Tall and coifed, The National’s Matt Berninger is leading-man handsome, thoughhe certainly doesn’t have leading-man posture. In concert, he slumps his headpermanently over his chest, eyes cast toward the floor. Between his verses hepaces the stage with the same downward gaze. His nervous hands tightly clutchthe nearest object available: the microphone, its cord, his sleeve or, aftereach song, a glass of white wine.
Berninger writes sad songs, of course, yet his songs don’tdwell on sadness. He’s more interested in how we escape from it. He sings ofsafe havens and creature comfortslong days in bed, a shower, a favorite shirt,a cold drink. On the band’s elegant 2007 album Boxer, he casts a simple apartment as an impenetrable shelter fromthe troubles of the world. It’s an album that plays like a long, earned sigh atthe end of a taxing day. On the band’s latest, High Violet, his troubles have breached those apartment walls, and thestakes are considerably higher. Berninger now feels the added burden ofprotecting his family.
The National’s songs often read like they were written fornobody else to hear, yet they play incredibly well in front of 1200 people. Theband piled them high with skyward guitars, dramatic turns, fanfares andapplause lines that kept the crowd cheering loudly throughout their two-hourset Wednesday night at the Riverside Theater, their third Milwaukee performancein as many years. Even the slowest songs played like anthems. When Berningersang “We raise our heavenly glasses to the heavens” during “Squalor Victoria,”fans lifted their PBR tall boys in solidarity.
For a frontman who rarely makes eye contact, Berninger holds the crowd’sattention expertly. He sings primarily in a reserved, baritone croon, but he’salso capable of a vicious bark he uses to punctuate the band’s loudest songs. Whenthe bark isn’t enough, he tosses his microphone stand to the floor in defeat.That’s how he concluded the night’s closer, “Terrible Love,” the High Violet number that introduces thedaunting forces he faces on that record. “It takes an ocean not to break,” he shouted,his face red, “It takes an ocean not to.” Instead of finishing the last word,he slammed his microphone into the stage, tossing a white handkerchief towardthe crowd as he walked away from it.
Photo by CJ Foeckler
