Gig Review: The National Pushes Its Songs Through The Squall To Almost Delight All

A review of The National’s first ever gig in Wellington. They sounded great for a while, then the rot of the venue’s notorious sound issues set in for me. But hey, it was still great to see them.

The National

TSB Bank Arena, Wellington

Sunday, February 25

Cincinnati, Ohio band The National has been making albums for more than 20 years, they formed in the late 90s — their shared backstory goes back some 30 years in total, two sets of brothers (twins Bryce and Aaron Dessner on guitars and keyboards, and rhythm section of Scott Devendorf on bass and Bryan Devendorf, drums) with enigmatic frontman Matt Berninger on vocals.

Though they have played in New Zealand previously, this was their first time ever in Wellington.

There was a reverence — almost instantly. For that fact alone, the debut visit, and because The National has a fan base that definitely leans into ideals around their band being some sort of Second Coming.

With two brand new albums last year, it was a set top-heavy with music from the last decade in particular, but less than half a dozen songs in, they gave us Squalor Victoria. It was one of a few lifelines for lapsed fans like me, who adored the band’s earliest work the most.

The overall dynamic, and sonic, suggests post-punk as a starting point, although there’s more jubilance with The National, songs filled with catchphrase-lyrics, repeated lines that form mantras and feel almost instantly anthemic. The newer material carries this across, and early in the set, Eucalpytus and Tropic Morning News have the audience mesmerised.

It’s a huge sound — live — the core band backed by brass players who double across percussion and keys. The trumpet and trombone muddied into a blur behind the guitars, and creating a dense, mesmeric sound that is all at once pulverising and strangely a comfort.

Alas, Wellington’s Worst Live Music Venue — and it might be a case of beggars trying to be choosers — created an added sludge, meaning that definition was lost (at least where I was sitting). I moved around to take in the sound downstairs, but still the nuance from the records was not there.

Joy Division might be the touch-paper for this band, but in fact, the overall effect of hearing them live, and watching their audience caught in the sway, is more similar to U2. And I mean this in only a good way. Drummer, Bryan Devendorf has that Larry Mullen Jr thing of being both a superb player, and creator of signature feels that are almost riffs in and of themselves. His tom-grooves were so often the highlight, the setup, the punchline, and of course behind every truly great band is always a magnificent rhythm section. The National certainly has —and is — that. And the Dessners are clever guitarists, weaving interesting, intricate lines. This is the template for Matt Berninger’s vocals. He is a fascinating presence. And though his ‘croon’ on songs like I Need My Girl gave way to a voice occasionally cracking into a shout, the drama of each song is better sold by his actions on stage, his craving for a connection with the audience, than in the way each story is actually told.

Several times he leaves the stage, road-crew working as hard as anyone in the band, keeping his microphone cable aloft. At one point he moves right through the room, to the back of the arena to ‘cheers’ with bar-staff and then pushes back through the very middle of the audience to make it back to the stage just as the song finishes.

It’s both a cheap trick, and an amazing sense of spirit, some deep devotion to performance, whilst knowing that it is all also a ruse.

This is what I love about The National. The notion that they are out hocking their wares. And it is what I can’t quite connect with in the way that the deep fans do. I appreciate the songs, but none of them send me anywhere. I love the playing. But it’s memorable to me only in the moment. I didn’t walk home humming a thing after, nor thinking that I must revisit This Is The Last Time as if for the first time, in the way I might with other bands.

I also find the strange banter and overall lore of the band a complete mystery. I loved the first four albums — and still do. And I like a lot of what has happened on record since, but the whiteness of the music (tonally) isn’t always something I can totally connect with. I want the ‘more’ that others in the audience seem to effortlessly be receiving. Sometimes, as on Cherry Tree, I love the playing and the pattern of the music, but the slogan-lyrics (“loose lips sink ships”) just doesn’t vibe with me at all. Others times, (Alien), I’m so on board with the story-song and I want to curl up deep inside a tune that is barely there, want to lean right in.

Not a note was out of place, hardly ever was one wasted. But in the deep squall of the TSB Bank Arena, a lot of them simply sounded the same as the one that arrived just before it. The songs all falling into one. And not for the best.

This same issue plagued The Beths too. A brilliant opening band. A good-enough band in their own right, but a brilliant opening band. And I say that as someone who has seen them headline, and seen them playing the opening spot too. They have short, sharp power-pop blasts of song that, again, don’t quite stick with me to mean much after I’ve heard them — but in the moment they do just fine. Better than that even. But in this place, on this night, the songs merged very quickly into one big slurry. Not the fault of the band. Not the fault of the sound techs either. Just the eternal curse of The Building That Masquerades As A Music Venue in the city that struggles to provide decent places for big bands to do their thing.

We were lucky to have a visit from The National. And it was a pretty wonderful setlist all up. And I also loved watching the fans have something close to the night of their lives.