Sometimes melancholy doesn’t just come from traumatic events, but also from trying to understand the nature of the wounds that linger. The songs in The National’s latest album Trouble Will Find Me conjure many vignettes of people in this state of agony—caught in the middle of a storm and trying to find some meaning in their suffering.
How the troubles come about is never made explicit, but we get an impression of how the singer feels when various kinds of trouble with people he cares about seemingly appear out of nowhere.
The impression I get from most of The National’s songs, and maybe also why I find them so easy to relate to, is that turmoil is a very individual experience. Whether it’s someone packing up all his belongings and driving away in an old, beat-up wagon from an abusive home, or someone walking lost in the rain, the mood evoked by these songs remind me of when someone is alone, drinking, and throwing around thoughts. So I fully expected to go to the concert, sit a little, drink a little, and maybe cry a little in some masochistically mellow experience.
However, as soon as the lights came back on after the intermission following the opening act, Portugal, the Man (who were fantastic as well, but this is about The National), and the large expansive video visualization that spanned the length of the Greek Theater’s stage glowed with diffuse footage of the musicians making their way to the stage, there was an unmistakable surge in the energy of a crowd that I expected to be much calmer.
Some of their initial ballads turned into anthems, and everyone around me shouted verses that were normally quietly contemplative. They blasted “I Should Live in Salt” with a speed and emphasis such that we all bellowed, “I should live in salt! For leaving you behind” like an announcement to the world rather than the pained realization the line normally would be. Though not every song was reinterpreted this way, I was initially surprised by the discrepancy between the studio and live versions. Though I would have felt cheapened if they had simply turned it into a party anthem version of the work, it still retained in whole its original essence, that is, a sense of guilt and regret for taking someone special in your life for granted. It wasn’t what I was expecting, but it was a delightful alternative form of catharsis that very appropriately answered the anticipation that had built up in the crowd, which, for a band like The National, was composed mostly of people who purposefully went to see the group rather than indiscriminate concert frequenters.
The conversation inevitably got more serious and personal. The moment culminated for me when they performed “Pink Rabbits”, a song about the wandering restlessness that comes from wondering if someone cares about you, and how that pain can be overwhelming, despite believing you can tough through it, and despite everyone’s reassurances. A calm solemnity swept across the crowd along with the chorus (“Am I the one you think about when you’re sitting in your fainting chair drinking pink rabbits”).
The thought lingered only for just a second before the mood changed again. In the middle of “Graceless”, I heard a very deliberate thud against the microphone, and I realized that the water bottle the lead singer, Matt Berninger, had been drinking from was actually a fifth of vodka, which he was making good progress on. “Graceless”, incidentally is about the feeling of clumsiness and inadequacy that would cause someone to drink himself into a shadow. After he finished the contents of that bottle, he threw it across the stage and shouted, “Thank you!” as the band exited to the left.
I was slightly concerned by how much he was drinking, but I was more just impressed by the intensity of the music that resulted from it. I wondered if this was something he did every concert (there was an encore show the next day that I heard was just as amazing). In interviews, he said that they built up their fanbase slowly over the years through their commitment to delivering such exciting live performances, but as a result the act of touring became a really physically and emotionally draining experience. I’m still not sure how he would reconcile that with his own health and wellbeing, since he just brushed off that concern by saying he hoped he wouldn’t turn into one of those weird and creepy musicians when he gets older. I admit that there is some element of self-destruction that you have to embrace when you overindulge in emotional music. Rather than let whatever feelings dissipate, you project them onto the metaphors of whatever song it is and let them loop over and over, 4 minutes at a time. I’m not advocating being dismissive of negative feelings, but there are definitely some sadistic undertones involved that could be looked at further. But it was through the schadenfreudic lens of a fired up and selfish concertgoer that, in that moment, I was almost enthralled to be able to forge a connection with someone falling apart right in front of me.
I don’t know if the next part can even be called an encore, but as Berninger walked back on stage with a new bottle of wine, the concert stopped feeling like just a performance. Smiling and holding up the bottle, he poured two cups and handed it to the people in the front row; the rest, of course, was for him. He continued with some songs from their older albums, going farther back in their repertoire and experience. If this were a conversation, it would have been the point where all our inhibitions had been drunken away, and we were full-on screaming at each other all of our frustrations. Matt, to the pain of all the stagehands trying to keep the equipment under control, jumped off the stage entirely and ran around through the crowd, inciting mobs rushing towards him. Being in the front, I was swept up by the horde, and as he sang about bodies slipping into the sea, I felt like I really was caught in a wave. The moment was like a primal scream, impassioned, uninhibited, and rejuvenating.
The night ended with the impressive visualization screen (which honestly deserved its own art review), high-powered speakers, and dynamic stage lights all turned off. A few key lights remained, and they started performing the consoling intro to “Vanderlyle, Crybaby Geeks”. I could still hear the unamplified guitars and trumpets as everyone in the crowd chimed in unison, “Vanderlyle, crybaby cry / Man it’s all been forgiven”. It was a very redemptive and consoling choice to end the night with, and I couldn’t have picked a better song to do so. As a result, I left the concrete steps of the Greek Theater with a comfortable feeling of liberation and community. There was an emphasis on the idea that all the people there that night have had their share of troubles as well, and while facing it may still be something you have to do yourself, you are by no means alone in having to do so. Take some good friends to see The National when they’re in town again, and be reminded that trouble will find you, but it doesn’t have to be an individual experience.
