chips; this is no time for casual eating, this is time for some serious, focused anticipation! I shake my head and content myself with taking long, ruminating drags of my last cigarette.

Some hours (and a Beach House gig which i might write about some other time) later the sun has set and the muggy heat of day is finally giving way to a balmy evening and a deep blue sky. The park trees have been strung with fairylights that twinkle in the canopy above the expectant crowd. Gigantic dragonflies buzz past and the breeze carries the pungent smell of marijuana our way. The blue of the sky takes on a deeper hue as people sip on their beers and the stage lights up. Suddenly, i see people standing up, the crowd shifts, an eager wave of applause ripples through the audience, gathering strength. I shoot up, standing on tiptoe, and catch a glimpse of Matt as he drifts on to stage, flanked with his band mates, and palms the mic. 

Runaway

starts off slow, even melancholy. Matt's voice is soft, almost brooding. The green lights illuminating the band fade, replaced by lights that look like candles placed around the stage. The audience is silent. There's something really still about the moment. I notice all the hairs on my arms are standing on end. It's like voluntary suspension of disbelief. Am i here? Is this The National? Then the song is over, and Matt says a quiet 'thank you'. Before the audience can react, they burst right into 

Mistaken For Strangers

Which is faster than the album version; all loud drums and growing sound with Matt discarding softness for an almost aggressive take on the lyrics. "Showered and blue-blazing" pummels the audience, and then amidst applause we're back from The Boxer, on to High Violet and 

Anyone's Ghost

and the stage is bathed in a purple light; violins, trombones and trumpets. The music is huge, moving, and the sound is stellar compared to Beach House gig earlier. The song finishes and Matt addresses the crowd: "This next song is about Ohio, where we're from. But even though the song is about Ohio, we actually feel more at home here in Brooklyn." Brooklynites in a Brooklyn park burst into applause for their honorary neighborhood band.

Bloodbuzz Ohio

Draws an ecstatic scream from the audience within the first drum beats. Although a sea of people separates me from the stage, i see Matt, dressed in black head to toe, leaning into the mic. There's something about this guy, he has this easy nonchalance that gives him incredible charisma, independent of the enraptured throng of listeners shouting his name. The lights shift and Matt's silhouette is thrown on the back wall of the stage; the shadow of the man with the mic enormous and flickering. The darkening night and vibrating music has drawn bats from their perches, and these tiny shadows crisscross and flit in the air, likewise silhouetted against the lights. 

Matt dedicates the next song to Luke Hewitt, "who i've stolen some lyrics from". And slowly they launch into

Baby We'll Be Fine

, accompanied from the start by violins. When Matt utters 'baby we'll be fine', i sincerely believe him. I wanna spill Jack and Coke down his collar. This is as good as it gets, i think to myself. I find i'm mistaken, when they roll into the next song.

Slow Show 

is better. it makes me cry, i'll be honest. This is the song i've always wanted to see performed live. It's like a love letter. It's haunting. It's a fine example of Matt's talent for penning ingenious lyrics. I feel the drumbeat somewhere in my ribcage as "you know i dreamed about you twenty-nine years before i saw you" draws applause from the enthralled audience. 

Squalor Victoria

starts with an extended intro and sees Matt's raspy scream of 'Squalor Victoria' echo across the park. The audience goes wild. To counter the roaring, the band softens for 

Afraid of Everyone

I can't even count how many people are on stage at this point. It's all strings, percussions, and in the midst of everything Matt is pacing the stage like a man possessed, stopping to bellow forlornly into the mic. His baritone voice, criticized for its limited range and monotony, sounds beautiful.

Little Faith

The lit ends of blunts make little red pinpricks in the darkness, which has settled on the park like a mantle. The drums of Little Faith vibrate in the air, which hangs thick. It's as if the stage and all people are encased in a park-sized bubble, a little pocket of darkness removed from the rest of the world.


Available


The song is a rougher, edgier version, with loud blaring guitars matching Matt howling "how can you blame yourself when i did everything i wanted to" like a man carrying some serious emotional baggage. 

The Cardinal Song

from Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers is an interesting choice for the set list. It's almost disconcerting how mellow and ballad-like it is after the raw screaming of 'Available'. 

Conversation 16

is one of the best songs from High Violet, and the intensity between the band and the audience reaches a fever pitch; the stage is like a beacon of light in the balmy night with thousands of dancing, swaying, jumping shapes in the darkness before it. The song finishes and the band rolls right into the jovial rhythm of 

Apartment Story

"This is probably the first show we could walk to", Matt remarks. "Instead of walking we should have arrived in one of those 400 feet long hummer limos", Aaron interjects, drawing laughs from the crowd. 

The Geese of Beverly Road

Abel

The stage is red and the lights are blinding. "My mind's not right", Matt screams at the audience, who scream at him like theirs aren't either. I lose sight of the stage, which is obscured by the jumping crowd. The song comes to an end and the stage fades to black. They then launch into

Daughters of the Soho Riots

the mellowness of which makes the audience reciprocate with drawing out lighters and swaying like this was Woodstock in '69. 

England

sounds crisper live, with all instruments audible; the violin especially sounds beautiful. Matt says "i think i might ride my bike home tonight. Straight to the Vale of Cashmere." I can't believe it; i want to live here, where seeing the boys from The National ride their bikes home after an amazing gig is nothing out of the ordinary. 

Fake Empire

is what everyone's been waiting for. It's amazing seeing this live; it starts so small, with Matt singing, almost gingerly, and Bryce on the piano. Then in come backing vocals, the drums, clapping; musician after another emerges from the shadows of the stage and picks up their instrument...the song grows, just kinda lifts off. The audience counters it with a wall of sound, the stage lights are blinding, the song comes to an end with a resounding horn fanfare. The musicians take a quick bow in front of the exhilarated audience and disappear off stage. 


The clapping, shouting and whistling sees no end. They're not gone for long.

Sorrow

has the stage flooded in purple light. Matt leans into the mic, grasping it with both hands. The song is beautiful, its melancholy mood at home in the dark park at the end of the gig.

Secret Meeting

Mr. November

As the third song in the encore, they finally play Mr. November. The stage alternates between pink and white lighting, strobe lights flash as Matt screams "I won't fuck us over". It's a haggard scream, the words to which are occasionally lost, but that's okay, cause everyone knows them. 

Terrible Love

They play the first song from the new album last. "This is our final song. Thank you so much". The song finishes, the stage fades into darkness. And then, as subtly as it manifested, the bubble pops; the willful suspension of disbelief dissolves and the real world starts happening again. People look around, start shifting, moving towards the gates. Was i just here? Did this just happen? Yes i was and yes it did. And it was epic.