I just started a new job. Said job allows me to take mass transportation to work every day but requires certain sartorial formalities.... $1,000 some odd dollars later and I have a few suits but none of their apparently requisite accessories.
Seamus: I'm sorry but Italians are fuckin' ridiculous. Say you're talking about some ginz from a major metropolitan area, he thinks he's John Gotti. Chicago, New York, Boston, Los Angeles, whatever. It's a guarantee.
Pete: I gotta ask what prompted this?
Seamus: I'm at a bar right now by The Charles River waiting for Moose because she organized - and I'm helping administer - the first ever Race to End Extinction, and this meatball sitting not ten feet away from me is at the bar telling a stranger how he knows "Joe Pesci, De Niro..everybody." He then went on to say, "at no point in my life have I ever had more," in his best Goodfellas brogue.
Pete: Douche.
Pete: Good luck trying not to fight him.
Seamus: As if that's not ridiculous enough, he's talking to a Rasta. An elderly, sophisticated Rasta.
Pete: Wow.
Pete: This is almost too good to be true.
Seamus: It is pretty crazy. It's raining, I'm wearing a suit, I've had to poop all day (not comfortable enough yet in my new office to go number 2) and I don't have a London Fog or an adequate umbrella.... Rather than go home and doodly-plip-plop, I have to work the registration table at this race. Aren't I the picture of perfection?
Pete: I can just say I'm sorry and glad i am not with you right now.
Seamus: This paison is now telling the other guy how he's never had Soul Food, and how he really wants to try some of that "jerk shit". It is very much evident that they have never met before.
I wish these two numb nuts would stop giggling and high fiving so that I could concentrate.... I haven't been to too many bachelor parties, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to bring your mom.... Whatever. I guess it's not that big of a deal. I brought my dad... He's cool though. He wears camou, and at least he's not like 50..... I wish I could replace this pacifier with one of those things.... I'm starving.
The National is an indie rock band founded in Cincinnati, of all places. Like so many of their contemporaries, they have since relocated to Brooklyn. (Can Brooklyn become too hip? Has it already become so? This is the kind of thing I worry about. I like the idea of Brooklyn so much that, while I've only been there once, I'd like to see it continue as is, or at least in keeping with the notion in my head.) I had seen the band's name pop up here and there but I had not heard any of their music until prompted by a reader of this blog, who mistakenly commented "Give a listen to this compilation album, seems up your alley: Dark Was the Night. The guys who produced the album - The National - are great too but I'm sure you knew that way before I did you dirty hipster." I actually didn't already know that. And I'm not a dirty little hipster, either. But thanks again for the fruitful commentary and feedback. I encourage more of it.
The three song widget set prominently off to the right of what you're currently reading was actually taken from the compilation's website (linked above). In the event that I've successfully piqued your interest, check out Pitchfork's review if you need an extra push. As I've said before, you can't necessarily rule anything out based on Pitchfork's ultra-snobbery, but you can rule things in. At least I often do. Add to this the fact that I'm not given to compilations or soundtracks, a sentiment I apparently share with Scott Plagenhoef, who wrote the Pitchfork review, and hopefully I've given you enough reason to download.
Matt Berninger's distinctive baritone aside, nothing about The National's music will jump out at you. Their musicianship doesn't elicit fits of air guitar or hyperbole, and most of their melodies won't get stuck in your head, at least not after a single listen. After my first trip through Alligator and Boxer, their two most recent albums, I thought I had come away with a handful of gems and a substantial number of throw aways. Make no mistake, even the first time through, when The National hits, it knocks them out of the park. Home runs on Alligator include "Secret Meeting", "All the Wine" with its visceral if not satirical bravado abound, and "Mr. November", a song easily construed as a rallying cry for Obama's presidential candidacy. Home runs on Boxer include "Fake Empire", "Mistaken for Strangers", "Apartment Story", and "Blank Slate".
Their music has intrigued me enough to revisit it as a whole, rather than just it's shiny aforementioned parts. I've come to develop a taste for the total package, the center of which is Berenger's distinctive voice and songwriting which is complimented nicely by the contributions, both flourishing and steady, made by his bandmates. As the pervasive theme of their music is the clandestine mass apathy of American life, given the right mood, I find they provide an appropriate score to my own personal brand of American malaise.
This video encapsulates their modus operandi pretty well. It's also my favorite The National song at the moment. I particularly enjoy the way their understated manner eventually awakens the wedding (?) patrons, or at least wins their attention. I'd like to think it spurns at least one particular lady to action.
Cool song. Even cooler video. I've said that before.... Eventually, the skaters start doing tricks.I promise. Then, a little after that... Well, I don't want to spoil it. Check it out for yourself.
U.N.K.L.E is a British band, its original incarnation founded in the mid-nineties. They've collaborated with Thom Yorke. I don't know much beyond that. This video was brought to my attention by Rycree.
