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Recent Articles
Recent Articles by Eryc Eyl
Conor Oberst
Merge Records
Tuesday, July 29, Ogden Theatre, 303-832-1874.
Weaned on Metallica, this duo makes acoustic guitars sound heavy.
Mugiboogie
Ipecac Recordings
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National Features >
SF Weekly
A blogger steals someone else's life story and calls it her own.
By Ashley Harrell
Miami New Times
The family of a dead judge blames a creeping fungus in the federal courthouse.
By Tim Elfrink
The Pitch
I worked at Kmart with John McCain's director of strategy.
By Alan Scherstuhl
The National
Monday, September 26, hi-dive, 720-570-4500.
Published on September 22, 2005
For a certain kind of person, there's nothing happier than really sad music. That's where the National comes in. On the quintet's latest critically lauded album, Alligator, Matt Berninger comes on like Bill Callahan fronting American Music Club, while brothers Aaron and Bryce Dessner and Scott and Bryan Devendorf provide a cinematic and anthemic backdrop that's simultaneously grandiose and vulnerable. Even as Berninger fixates on self-loathing mantras like "I'm so sorry for everything" and "I used to be carried in the arms of cheerleaders," his bandmates swirl around him like the guys who probably beat him up in the locker room. In the end, Alligator's tension-filled juju of arrogance and desperation is the spiritual cousin of the Afghan Whigs' Gentlemen, with an extra dose of misanthropy thrown in for good measure.