17 May 2013
10 May 2013
08 May 2013
07 May 2013
The thing about The National is that, from the year I was 17 and only just beginning to suss out a life, they have given voice to my sadness, my triumphs, to pretty much everything I know to be true. Theirs are the voices that undo me. Every. Single. Time.
On Sunday, as part of a durational performance at the MOMA, they played Sorrow for six hours straight. The bittersweet sounds of sorrow, over and over and over again. That's exactly 105 times, if anyone is wondering. I haven't seen them live in years, but that old familiarity was there, and it was the truest.