Moody Theater, ACL Live
April 21 and 23, 2014
Setlist
"For so long...we would go on tour and no one would be coming. It was so humiliating for us. And that happened a lot though. And I remember the first time we played at Mercury Lounge and there was nobody there. After that show, I went straight home and closed the door, and I think I just started crying.
And I think when we started putting that tension and anxiety and fear and humiliation into the music, just putting it out there, it made us closer to each other. And, for the people that did come to the shows, that was the connection."
- Matt Berninger, Mistaken for Strangers (film)
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| credit: Justin Warren |
From where I type, I spy: my guitar propped in the corner, a keyboard with one songbook about to topple from the stand, 2 more songbooks stacked on the floor, a vinyl album used as a decoration, my 2013 SXSW badge, and a jar stuffed with tickets from the past years' shows. To say I've collected and surrounded myself with music all my life is an understatement.
But, it's not just these tangible items. If modern science ever creates a means to project our thoughts and memories onto giant white screens, you'll see that mine are really just music videos because each of these thoughts and memories is intertwined with the music that was in that moment. A double helix of life and song inherited from a mom who played a sunburst Gibson and a dad who would lead his kids in singing aloud The Beatles' entire Rubber Soul album.
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Around the time I realized Texas was (is) meant to be home, I started a long-term music relationship with Sufjan Stevens. Sure, he occasionally dons birds' wings while playing a banjo but he also is ridiculously talented. I like to pretend I also had a childhood-friend relationship with him as evidenced by the fact that the homestead on his Seven Swans album is a spitting image of the one I grew up on (so surely his family must have visited us at least once. And Mom played the Gibson and we all sang along to Rubber Soul.) But, mostly it's been about his music, with albums released at times when I needed their lyrics to define everything that was happening around me, in a lo-fi kind of way.
A few years and 792 listens of Sufjan's Illinois later, I heard The National's song, Guest Room, from their album Boxer. Lyrics like, "They're gonna send us to prison for jerks" sung in Matt Berninger's distinctive baritone and Bryan Devendorf's insane drumming grabbed me in a way no other music had and The National quickly became my favorite band.
The 2010 release of High Violet came at a time when I was feeling a lot of the tension and anxiety and fear and humiliation that Matt talks about. Part of me fears admitting that though I still am, because I think that's what music gives many of us--and sometimes we need to hear each other admit that.
That music, that art, really--whether painting or photography or design or even written words--gives a way for us to feel and put words and melodies to those feelings. And even when those feelings are dark and we feel compelled to keep them inside, the songs themselves can be beautiful and meaningful.
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| credit: Justin Warren |
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That's another aspect of music that I'm drawn to: it's for us as individuals. At best, for peaceful solitary moments and, at worst (though perhaps not tragically so), for painful lonely moments.
But, it's also for us as humans who gather all of our solo moments…
…. practicing scales in childhood bedrooms (because our parents did not spend all of that money on that clarinet for nothing),
….and listening to the same albums over and over and over (because one day we will figure out how our favorite guitarist captured that perfect sound at 1:47 on track 2.)
…. and writing, scratching out, and rewriting lyrics in early morning hours (because the only way you can describe how he made you feel tonight is through a song).
And, after we've gathered them, we find that they're often not best kept in isolation but come to life in collaboration with others who have similar solo moments but developed other talents that add to and complement ours.
So it was with Sufjan and The National (among others.) I haven't been able to find out how/when their collaborations started (chance meeting in Brooklyn?). But, they did. Various members of The National have contributed to Sufjan's music and he has likewise supported them.
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There were many highlights at The National's April 21 show: singing "Abel" at the top of my lungs; watching Bryce play two guitars during "I Need My Girl"; hearing "Slow Show" live because…"Slow Show" live. But, it was also the night of one of my favorite music moments ever.
That night, The National played "Ada", intimating that they rarely play it live because Sufjan played the piano part on the album and they can't play it like he can. Well, they played it and it was particularly meaningful because of the ending:
(sorry for video quality; it's the best I can find. also, this in chicago (appropriately) and not austin).
At 3:36, The National transitions from "Ada" to Sufjan's "Chicago". I love this so much. For me--standing at the very front, stage-right then and typing away on my bed now--it speaks to the hours in the studio together as friends, as family, who are not just creating together but who are living dreams together. Moments poured over every note, every loop, every lyric. Moments of tension and anxiety and fear and humiliation that create joy and freedom and belonging in us because we hear those songs and understand and connect.
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