The National live!

The National
Metro, Chicago
Thursday, June 7, 2007

Midway through The National’s 80-minute set on Thursday, frontman Matt Berninger crooned “We’re half-awake in a fake empire.” He was half right. An ineffective sound mix reduced his band’s subtle dynamism into mumbling incoherence.

The “fake empire” part was wrong, though. More than a year after a fickle, Pitchfork-weaned audience vacated a National show at Schubas because all they wanted was to see opener Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, it figured a lot of those same people probably returned to sell out the Metro. The state of their growing empire is, contrarily, strong. (Pitchfork has since corrected its initial judgement on the band, dubbing their albums “growers.”) When they weren’t packing venues they way they deserved, The National thrived at intimate, underdog shows, allowing tonal shifts, ringing chords, and tactical percussion to feed off tight corners while Berninger’s possessed antics extended some unpredictability.

A lot of it was missing Thursday. As growers go, this spring’s Boxer (Beggars) is even more so than 2005’s breakthrough Alligator. Berninger’s standard, rich-bass voice makes repeated listenings an imperative if you want to know what he’s saying, which ultimately proved to be his downfall in the large Metro. While he was plain indecipherable between songs, performing them he ranged from marble-mouthed (“Daughters Of The Soho Riots”) to vocally puncturing the air and ruining the sound mix (“Mr. November”).

The band, augmented by violin, did their best to battle the challenges posed by more space and packed “Apartment Song,” “Abel,” and “Mistaken For Strangers” with the requisite pop. Not much could be done to adjust the richer, but less obvious entries like “Slow Show,” “Racing Like A Pro,” and even Alligator staple “Secret Meeting,” however. It was almost as if they were in a battle of wills with their lighting, a dreary shroud of deep blues, purples, and reds that seemed to weigh on them like a wet towel.

During “Lit Up,” Beninger mocked his band’s obscure status by comparing it to a paramour’s dress: “Nothing like this sound I make/that only lasts a season/and only listened to by bedroom kids who buy it for that reason.” It would be selfish and mean-spirited to wish they would go back to pleasing those smaller crowds, but right now the empire sees The National spread too thin.

— Steve Forstneger

Category: Live Reviews, Weekly