The ornate wonder of the Tabernacle is enough to leave the most simple-minded man breathless. Walking in might feel like attending a symphony performed by the precious Queen’s orchestra if there weren’t such a gaggle of grimy kids huddling and anxious to listen. We all came to listen to a band that is strikingly sophisticated and effortlessly talented. That band is known as The National, whose recent success has earned them a spot at this frustratingly elegant venue. After proclaiming my press status and gathering my pass, I wandered upstairs trying not to look smug. This would be the first and probably only time I arrived at the exact moment that Matt and his seven piece band prepared to wow the crowd.  And, as a whole, wow us they did. They opened with a not-so-popular song that I was not immediately familiar with–not that I could concentrate.  Focus left me when I stepped into the photographer section in front of the stage.  I was watching the particularly odd behavior of the other photographers who scurried around hunched over like velociraptors who might feast on anyone who got in the way of a good shot. They let me take pictures for “Mistaken for Strangers” and “Brainy” which are both songs that were performed with a professional punch that gave way to the impression that everyone on stage was a solidly talented musician. Matt, the lead singer, seemed to embrace the microphone as though he were softly kissing a far away lover that he had reconciled with in front of a few hundred people.  And the silvery stage lights only made him look all the more forlorn.  It was one of those moments in which your eyes glaze over. You forget silly problems, lost lovers or even lost friends. You embed yourself into a vicarious, but fleeting release through the sound of this singer’s life.  You could read into such a moment deeply, but it’s as simple as a smile, it’s happy, and The National makes it happen.  Then you wake up in between.  At one point, Matt addressed a comment from a loud crowd member proclaiming his love for Matt. He responded by mocking the ridiculous judgments of Pitchfork Media: “You’re great too. I’d give it an 8.3” (boos ensue) “Alright a 9.0.”

Though I was entranced with having such a close encounter with the music after “Brainy” was performed, I still glanced over to notice a T-Rex of a bouncer tread down the aisle.  We scampered out of this special place and returned to the herd out of fear from the strict repercussions of Tabernacle policy.  So I paced the floor of the venue, ferociously fumbling over feet to find a drink while shooting glances at the stage during “Slow Show”. I settled down to listen more intently, elated by the fact that I had won a free drink after delving into a broken conversation with a gay bartender.  The band played most of their set from “Boxer”, but still pulled earlier songs from “Alligator” first performed modestly. That was about to change.

I decided to strike up a candid conversation with a bouncer.  His name was Cory and he apparently “…enjoyed the instrumentation, but not the arrangements.” I secretly disagreed with him, but confirmed his observation vocally for a reason that would be ultimately useful.  I rambled back to the bar with whiskey brain and beer in hand to indulge in the last song which was the favored “Fake Empire”.  The happy herd of the crowd banged their heads and mouthed the words, as was the case for most of the set. What ensued after was a roaring applause to bring The National back on stage for the longest encore performance I’ve seen in a very long time. The most notable song performed, “Squalor Victoria”, was sublime.  The drummer could have held the opening beat for hours and the lead guitarist, Aaron, caressed the strings of his guitar with a violin bow.  It was as if Matt had been bottling his energy throughout the first set.  He was a pot of emotions that had been slowly brought to a boil and for me, everything came together when he began screaming the chorus: “..squalor victoria, squalor victoria.” They then performed in that boiling energy with a wonderful rendition of “Ada” and “Abel” which was performed in a rambunctious style.  At that point I knew things had picked up just when they were about to end.

The night seemed to fly around in an elegant whirlwind and ended on the same note. The room emptied out and Matt stayed around to talk with some mingling fans. I talked to him shortly about New York and music.  The time had come to head backstage and the aforementioned friendly Cory waved me along even though my badge had “After Show” blocked out with a Sharpie.  And it was a real backstage.  The rooms were set up like a miniature Ritz-Carlton.  Everyone socialized in the pool room, but not over a glass bowl of cocaine or personal bottles of Jack Daniels. We drank a few Coronas accompanied with chips and salsa. We talked about classical music and the beauty of the venue. We played pool.  I held a long conversation about Kurt Vonnegut with one member of the band.  Another of the band members described me as “Leonardo Dicaprio in ‘Catch Me if You Can.’” I responded by informing them who my usual look-a-like is: Keira Knightley. That encouraged some laughs, since I’m somewhat of an androgynous-looking boy.

It was hard to pinpoint who was in the band since they were all infinitely modest. You could pass by Bryce, the lead guitarist, and not even know his talent. For me, and I imagine for most people reading, it is inexplicably delightful to know that the musicians we idolize are immediately approachable and as personable as a friend at the bar. You could have a good conversation with any of the band members and leave it as just that.  And I did.  So it goes.