Intro from Lauren -

Very close friends, Zack and Erika Safir, graciously donated tickets for the sold out and highly anticipated National concert this past Saturday night, in LA.

Because I wasn’t able to attend, I gave them to Mr. Matt Walerstein, friend, blogger, and music lover, knowing all to well that he would generate amazing content for you, dear readers!

Thanks to Erika and Zack, Matt, and Michelle Von Bauer for the pics

For me, two chief debates were settled on Saturday night when The National seized the stage at the Wiltern for their second of two LA shows over the weekend. First, we learned that LA’s premier standing room only venue is not the Wiltern, but the Henry Fonda (the difference between a “caged” and a “free range” crowd experience respectively). And secondly, we confirmed that the undisputed ambassador of American Indie Rock is The National. 5 albums ago the band’s name must have resonated ironically, but now the Brooklyn outfit might as well append the suffix “band” to their suggestively federal moniker. Fittingly on the same week that they rose to #3 on the Billboard Album Chart, the National played a rousing a two-hour set that astounded in its ability to align with the audience’s distinctive taste for grandeur.

Few bands have the acuity to play to their fans precise sensibilities, but in the National’s case, they constructed a nearly flawless set that managed few if any letdowns. Opening with “Start a War” and “Mistaken for Strangers” off 2007′s tremendous release, Boxer, Matt (um, yes that would be a baritone) Berninger, took hold off the crowd like he took hold of the microphone, double-handed, and screamed the “Mistaken for Strangers” refrain as if he were grappling with a irascible bear weeks removed from a honey fix.  With the erudition inherent in Berniger’s lyrics, you would be forgiven if you didn’t expect such effusiveness coming from him. But Berninger’s greatness lies in his ability to package his angst in different guises, with deliveries ranging from the monochromatic ennui of Ben Stein to the cacophonous exhortations of Trent Reznor.

This versatility and ability to adapt to (and concomitantly) transform audience expectation is what separates him from a front man like James Mercer (The Shins, Broken Bells) who occupies the stage with the ho-hum lethargy of a constipated truck driver readying himself for a doomed toilet visit (and I say that not only because Mercer rocks a magical beard made of one-third Flannel, one-third rain forest bark, and one-third No-Doz wrappers.) There are many hallmarks of a great show, however, the crucible for which I like to measure one’s stature is the extent to which someone completely foreign to the group music’s would have been consumed by the experience. In this circumstance, the rousing 4 song encore alone (Runaway, Lemonworld, Mr. November, Terrible Love) would have been enough to do the trick. But of course you’d expect nothing less from our National Band.

-Matt Walerstein, Brentwood 01′

http://www.ihatekidslikeyou.com/2010/05/national-wiltern.html